The Complete Sherlock Holmes Short Stories

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The Complete Sherlock Holmes Short Stories

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Sherlock Holmes


Arthur Conan Doyle 


The Musgrave Ritual 


An anomaly which often struck me in the 
character of my friend Sherlock Holmes 
was that, although in his methods of 
thought he was the neatest and most me- 
thodical of mankind, and although also he affected 
a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the 
less in his personal habits one of the most un- 
tidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to dis- 
traction. Not that I am in the least conventional in 
that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work 
in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural 
Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather 
more lax than befits a medical man. But with me 
there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps 
his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe 
end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered corre- 
spondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very 
centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to 
give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, 
that pistol practice should be distinctly an open- 
air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer 
humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair- 
trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and pro- 
ceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. 
R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither 
the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room 
was improved by it. 

Our chambers were always full of chemicals 
and of criminal relics which had a way of wan- 
dering into unlikely positions, and of turning up 
in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. 
But his papers were my great crux. He had a 
horror of destroying documents, especially those 
which were connected with his past cases, and yet 
it was only once in every year or two that he would 
muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as 
I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent 
memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when 
he performed the remarkable feats with which his 
name is associated were followed by reactions of 
lethargy during which he would lie about with his 
violin and his books, hardly moving save from the 
sofa to the table. Thus month after month his pa- 
pers accumulated, until every corner of the room 
was stacked with bundles of manuscript which 
were on no account to be burned, and which could 
not be put away save by their owner. One winter's 
night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured 
to suggest to him that, as he had finished past- 
ing extracts into his common-place book, he might 
employ the next two hours in making our room a 
little more habitable. He could not deny the jus- 
tice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he 
went off to his bedroom, from which he returned 
presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This 



he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting 
down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the 
lid. I could see that it was already a third full of 
bundles of paper tied up with red tape into sepa- 
rate packages. 

"There are cases enough here, Watson," said 
he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. "I think 
that if you knew all that I had in this box you 
would ask me to pull some out instead of putting 
others in." 

"These are the records of your early work, 
then?" I asked. "I have often wished that I had 
notes of those cases." 

"Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely 
before my biographer had come to glorify me." He 
lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing 
sort of way. "They are not all successes, Watson," 
said he. "But there are some pretty little prob- 
lems among them. Here's the record of the Tar- 
leton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine 
merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian 
woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium 
crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the 
club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here — ah, 
now, this really is something a little recherche." 

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the 
chest, and brought up a small wooden box with 
a sliding lid, such as children's toys are kept in. 
From within he produced a crumpled piece of pa- 
per, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood 
with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty 
old disks of metal. 

"Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?" 
he asked, smiling at my expression. 

"It is a curious collection." 

"Very curious, and the story that hangs round 
it will strike you as being more curious still." 

"These relics have a history then?" 

"So much so that they are history." 

"What do you mean by that?" 

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, 
and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he 
reseated himself in his chair and looked them over 
with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. 

"These," said he, "are all that I have left to re- 
mind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual." 

I had heard him mention the case more than 
once, though I had never been able to gather the 
details. "I should be so glad," said I, "if you would 
give me an account of it." 

"And leave the litter as it is?" he cried, mis- 
chievously. "Your tidiness won't bear much strain 
after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you 
should add this case to your annals, for there are 


3 2 9 



The Musgrave Ritual 


points in it which make it quite unique in the 
criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other 
country. A collection of my trifling achievements 
would certainly be incomplete which contained no 
account of this very singular business. 

"You may remember how the affair of the Glo- 
ria Scott, and my conversation with the unhappy 
man whose fate I told you of, first turned my at- 
tention in the direction of the profession which has 
become my life's work. You see me now when my 
name has become known far and wide, and when 
I am generally recognized both by the public and 
by the official force as being a final court of ap- 
peal in doubtful cases. Even when you knew me 
first, at the time of the affair which you have com- 
memorated in 'A Study in Scarlet/ I had already 
established a considerable, though not a very lu- 
crative, connection. You can hardly realize, then, 
how difficult I found it at first, and how long I had 
to wait before I succeeded in making any headway. 

"When I first came up to London I had rooms 
in Montague Street, just round the corner from the 
British Museum, and there I waited, filling in my 
too abundant leisure time by studying all those 
branches of science which might make me more 
efficient. Now and again cases came in my way, 
principally through the introduction of old fellow- 
students, for during my last years at the University 
there was a good deal of talk there about myself 
and my methods. The third of these cases was 
that of the Musgrave Ritual, and it is to the inter- 
est which was aroused by that singular chain of 
events, and the large issues which proved to be at 
stake, that I trace my first stride towards to the po- 
sition which I now hold. 

"Reginald Musgrave had been in the same col- 
lege as myself, and I had some slight acquaintance 
with him. He was not generally popular among 
the undergraduates, though it always seemed to 
me that what was set down as pride was really an 
attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. In ap- 
pearance he was a man of exceedingly aristocratic 
type, thin, high-nosed, and large-eyed, with lan- 
guid and yet courtly manners. He was indeed a 
scion of one of the very oldest families in the king- 
dom, though his branch was a cadet one which 
had separated from the northern Musgraves some 
time in the sixteenth century, and had established 
itself in western Sussex, where the Manor House 
of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabited build- 
ing in the county. Something of his birth place 
seemed to cling to the man, and I never looked at 
his pale, keen face or the poise of his head without 
associating him with gray archways and mullioned 


windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feu- 
dal keep. Once or twice we drifted into talk, and 
I can remember that more than once he expressed 
a keen interest in my methods of observation and 
inference. 

"For four years I had seen nothing of him un- 
til one morning he walked into my room in Mon- 
tague Street. He had changed little, was dressed 
like a young man of fashion — he was always a bit 
of a dandy — and preserved the same quiet, suave 
manner which had formerly distinguished him. 

" 'How has all gone with you Musgrave?' I 
asked, after we had cordially shaken hands. 

" 'You probably heard of my poor father's 
death,' said he; 'he was carried off about two years 
ago. Since then I have of course had the Hurlstone 
estates to manage, and as I am member for my 
district as well, my life has been a busy one. But I 
understand. Holmes, that you are turning to prac- 
tical ends those powers with which you used to 
amaze us?' 

" 'Yes,' said I, 'I have taken to living by my 
wits.' 

" 'I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at 
present would be exceedingly valuable to me. We 
have had some very strange doings at Hurlstone, 
and the police have been able to throw no light 
upon the matter. It is really the most extraordi- 
nary and inexplicable business.' 

"You can imagine with what eagerness I lis- 
tened to him, Watson, for the very chance for 
which I had been panting during all those months 
of inaction seemed to have come within my reach. 
In my inmost heart I believed that I could succeed 
where others failed, and now I had the opportu- 
nity to test myself. 

" 'Pray, let me have the details,' I cried. 

"Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me, 
and lit the cigarette which I had pushed towards 
him. 

" 'You must know,' said he, 'that though I am 
a bachelor, I have to keep up a considerable staff 
of servants at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old 
place, and takes a good deal of looking after. I 
preserve, too, and in the pheasant months I usu- 
ally have a house-party, so that it would not do to 
be short-handed. Altogether there are eight maids, 
the cook, the butler, two footmen, and a boy. The 
garden and the stables of course have a separate 
staff. 

" 'Of these servants the one who had been 
longest in our service was Brunton the butler. He 
was a young school-master out of place when he 


330 



The Musgrave Ritual 


was first taken up by my father, but he was a man 
of great energy and character, and he soon became 
quite invaluable in the household. He was a well- 
grown, handsome man, with a splendid forehead, 
and though he has been with us for twenty years 
he cannot be more than forty now. With his per- 
sonal advantages and his extraordinary gifts — for 
he can speak several languages and play nearly 
every musical instrument — it is wonderful that he 
should have been satisfied so long in such a posi- 
tion, but I suppose that he was comfortable, and 
lacked energy to make any change. The butler of 
Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by 
all who visit us. 

" 'But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit 
of a Don Juan, and you can imagine that for a 
man like him it is not a very difficult part to play 
in a quiet country district. When he was married 
it was all right, but since he has been a widower 
we have had no end of trouble with him. A few 
months ago we were in hopes that he was about 
to settle down again for he became engaged to 
Rachel Howells, our second house-maid; but he 
has thrown her over since then and taken up with 
Janet Tregellis, the daughter of the head game- 
keeper. Rachel — who is a very good girl, but of an 
excitable Welsh temperament — had a sharp touch 
of brain-fever, and goes about the house now — or 
did until yesterday — like a black-eyed shadow of 
her former self. That was our first drama at Hurl- 
stone; but a second one came to drive it from our 
minds, and it was prefaced by the disgrace and 
dismissal of butler Brunton. 

" 'This was how it came about. I have said that 
the man was intelligent, and this very intelligence 
has caused his ruin, for it seems to have led to an 
insatiable curiosity about things which did not in 
the least concern him. I had no idea of the lengths 
to which this would carry him, until the merest 
accident opened my eyes to it. 

" 'I have said that the house is a rambling one. 
One day last week — on Thursday night, to be more 
exact — I found that I could not sleep, having fool- 
ishly taken a cup of strong cafe noir after my din- 
ner. After struggling against it until two in the 
morning, I felt that it was quite hopeless, so I rose 
and lit the candle with the intention of continuing 
a novel which I was reading. The book, however, 
had been left in the billiard-room, so I pulled on 
my dressing-gown and started off to get it. 

" 'In order to reach the billiard-room I had to 
descend a flight of stairs and then to cross the head 
of a passage which led to the library and the gun- 
room. You can imagine my surprise when, as I 


looked down this corridor, I saw a glimmer of light 
coming from the open door of the library. I had 
myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door 
before coming to bed. Naturally my first thought 
was of burglars. The corridors at Hurlstone have 
their walls largely decorated with trophies of old 
weapons. From one of these I picked a battle-axe, 
and then, leaving my candle behind me, I crept on 
tiptoe down the passage and peeped in at the open 
door. 

" 'Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He 
was sitting, fully dressed, in an easy-chair, with a 
slip of paper which looked like a map upon his 
knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his 
hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with as- 
tonishment, watching him from the darkness. A 
small taper on the edge of the table shed a feeble 
light which sufficed to show me that he was fully 
dressed. Suddenly, as I looked, he rose from his 
chair, and walking over to a bureau at the side, he 
unlocked it and drew out one of the drawers. From 
this he took a paper, and returning to his seat he 
flattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the 
table, and began to study it with minute attention. 
My indignation at this calm examination of our 
family documents overcame me so far that I took 
a step forward, and Brunton, looking up, saw me 
standing in the doorway. He sprang to his feet, 
his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust into 
his breast the chart-like paper which he had been 
originally studying. 

" ' "So!" said I. "This is how you repay the trust 
which we have reposed in you. You will leave my 
service to-morrow." 

" 'He bowed with the look of a man who is ut- 
terly crushed, and slunk past me without a word. 
The taper was still on the table, and by its light 
I glanced to see what the paper was which Brun- 
ton had taken from the bureau. To my surprise it 
was nothing of any importance at all, but simply 
a copy of the questions and answers in the singu- 
lar old observance called the Musgrave Ritual. It 
is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family, which 
each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through 
on his coming of age — a thing of private interest, 
and perhaps of some little importance to the ar- 
chaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges, 
but of no practical use whatever.' 

" 'We had better come back to the paper after- 
wards/ said I. 

" 'If you think it really necessary/ he answered, 
with some hesitation. 'To continue my statement, 
however: I relocked the bureau, using the key 
which Brunton had left, and I had turned to go 


331 



The Musgrave Ritual 


when I was surprised to find that the butler had 
returned, and was standing before me. 

" ' "Mr. Musgrave, sir," he cried, in a voice 
which was hoarse with emotion, "I can't bear dis- 
grace, sir. I've always been proud above my station 
in life, and disgrace would kill me. My blood will 
be on your head, sir — it will, indeed — if you drive 
me to despair. If you cannot keep me after what 
has passed, then for God's sake let me give you 
notice and leave in a month, as if of my own free 
will. I could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to 
be cast out before all the folk that I know so well." 

" ' "You don't deserve much consideration, 
Brunton," I answered. "Your conduct has been 
most infamous. However, as you have been a long 
time in the family, I have no wish to bring pub- 
lic disgrace upon you. A month, however is too 
long. Take yourself away in a week, and give what 
reason you like for going." 

" ' "Only a week, sir?" he cried, in a despairing 
voice. "A fortnight — say at least a fortnight!" 

" ' "A week," I repeated, "and you may con- 
sider yourself to have been very leniently dealt 
with." 

" 'He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, 
like a broken man, while I put out the light and 
returned to my room. 

" 'For two days after this Brunton was most as- 
siduous in his attention to his duties. I made no al- 
lusion to what had passed, and waited with some 
curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. 
On the third morning, however he did not appear, 
as was his custom, after breakfast to receive my 
instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room 
I happened to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I 
have told you that she had only recently recovered 
from an illness, and was looking so wretchedly 
pale and wan that I remonstrated with her for be- 
ing at work. 

" ' "You should be in bed," I said. "Come back 
to your duties when you are stronger." 

" 'She looked at me with so strange an expres- 
sion that I began to suspect that her brain was af- 
fected. 

" ' "I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave," said 
she. 

" ' "We will see what the doctor says," I an- 
swered. "You must stop work now, and when you 
go downstairs just say that I wish to see Brunton." 

" ' "The butler is gone," said she. 

" ' "Gone! Gone where?" 


" ' "He is gone. No one has seen him. He is not 
in his room. Oh, yes, he is gone, he is gone!" She 
fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek of 
laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysteri- 
cal attack, rushed to the bell to summon help. The 
girl was taken to her room, still screaming and sob- 
bing, while I made inquiries about Brunton. There 
was no doubt about it that he had disappeared. 
His bed had not been slept in, he had been seen by 
no one since he had retired to his room the night 
before, and yet it was difficult to see how he could 
have left the house, as both windows and doors 
were found to be fastened in the morning. His 
clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his 
room, but the black suit which he usually wore 
was missing. His slippers, too, were gone, but his 
boots were left behind. Where then could butler 
Brunton have gone in the night, and what could 
have become of him now? 

" 'Of course we searched the house from cellar 
to garret, but there was no trace of him. It is, as 
I have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especially 
the original wing, which is now practically unin- 
habited; but we ransacked every room and cellar 
without discovering the least sign of the missing 
man. It was incredible to me that he could have 
gone away leaving all his property behind him, 
and yet where could he be? I called in the local 
police, but without success. Rain had fallen on the 
night before and we examined the lawn and the 
paths all round the house, but in vain. Matters 
were in this state, when a new development quite 
drew our attention away from the original mystery. 

" 'For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, 
sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a 
nurse had been employed to sit up with her at 
night. On the third night after Brunton's disap- 
pearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping 
nicely, had dropped into a nap in the arm-chair, 
when she woke in the early morning to find the 
bed empty, the window open, and no signs of the 
invalid. I was instantly aroused, and, with the 
two footmen, started off at once in search of the 
missing girl. It was not difficult to tell the direc- 
tion which she had taken, for, starting from under 
her window, we could follow her footmarks eas- 
ily across the lawn to the edge of the mere, where 
they vanished close to the gravel path which leads 
out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet 
deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we 
saw that the trail of the poor demented girl came 
to an end at the edge of it. 

" 'Of course, we had the drags at once, and set 
to work to recover the remains, but no trace of 


332 



The Musgrave Ritual 


the body could we find. On the other hand, we 
brought to the surface an object of a most unex- 
pected kind. It was a linen bag which contained 
within it a mass of old rusted and discolored metal 
and several dull-colored pieces of pebble or glass. 
This strange find was all that we could get from 
the mere, and, although we made every possible 
search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing 
of the fate either of Rachel Howells or of Richard 
Brunton. The county police are at their wits' end, 
and I have come up to you as a last resource.' 

"You can imagine, Watson, with what eager- 
ness I listened to this extraordinary sequence of 
events, and endeavored to piece them together, 
and to devise some common thread upon which 
they might all hang. The butler was gone. The 
maid was gone. The maid had loved the butler, 
but had afterwards had cause to hate him. She 
was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had 
been terribly excited immediately after his disap- 
pearance. She had flung into the lake a bag con- 
taining some curious contents. These were all fac- 
tors which had to be taken into consideration, and 
yet none of them got quite to the heart of the mat- 
ter. What was the starting-point of this chain of 
events? There lay the end of this tangled line. 

"'I must see that paper, Musgrave,' said I, 
'which this butler of your thought it worth his 
while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of his 
place.' 

" 'It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of 
ours,' he answered. 'But it has at least the saving 
grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of the 
questions and answers here if you care to run your 
eye over them.' 

"He handed me the very paper which I have 
here, Watson, and this is the strange catechism to 
which each Musgrave had to submit when he came 
to man's estate. I will read you the questions and 
answers as they stand. 

" 'Whose was it?' 

" 'His who is gone.' 

" 'Who shall have it?' 

" 'He who will come.' 

" 'Where was the sun?' 

" 'Over the oak.' 

" 'Where was the shadow?' 

" 'Under the elm.' 

" 'How was it stepped?' 

" 'North by ten and by ten, east by five and by 
five, south by two and by two, west by one and by 
one, and so under.' 


" 'What shall we give for it?' 

" 'All that is ours.' 

" 'Why should we give it?' 

" 'For the sake of the trust.' 

" 'The original has no date, but is in the spelling 
of the middle of the seventeenth century,' re- 
marked Musgrave. 'I am afraid, however, that it 
can be of little help to you in solving this mystery.' 

" 'At least,' said I, 'it gives us another mystery, 
and one which is even more interesting than the 
first. It may be that the solution of the one may 
prove to be the solution of the other. You will ex- 
cuse me, Musgrave, if I say that your butler ap- 
pears to me to have been a very clever man, and to 
have had a clearer insight that ten generations of 
his masters.' 

" 'I hardly follow you,' said Musgrave. 'The pa- 
per seems to me to be of no practical importance.' 

" 'But to me it seems immensely practical, and 
I fancy that Brunton took the same view. He had 
probably seen it before that night on which you 
caught him.' 

" 'It is very possible. We took no pains to hide 
it.' 

" 'He simply wished, I should imagine, to re- 
fresh his memory upon that last occasion. He had, 
as I understand, some sort of map or chart which 
he was comparing with the manuscript, and which 
he thrust into his pocket when you appeared.' 

" 'That is true. But what could he have to do 
with this old family custom of ours, and what does 
this rigmarole mean?' 

" 'I don't think that we should have much dif- 
ficulty in determining that,' said I; 'with your per- 
mission we will take the first train down to Sussex, 
and go a little more deeply into the matter upon 
the spot.' 

"The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. 
Possibly you have seen pictures and read descrip- 
tions of the famous old building, so 1 will con- 
fine my account of it to saying that it is built in 
the shape of an L, the long arm being the more 
modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nu- 
cleus, from which the other had developed. Over 
the low, heavily-lintelled door, in the centre of this 
old part, is chiseled the date, 1607, but experts are 
agreed that the beams and stone-work are really 
much older than this. The enormously thick walls 
and tiny windows of this part had in the last cen- 
tury driven the family into building the new wing, 
and the old one was used now as a store-house 
and a cellar, when it was used at all. A splen- 
did park with fine old timber surrounds the house, 
and the lake, to which my client had referred, lay 


333 



The Musgrave Ritual 


close to the avenue, about two hundred yards from 
the building. 

"I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that 
there were not three separate mysteries here, but 
one only, and that if I could read the Musgrave 
Ritual aright I should hold in my hand the clue 
which would lead me to the truth concerning both 
the butler Brunton and the maid Howells. To that 
then I turned all my energies. Why should this ser- 
vant be so anxious to master this old formula? Ev- 
idently because he saw something in it which had 
escaped all those generations of country squires, 
and from which he expected some personal advan- 
tage. What was it then, and how had it affected his 
fate? 

"It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the 
ritual, that the measurements must refer to some 
spot to which the rest of the document alluded, 
and that if we could find that spot, we should be 
in a fair way towards finding what the secret was 
which the old Musgraves had thought it necessary 
to embalm in so curious a fashion. There were 
two guides given us to start with, an oak and an 
elm. As to the oak there could be no question at 
all. Right in front of the house, upon the left-hand 
side of the drive, there stood a patriarch among 
oaks, one of the most magnificent trees that I have 
ever seen. 

" 'That was there when your ritual was drawn 
up/ said I, as we drove past it. 

" 'It was there at the Norman Conquest in all 
probability/ he answered. 'It has a girth of twenty- 
three feet.' 

"Here was one of my fixed points secured. 

" 'Have you any old elms?' I asked. 

" 'There used to be a very old one over yonder 
but it was struck by lightning ten years ago, and 
we cut down the stump/ 

" 'You can see where it used to be?' 

" 'Oh, yes.' 

" 'There are no other elms?' 

" 'No old ones, but plenty of beeches.' 

" 'I should like to see where it grew.' 

"We had driven up in a dogcart, and my client 
led me away at once, without our entering the 
house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm had 
stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and 
the house. My investigation seemed to be pro- 
gressing. 

"'I suppose it is impossible to find out how 
high the elm was?' I asked. 


" 'I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four 
feet.' 

" 'How do you come to know it?' I asked, in 
surprise. 

" 'When my old tutor used to give me an ex- 
ercise in trigonometry, it always took the shape of 
measuring heights. When I was a lad I worked out 
every tree and building in the estate.' 

"This was an unexpected piece of luck. My 
data were coming more quickly than I could have 
reasonably hoped. 

" 'Tell me/ I asked, 'did your butler ever ask 
you such a question?' 

"Reginald Musgrave looked at me in aston- 
ishment. 'Now that you call it to my mind/ he 
answered, 'Brunton did ask me about the height 
of the tree some months ago, in connection with 
some little argument with the groom.' 

"This was excellent news, Watson, for it 
showed me that I was on the right road. I looked 
up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and I cal- 
culated that in less than an hour it would lie just 
above the topmost branches of the old oak. One 
condition mentioned in the Ritual would then be 
fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must mean 
the farther end of the shadow, otherwise the trunk 
would have been chosen as the guide. I had, then, 
to find where the far end of the shadow would fall 
when the sun was just clear of the oak." 

"That must have been difficult. Holmes, when 
the elm was no longer there." 

"Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do 
it, I could also. Besides, there was no real difficulty. 
I went with Musgrave to his study and whittled 
myself this peg, to which I tied this long string 
with a knot at each yard. Then I took two lengths 
of a fishing-rod, which came to just six feet, and 
I went back with my client to where the elm had 
been. The sun was just grazing the top of the oak. 
I fastened the rod on end, marked out the direc- 
tion of the shadow, and measured it. It was nine 
feet in length. 

"Of course the calculation now was a simple 
one. If a rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine, a 
tree of sixty -four feet would throw one of ninety- 
six, and the line of the one would of course the line 
of the other. I measured out the distance, which 
brought me almost to the wall of the house, and 
I thrust a peg into the spot. You can imagine my 
exultation, Watson, when within two inches of my 
peg I saw a conical depression in the ground. I 
knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in his 
measurements, and that I was still upon his trail. 


334 



The Musgrave Ritual 


"From this starting-point I proceeded to step, 
having first taken the cardinal points by my 
pocket-compass. Ten steps with each foot took me 
along parallel with the wall of the house, and again 
I marked my spot with a peg. Then I carefully 
paced off five to the east and two to the south. It 
brought me to the very threshold of the old door. 
Two steps to the west meant now that I was to 
go two paces down the stone-flagged passage, and 
this was the place indicated by the Ritual. 

"Never have I felt such a cold chill of disap- 
pointment, Watson. For a moment is seemed to 
me that there must be some radical mistake in my 
calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the 
passage floor, and I could see that the old, foot- 
worn gray stones with which it was paved were 
firmly cemented together, and had certainly not 
been moved for many a long year. Brunton had 
not been at work here. I tapped upon the floor, 
but it sounded the same all over, and there was no 
sign of any crack or crevice. But, Fortunately, Mus- 
grave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning 
of my proceedings, and who was now as excited 
as myself, took out his manuscript to check my 
calculation. 

" 'And under/ he cried. 'You have omitted the 
"and under." ' 

"I had thought that it meant that we were to 
dig, but now, of course, I saw at once that I was 
wrong. 'There is a cellar under this then?' I cried. 

" 'Yes, and as old as the house. Down here, 
through this door.' 

"We went down a winding stone stair, and my 
companion, striking a match, lit a large lantern 
which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an in- 
stant it was obvious that we had at last come upon 
the true place, and that we had not been the only 
people to visit the spot recently. 

"It had been used for the storage of wood, but 
the billets, which had evidently been littered over 
the floor, were now piled at the sides, so as to leave 
a clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large 
and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the 
centre to which a thick shepherd's-check muffler 
was attached. 

" 'By Jove!' cried my client. 'That's Brunton's 
muffler. I have seen it on him, and could swear to 
it. What has the villain been doing here?' 

"At my suggestion a couple of the county po- 
lice were summoned to be present, and I then en- 
deavored to raise the stone by pulling on the cra- 
vat. I could only move it slightly, and it was with 
the aid of one of the constables that I succeeded at 


last in carrying it to one side. A black hole yawned 
beneath into which we all peered, while Musgrave, 
kneeling at the side, pushed down the lantern. 

"A small chamber about seven feet deep and 
four feet square lay open to us. At one side of 
this was a squat, brass-bound wooden box, the lid 
of which was hinged upwards, with this curious 
old-fashioned key projecting from the lock. It was 
furred outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp 
and worms had eaten through the wood, so that a 
crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it. 
Several discs of metal, old coins apparently, such 
as I hold here, were scattered over the bottom of 
the box, but it contained nothing else. 

"At the moment, however, we had no thought 
for the old chest, for our eyes were riveted upon 
that which crouched beside it. It was the figure of 
a man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down 
upon his hams with his forehead sunk upon the 
edge of the box and his two arms thrown out on 
each side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stag- 
nant blood to the face, and no man could have rec- 
ognized that distorted liver-colored countenance; 
but his height, his dress, and his hair were all suf- 
ficient to show my client, when we had drawn the 
body up, that it was indeed his missing butler. Fie 
had been dead some days, but there was no wound 
or bruise upon his person to show how he had met 
his dreadful end. When his body had been carried 
from the cellar we found ourselves still confronted 
with a problem which was almost as formidable as 
that with which we had started. 

"I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disap- 
pointed in my investigation. I had reckoned upon 
solving the matter when once I had found the 
place referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there, 
and was apparently as far as ever from knowing 
what it was which the family had concealed with 
such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had 
thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton, but now 
I had to ascertain how that fate had come upon 
him, and what part had been played in the matter 
by the woman who had disappeared. I sat down 
upon a keg in the corner and thought the whole 
matter carefully over. 

"You know my methods in such cases, Wat- 
son. I put myself in the man's place and, having 
first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how 
I should myself have proceeded under the same 
circumstances. In this case the matter was simpli- 
fied by Brunton's intelligence being quite first-rate, 
so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance 
for the personal equation, as the astronomers have 
dubbed it. Fie knew that something valuable was 


335 



The Musgrave Ritual 


concealed. He had spotted the place. He found 
that the stone which covered it was just too heavy 
for a man to move unaided. What would he do 
next? He could not get help from outside, even 
if he had some one whom he could trust, with- 
out the unbarring of doors and considerable risk 
of detection. It was better, if he could, to have his 
helpmate inside the house. But whom could he 
ask? This girl had been devoted to him. A man 
always finds it hard to realize that he may have fi- 
nally lost a woman's love, however badly he may 
have treated her. He would try by a few attentions 
to make his peace with the girl Howells, and then 
would engage her as his accomplice. Together they 
would come at night to the cellar, and their united 
force would suffice to raise the stone. So far I could 
follow their actions as if I had actually seen them. 

"But for two of them, and one a woman, it must 
have been heavy work the raising of that stone. A 
burly Sussex policeman and I had found it no light 
job. What would they do to assist them? Probably 
what I should have done myself. I rose and exam- 
ined carefully the different billets of wood which 
were scattered round the floor. Almost at once 
I came upon what I expected. One piece, about 
three feet in length, had a very marked indenta- 
tion at one end, while several were flattened at the 
sides as if they had been compressed by some con- 
siderable weight. Evidently, as they had dragged 
the stone up they had thrust the chunks of wood 
into the chink, until at last, when the opening was 
large enough to crawl through, they would hold 
it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might 
very well become indented at the lower end, since 
the whole weight of the stone would press it down 
on to the edge of this other slab. So far I was still 
on safe ground. 

"And now how was I to proceed to recon- 
struct this midnight drama? Clearly, only one 
could fit into the hole, and that one was Brunton. 
The girl must have waited above. Brunton then 
unlocked the box, handed up the contents pre- 
sumably — since they were not to be found — and 
then — and then what happened? 

"What smouldering fire of vengeance had sud- 
denly sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic 
woman's soul when she saw the man who had 
wronged her — wronged her, perhaps, far more 
than we suspected — in her power? Was it a chance 
that the wood had slipped, and that the stone had 
shut Brunton into what had become his sepulchre? 
Had she only been guilty of silence as to his fate? 
Or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed 
the support away and sent the slab crashing down 


into its place? Be that as it might, I seemed to see 
that woman's figure still clutching at her treasure 
trove and flying wildly up the winding stair, with 
her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams 
from behind her and with the drumming of fren- 
zied hands against the slab of stone which was 
choking her faithless lover's life out. 

"Here was the secret of her blanched face, her 
shaken nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter on 
the next morning. But what had been in the box? 
What had she done with that? Of course, it must 
have been the old metal and pebbles which my 
client had dragged from the mere. She had thrown 
them in there at the first opportunity to remove the 
last trace of her crime. 

"For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, 
thinking the matter out. Musgrave still stood with 
a very pale face, swinging his lantern and peering 
down into the hole. 

" 'These are coins of Charles the First,' said he, 
holding out the few which had been in the box; 
'you see we were right in fixing our date for the 
Ritual.' 

" 'We may find something else of Charles the 
First,' I cried, as the probable meaning of the first 
two question of the Ritual broke suddenly upon 
me. 'Let me see the contents of the bag which you 
fished from the mere.' 

"We ascended to his study, and he laid the de- 
bris before me. I could understand his regarding 
it as of small importance when I looked at it, for 
the metal was almost black and the stones lustre- 
less and dull. I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, 
however, and it glowed afterwards like a spark in 
the dark hollow of my hand. The metal work was 
in the form of a double ring, but it had been bent 
and twisted out of its original shape. 

" 'You must bear in mind,' said I, 'that the royal 
party made head in England even after the death 
of the king, and that when they at last fled they 
probably left many of their most precious posses- 
sions buried behind them, with the intention of 
returning for them in more peaceful times.' 

" 'My ancestor. Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a 
prominent Cavalier and the right-hand man of 
Charles the Second in his wanderings,' said my 
friend. 

" 'Ah, indeed!' I answered. 'Well now, I think 
that really should give us the last link that we 
wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into 
the possession, though in rather a tragic manner of 
a relic which is of great intrinsic value, but of even 
greater importance as an historical curiosity.' 


336 



" 'What is it, then?' he gasped in astonishment. 

" 'It is nothing less than the ancient crown of 
the kings of England.' 

" 'The crown!' 

" 'Precisely. Consider what the Ritual says: 
How does it run? "Whose was it?" "His who is 
gone." That was after the execution of Charles. 
Then, "Who shall have it?" "He who will come." 
That was Charles the Second, whose advent was 
already foreseen. There can, I think, be no doubt 
that this battered and shapeless diadem once en- 
circled the brows of the royal Stuarts.' 

" 'And how came it in the pond?' 

" 'Ah, that is a question that will take some 
time to answer.' And with that I sketched out to 
him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof 
which I had constructed. The twilight had closed 
in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky 
before my narrative was finished. 


" 'And how was it then that Charles did not get 
his crown when he returned?' asked Musgrave, 
pushing back the relic into its linen bag. 

" 'Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one 
point which we shall probably never be able to 
clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who held 
the secret died in the interval, and by some over- 
sight left this guide to his descendant without ex- 
plaining the meaning of it. From that day to this 
it has been handed down from father to son, until 
at last it came within reach of a man who tore its 
secret out of it and lost his life in the venture.' 

"And that's the story of the Musgrave Ritual, 
Watson. They have the crown down at Hurl- 
stone — though they had some legal bother and a 
considerable sum to pay before they were allowed 
to retain it. I am sure that if you mentioned my 
name they would be happy to show it to you. Of 
the woman nothing was ever heard, and the prob- 
ability is that she got away out of England and car- 
ried herself and the memory of her crime to some 
land beyond the seas." 



A Study In Scarlet 


CHAPTER I. 

Mr. Sherlock Holmes 


n the year 1878 I took my degree of 
'Y' Doctor of Medicine of the University of 
London, and proceeded to Netley to go 
through the course prescribed for sur- 
geons in the army Having completed my studies 
there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northum- 
berland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regi- 
ment was stationed in India at the time, and before 
I could join it, the second Afghan war had bro- 
ken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my 
corps had advanced through the passes, and was 
already deep in the enemy's country I followed, 
however, with many other officers who were in the 
same situation as myself, and succeeded in reach- 
ing Candahar in safety, where I found my regi- 
ment, and at once entered upon my new duties. 

The campaign brought honours and promotion 
to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune 
and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and 
attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at 
the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck 
on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shat- 
tered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. 
I should have fallen into the hands of the murder- 
ous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and 
courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw 
me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing 
me safely to the British lines. 

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged 
hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, 
with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base 
hospital at Peshawar. Here 1 rallied, and had al- 
ready improved so far as to be able to walk about 
the wards, and even to bask a little upon the ve- 
randah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, 
that curse of our Indian possessions. For months 
my life was despaired of, and when at last I came 
to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak 
and emaciated that a medical board determined 
that not a day should be lost in sending me back 
to England. I was dispatched, accordingly, in the 
troopship Orontes, and landed a month later on 
Portsmouth jetty, with my health irretrievably ru- 
ined, but with permission from a paternal govern- 
ment to spend the next nine months in attempting 
to improve it. 

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was 
therefore as free as air — or as free as an income 
of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit 
a man to be. Under such circumstances, I natu- 
rally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into 


which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are 
irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time 
at a private hotel in the Strand, leading a com- 
fortless, meaningless existence, and spending such 
money as I had, considerably more freely than I 
ought. So alarming did the state of my finances 
become, that I soon realized that I must either 
leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in 
the country, or that I must make a complete alter- 
ation in my style of living. Choosing the latter al- 
ternative, I began by making up my mind to leave 
the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less 
pretentious and less expensive domicile. 

On the very day that I had come to this con- 
clusion, I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when 
some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turn- 
ing round I recognized young Stamford, who had 
been a dresser under me at Bart's. The sight of a 
friendly face in the great wilderness of London is 
a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old 
days Stamford had never been a particular crony 
of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, 
and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to 
see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him 
to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we started 
off together in a hansom. 

"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, 
Watson?" he asked in undisguised wonder, as we 
rattled through the crowded London streets. "You 
are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut." 

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, 
and had hardly concluded it by the time that we 
reached our destination. 

"Poor devil!" he said, commiseratingly, after he 
had listened to my misfortunes. "What are you up 
to now?" 

"Looking for lodgings," I answered. "Trying to 
solve the problem as to whether it is possible to 
get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price." 

"That's a strange thing," remarked my com- 
panion; "you are the second man to-day that has 
used that expression to me." 

"And who was the first?" I asked. 

"A fellow who is working at the chemical labo- 
ratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning him- 
self this morning because he could not get some- 
one to go halves with him in some nice rooms 
which he had found, and which were too much 
for his purse." 

"By Jove!" I cried, "if he really wants someone 
to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very 


7 



A Study In Scarlet 


man for him. I should prefer having a partner to 
being alone." 

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me 
over his wine-glass. "You don't know Sherlock 
Holmes yet," he said; "perhaps you would not care 
for him as a constant companion." 

"Why, what is there against him?" 

"Oh, I didn't say there was anything against 
him. He is a little queer in his ideas — an enthusi- 
ast in some branches of science. As far as I know 
he is a decent fellow enough." 

"A medical student, I suppose?" said I. 

"No — I have no idea what he intends to go in 
for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a 
first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has 
never taken out any systematic medical classes. 
His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but 
he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way knowledge 
which would astonish his professors." 

"Did you never ask him what he was going in 
for?" I asked. 

"No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, 
though he can be communicative enough when the 
fancy seizes him." 

"I should like to meet him," I said. "If I am to 
lodge with anyone, I should prefer a man of stu- 
dious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet 
to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough 
of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remain- 
der of my natural existence. How could I meet this 
friend of yours?" 

"He is sure to be at the laboratory," returned 
my companion. "He either avoids the place for 
weeks, or else he works there from morning to 
night. If you like, we shall drive round together 
after luncheon." 

"Certainly," I answered, and the conversation 
drifted away into other channels. 

As we made our way to the hospital after leav- 
ing the Holborn, Stamford gave me a few more 
particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed 
to take as a fellow-lodger. 

"You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with 
him," he said; "I know nothing more of him than 
I have learned from meeting him occasionally in 
the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so 
you must not hold me responsible." 

"If we don't get on it will be easy to part com- 
pany," I answered. "It seems to me, Stamford," I 
added, looking hard at my companion, "that you 
have some reason for washing your hands of the 


matter. Is this fellow's temper so formidable, or 
what is it? Don't be mealy-mouthed about it." 

"It is not easy to express the inexpressible," 
he answered with a laugh. "Holmes is a little 
too scientific for my tastes — it approaches to cold- 
bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a 
little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out 
of malevolence, you understand, but simply out 
of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate 
idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that 
he would take it himself with the same readiness. 
He appears to have a passion for definite and exact 
knowledge." 

"Very right too." 

"Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When 
it comes to beating the subjects in the dissecting- 
rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a 
bizarre shape." 

"Beating the subjects!" 

"Yes, to verify how far bruises may be pro- 
duced after death. I saw him at it with my own 
eyes." 

"And yet you say he is not a medical student?" 

"No. Heaven knows what the objects of his 
studies are. But here we are, and you must 
form your own impressions about him." As he 
spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed 
through a small side-door, which opened into a 
wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground 
to me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the 
bleak stone staircase and made our way down the 
long corridor with its vista of whitewashed wall 
and dun-coloured doors. Near the further end a 
low arched passage branched away from it and led 
to the chemical laboratory. 

This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered 
with countless bottles. Broad, low tables were scat- 
tered about, which bristled with retorts, test-tubes, 
and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering 
flames. There was only one student in the room, 
who was bending over a distant table absorbed in 
his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced 
round and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. 
"I've found it! I've found it," he shouted to my 
companion, running towards us with a test-tube in 
his hand. "I have found a re-agent which is precip- 
itated by hoemoglobin, and by nothing else." Had 
he discovered a gold mine, greater delight could 
not have shone upon his features. 

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Stam- 
ford, introducing us. 

"How are you?" he said cordially, gripping 
my hand with a strength for which I should 


8 



A Study In Scarlet 


hardly have given him credit. "You have been in 
Afghanistan, I perceive." 

"How on earth did you know that?" I asked in 
astonishment. 

"Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. 
"The question now is about hoemoglobin. No 
doubt you see the significance of this discovery of 
mine?" 

"It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," I an- 
swered, "but practically — " 

"Why, man, it is the most practical medico- 
legal discovery for years. Don't you see that it 
gives us an infallible test for blood stains. Come 
over here now!" He seized me by the coat-sleeve 
in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at 
which he had been working. "Let us have some 
fresh blood," he said, digging a long bodkin into 
his finger, and drawing off the resulting drop of 
blood in a chemical pipette. "Now, I add this small 
quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive 
that the resulting mixture has the appearance of 
pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be 
more than one in a million. I have no doubt, how- 
ever, that we shall be able to obtain the characteris- 
tic reaction." As he spoke, he threw into the vessel 
a few white crystals, and then added some drops 
of a transparent fluid. In an instant the contents 
assumed a dull mahogany colour, and a brownish 
dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar. 

"Ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and 
looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. 
"What do you think of that?" 

"It seems to be a very delicate test," I remarked. 

"Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test 
was very clumsy and uncertain. So is the micro- 
scopic examination for blood corpuscles. The lat- 
ter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. 
Now, this appears to act as well whether the blood 
is old or new. Had this test been invented, there 
are hundreds of men now walking the earth who 
would long ago have paid the penalty of their 
crimes." 

"Indeed!" I murmured. 

"Criminal cases are continually hinging upon 
that one point. A man is suspected of a crime 
months perhaps after it has been committed. His 
linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains 
discovered upon them. Are they blood stains, or 
mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what 
are they? That is a question which has puzzled 
many an expert, and why? Because there was no 
reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes' 
test, and there will no longer be any difficulty." 


His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put 
his hand over his heart and bowed as if to some ap- 
plauding crowd conjured up by his imagination. 

"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, con- 
siderably surprised at his enthusiasm. 

"There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frank- 
fort last year. He would certainly have been hung 
had this test been in existence. Then there was 
Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and 
Lefevre of Montpellier, and Samson of new Or- 
leans. I could name a score of cases in which it 
would have been decisive." 

"You seem to be a walking calendar of crime," 
said Stamford with a laugh. "You might start a pa- 
per on those lines. Call it the 'Police News of the 
Past.' " 

"Very interesting reading it might be made, 
too," remarked Sherlock Holmes, sticking a small 
piece of plaster over the prick on his finger. "I have 
to be careful," he continued, turning to me with a 
smile, "for I dabble with poisons a good deal." He 
held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that it 
was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster, 
and discoloured with strong acids. 

"We came here on business," said Stamford, sit- 
ting down on a high three-legged stool, and push- 
ing another one in my direction with his foot. "My 
friend here wants to take diggings, and as you 
were complaining that you could get no one to go 
halves with you, I thought that I had better bring 
you together." 

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea 
of sharing his rooms with me. "I have my eye on a 
suite in Baker Street," he said, "which would suit 
us down to the ground. You don't mind the smell 
of strong tobacco, I hope?" 

"I always smoke 'ship's' myself," I answered. 

"That's good enough. I generally have chem- 
icals about, and occasionally do experiments. 
Would that annoy you?" 

"By no means." 

"Let me see — what are my other shortcomings. 
I get in the dumps at times, and don't open my 
mouth for days on end. You must not think I am 
sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll 
soon be right. What have you to confess now? It's 
just as well for two fellows to know the worst of 
one another before they begin to live together." 

I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a 
bull pup," I said, "and I object to rows because 
my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of 
ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have 
another set of vices when I'm well, but those are 
the principal ones at present." 


9 



A Study In Scarlet 


"Do you include violin-playing in your cate- 
gory of rows?" he asked, anxiously 

"It depends on the player," I answered. "A 
well-played violin is a treat for the gods — a badly- 
played one — " 

"Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry 
laugh. "I think we may consider the thing as set- 
tled — that is, if the rooms are agreeable to you." 

"When shall we see them?" 

"Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll 
go together and settle everything," he answered. 

"All right — noon exactly," said I, shaking his 
hand. 

We left him working among his chemicals, and 
we walked together towards my hotel. 

"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping and 
turning upon Stamford, "how the deuce did he 
know that I had come from Afghanistan?" 


My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. 
"That's just his little peculiarity," he said. "A good 
many people have wanted to know how he finds 
things out." 

"Oh! a mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing my 
hands. "This is very piquant. I am much obliged 
to you for bringing us together. 'The proper study 
of mankind is man,' you know." 

"You must study him, then," Stamford said, as 
he bade me good-bye. "You'll find him a knotty 
problem, though. I'll wager he learns more about 
you than you about him. Good-bye." 

"Good-bye," I answered, and strolled on to my 
hotel, considerably interested in my new acquain- 
tance. 


CHAPTER II. 

The Science Of Deduction 


We met next day as he had arranged, and in- 
spected the rooms at No. 221B, Baker Street, of 
which he had spoken at our meeting. They con- 
sisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and 
a single large airy sitting-room, cheerfully fur- 
nished, and illuminated by two broad windows. 
So desirable in every way were the apartments, 
and so moderate did the terms seem when divided 
between us, that the bargain was concluded upon 
the spot, and we at once entered into possession. 
That very evening I moved my things round from 
the hotel, and on the following morning Sherlock 
Holmes followed me with several boxes and port- 
manteaus. For a day or two we were busily em- 
ployed in unpacking and laying out our property 
to the best advantage. That done, we gradually be- 
gan to settle down and to accommodate ourselves 
to our new surroundings. 

Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live 
with. He was quiet in his ways, and his habits 
were regular. It was rare for him to be up after ten 
at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and 
gone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes 
he spent his day at the chemical laboratory, some- 
times in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in 


long walks, which appeared to take him into the 
lowest portions of the City. Nothing could exceed 
his energy when the working fit was upon him; 
but now and again a reaction would seize him, and 
for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the 
sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a 
muscle from morning to night. On these occasions 
I have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in 
his eyes, that I might have suspected him of being 
addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the 
temperance and cleanliness of his whole life for- 
bidden such a notion. 

As the weeks went by, my interest in him and 
my curiosity as to his aims in life, gradually deep- 
ened and increased. His very person and appear- 
ance were such as to strike the attention of the 
most casual observer. In height he was rather over 
six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to 
be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and 
piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to 
which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose 
gave his whole expression an air of alertness and 
decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and 
squareness which mark the man of determination. 
His hands were invariably blotted with ink and 


10 



A Study In Scarlet 


stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of ex- 
traordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had 
occasion to observe when I watched him manipu- 
lating his fragile philosophical instruments. 

The reader may set me down as a hopeless 
busybody, when I confess how much this man 
stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeav- 
oured to break through the reticence which he 
showed on all that concerned himself. Before pro- 
nouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, 
how objectless was my life, and how little there 
was to engage my attention. My health forbade me 
from venturing out unless the weather was excep- 
tionally genial, and I had no friends who would 
call upon me and break the monotony of my daily 
existence. Under these circumstances, I eagerly 
hailed the little mystery which hung around my 
companion, and spent much of my time in endeav- 
ouring to unravel it. 

He was not studying medicine. He had him- 
self, in reply to a question, confirmed Stamford's 
opinion upon that point. Neither did he appear to 
have pursued any course of reading which might 
fit him for a degree in science or any other recog- 
nized portal which would give him an entrance 
into the learned world. Yet his zeal for certain 
studies was remarkable, and within eccentric lim- 
its his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample 
and minute that his observations have fairly as- 
tounded me. Surely no man would work so hard 
or attain such precise information unless he had 
some definite end in view. Desultory readers are 
seldom remarkable for the exactness of their learn- 
ing. No man burdens his mind with small matters 
unless he has some very good reason for doing so. 

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowl- 
edge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and 
politics he appeared to know next to nothing. 
Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired 
in the naivest way who he might be and what he 
had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, 
when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of 
the Copernican Theory and of the composition of 
the Solar System. That any civilized human being 
in this nineteenth century should not be aware that 
the earth travelled round the sun appeared to be to 
me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly 
realize it. 

"You appear to be astonished," he said, smil- 
ing at my expression of surprise. "Now that I do 
know it I shall do my best to forget it." 

"To forget it!" 

"You see," he explained, "I consider that a 
man's brain originally is like a little empty attic. 


and you have to stock it with such furniture as 
you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every 
sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge 
which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or 
at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so 
that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. 
Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as 
to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have 
nothing but the tools which may help him in doing 
his work, but of these he has a large assortment, 
and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to 
think that that little room has elastic walls and can 
distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes 
a time when for every addition of knowledge you 
forget something that you knew before. It is of the 
highest importance, therefore, not to have useless 
facts elbowing out the useful ones." 

"But the Solar System!" I protested. 

"What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted 
impatiently; "you say that we go round the sun. 
If we went round the moon it would not make a 
pennyworth of difference to me or to my work." 

I was on the point of asking him what that 
work might be, but something in his manner 
showed me that the question would be an unwel- 
come one. I pondered over our short conversa- 
tion, however, and endeavoured to draw my de- 
ductions from it. He said that he would acquire 
no knowledge which did not bear upon his object. 
Therefore all the knowledge which he possessed 
was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated 
in my own mind all the various points upon which 
he had shown me that he was exceptionally well- 
informed. I even took a pencil and jotted them 
down. I could not help smiling at the document 
when I had completed it. It ran in this way — 

Sherlock Holmes — his limits. 

1. Knowledge of Literature. — Nil. 

2. Philosophy. — Nil. 

3. Astronomy. — Nil. 

4. Politics. — Feeble. 

5. Botany. — Variable. Well up in belladonna, 
opium, and poisons generally. Knows noth- 
ing of practical gardening. 

6. Geology. — Practical, but limited. Tells at a 
glance different soils from each other. Af- 
ter walks has shown me splashes upon his 
trousers, and told me by their colour and 
consistence in what part of London he had 
received them. 

7. Chemistry. — Profound. 

8. Anatomy. — Accurate, but unsystematic. 


11 



A Study In Scarlet 


9. Sensational Literature. — Immense. He ap- 
pears to know every detail of every horror 
perpetrated in the century. 

10. Plays the violin well. 

11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and 
swordsman. 

12. Has a good practical knowledge of British 
law. 

When I had got so far in my list I threw it into 
the fire in despair. "If I can only find what the 
fellow is driving at by reconciling all these accom- 
plishments, and discovering a calling which needs 
them all," I said to myself, "I may as well give up 
the attempt at once." 

I see that I have alluded above to his pow- 
ers upon the violin. These were very remark- 
able, but as eccentric as all his other accomplish- 
ments. That he could play pieces, and difficult 
pieces, I knew well, because at my request he 
has played me some of Mendelssohn's Lieder, and 
other favourites. When left to himself, however, he 
would seldom produce any music or attempt any 
recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an 
evening, he would close his eyes and scrape care- 
lessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his 
knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and 
melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and 
cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which 
possessed him, but whether the music aided those 
thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the 
result of a whim or fancy was more than I could 
determine. I might have rebelled against these ex- 
asperating solos had it not been that he usually 
terminated them by playing in quick succession a 
whole series of my favourite airs as a slight com- 
pensation for the trial upon my patience. 

During the first week or so we had no callers, 
and I had begun to think that my companion was 
as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently, 
however, I found that he had many acquaintances, 
and those in the most different classes of society. 
There was one little sallow rat-faced, dark-eyed fel- 
low who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade, 
and who came three or four times in a single 
week. One morning a young girl called, fashion- 
ably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. 
The same afternoon brought a grey-headed, seedy 
visitor, looking like a Jew pedlar, who appeared 
to me to be much excited, and who was closely 
followed by a slipshod elderly woman. On an- 
other occasion an old white-haired gentleman had 
an interview with my companion; and on another 
a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. When 


any of these nondescript individuals put in an ap- 
pearance, Sherlock Holmes used to beg for the use 
of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed- 
room. He always apologized to me for putting me 
to this inconvenience. "I have to use this room as a 
place of business," he said, "and these people are 
my clients." Again I had an opportunity of asking 
him a point blank question, and again my delicacy 
prevented me from forcing another man to confide 
in me. I imagined at the time that he had some 
strong reason for not alluding to it, but he soon 
dispelled the idea by coming round to the subject 
of his own accord. 

It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good 
reason to remember, that I rose somewhat earlier 
than usual, and found that Sherlock Holmes had 
not yet finished his breakfast. The landlady had 
become so accustomed to my late habits that my 
place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared. 
With the unreasonable petulance of mankind I 
rang the bell and gave a curt intimation that I was 
ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the ta- 
ble and attempted to while away the time with it, 
while my companion munched silently at his toast. 
One of the articles had a pencil mark at the head- 
ing, and I naturally began to run my eye through 
it. 

Its somewhat ambitious title was "The Book of 
Life," and it attempted to show how much an ob- 
servant man might learn by an accurate and sys- 
tematic examination of all that came in his way. 
It struck me as being a remarkable mixture of 
shrewdness and of absurdity. The reasoning was 
close and intense, but the deductions appeared to 
me to be far-fetched and exaggerated. The writer 
claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch of a 
muscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man's 
inmost thoughts. Deceit, according to him, was an 
impossibility in the case of one trained to observa- 
tion and analysis. His conclusions were as infalli- 
ble as so many propositions of Euclid. So startling 
would his results appear to the uninitiated that un- 
til they learned the processes by which he had ar- 
rived at them they might well consider him as a 
necromancer. 

"From a drop of water," said the writer, "a lo- 
gician could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or 
a Niagara without having seen or heard of one or 
the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature 
of which is known whenever we are shown a sin- 
gle link of it. Like all other arts, the Science of 
Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be 
acquired by long and patient study nor is life long 
enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest 


12 



A Study In Scarlet 


possible perfection in it. Before turning to those 
moral and mental aspects of the matter which 
present the greatest difficulties, let the enquirer be- 
gin by mastering more elementary problems. Let 
him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance 
to distinguish the history of the man, and the trade 
or profession to which he belongs. Puerile as such 
an exercise may seem, it sharpens the faculties of 
observation, and teaches one where to look and 
what to look for. By a man's finger nails, by his 
coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouser knees, by 
the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his 
expression, by his shirt cuffs — by each of these 
things a man's calling is plainly revealed. That 
all united should fail to enlighten the competent 
enquirer in any case is almost inconceivable." 

"What ineffable twaddle!" I cried, slapping the 
magazine down on the table, "I never read such 
rubbish in my life." 

"What is it?" asked Sherlock Holmes. 

"Why, this article," I said, pointing at it with 
my egg spoon as I sat down to my breakfast. "I 
see that you have read it since you have marked it. 
I don't deny that it is smartly written. It irritates 
me though. It is evidently the theory of some arm- 
chair lounger who evolves all these neat little para- 
doxes in the seclusion of his own study. It is not 
practical. I should like to see him clapped down 
in a third class carriage on the Underground, and 
asked to give the trades of all his fellow-travellers. 
I would lay a thousand to one against him." 

"You would lose your money," Sherlock 
Holmes remarked calmly. "As for the article I 
wrote it myself." 

"You!" 

"Yes, I have a turn both for observation and for 
deduction. The theories which I have expressed 
there, and which appear to you to be so chimerical 
are really extremely practical — so practical that I 
depend upon them for my bread and cheese." 

"And how?" I asked involuntarily. 

"Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose 
I am the only one in the world. I'm a consult- 
ing detective, if you can understand what that is. 
Here in London we have lots of Government de- 
tectives and lots of private ones. When these fel- 
lows are at fault they come to me, and I manage 
to put them on the right scent. They lay all the ev- 
idence before me, and I am generally able, by the 
help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to 
set them straight. There is a strong family resem- 
blance about misdeeds, and if you have all the de- 
tails of a thousand at your finger ends, it is odd if 


you can't unravel the thousand and first. Lestrade 
is a well-known detective. He got himself into a 
fog recently over a forgery case, and that was what 
brought him here." 

"And these other people?" 

"They are mostly sent on by private inquiry 
agencies. They are all people who are in trouble 
about something, and want a little enlightening. I 
listen to their story, they listen to my comments, 
and then I pocket my fee." 

"But do you mean to say," I said, "that with- 
out leaving your room you can unravel some knot 
which other men can make nothing of, although 
they have seen every detail for themselves?" 

"Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. 
Now and again a case turns up which is a little 
more complex. Then I have to bustle about and see 
things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot of 
special knowledge which I apply to the problem, 
and which facilitates matters wonderfully. Those 
rules of deduction laid down in that article which 
aroused your scorn, are invaluable to me in prac- 
tical work. Observation with me is second na- 
ture. You appeared to be surprised when I told 
you, on our first meeting, that you had come from 
Afghanistan." 

"You were told, no doubt." 

"Nothing of the sort. I knew you came from 
Afghanistan. From long habit the train of thoughts 
ran so swiftly through my mind, that I arrived at 
the conclusion without being conscious of interme- 
diate steps. There were such steps, however. The 
train of reasoning ran, 'Here is a gentleman of a 
medical type, but with the air of a military man. 
Clearly an army doctor, then. He has just come 
from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is 
not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are 
fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as 
his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has been 
injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural man- 
ner. Where in the tropics could an English army 
doctor have seen much hardship and got his arm 
wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' The whole 
train of thought did not occupy a second. I then re- 
marked that you came from Afghanistan, and you 
were astonished." 

"It is simple enough as you explain it," I said, 
smiling. "You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe's 
Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did 
exist outside of stories." 

Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. "No 
doubt you think that you are complimenting me 
in comparing me to Dupin," he observed. "Now, 


13 



A Study In Scarlet 


in my opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. 
That trick of his of breaking in on his friends' 
thoughts with an apropos remark after a quarter of 
an hour's silence is really very showy and superfi- 
cial. He had some analytical genius, no doubt; but 
he was by no means such a phenomenon as Poe 
appeared to imagine." 

"Have you read Gaboriau's works?" I asked. 
"Does Lecoq come up to your idea of a detective?" 

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. "Lecoq 
was a miserable bungler," he said, in an angry 
voice; "he had only one thing to recommend him, 
and that was his energy. That book made me pos- 
itively ill. The question was how to identify an 
unknown prisoner. I could have done it in twenty- 
four hours. Lecoq took six months or so. It might 
be made a text-book for detectives to teach them 
what to avoid." 

I felt rather indignant at having two characters 
whom I had admired treated in this cavalier style. 
I walked over to the window, and stood looking 
out into the busy street. "This fellow may be very 
clever," I said to myself, "but he is certainly very 
conceited." 

"There are no crimes and no criminals in these 
days," he said, querulously. "What is the use of 
having brains in our profession? I know well that 
I have it in me to make my name famous. No 
man lives or has ever lived who has brought the 
same amount of study and of natural talent to 
the detection of crime which I have done. And 
what is the result? There is no crime to detect, or, 
at most, some bungling villany with a motive so 
transparent that even a Scotland Yard official can 
see through it." 


I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of 
conversation. I thought it best to change the topic. 

"I wonder what that fellow is looking for?" I 
asked, pointing to a stalwart, plainly-dressed in- 
dividual who was walking slowly down the other 
side of the street, looking anxiously at the num- 
bers. He had a large blue envelope in his hand, 
and was evidently the bearer of a message. 

"You mean the retired sergeant of Marines," 
said Sherlock Holmes. 

"Brag and bounce!" thought I to myself. "He 
knows that I cannot verify his guess." 

The thought had hardly passed through my 
mind when the man whom we were watching 
caught sight of the number on our door, and ran 
rapidly across the roadway. We heard a loud 
knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps as- 
cending the stair. 

"For Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he said, stepping 
into the room and handing my friend the letter. 

Here was an opportunity of taking the conceit 
out of him. He little thought of this when he made 
that random shot. "May I ask, my lad," I said, in 
the blandest voice, "what your trade may be?" 

"Commissionaire, sir," he said, gruffly. "Uni- 
form away for repairs." 

"And you were?" I asked, with a slightly mali- 
cious glance at my companion. 

"A sergeant, sir. Royal Marine Light Infantry, 
sir. No answer? Right, sir." 

He clicked his heels together, raised his hand 
in a salute, and was gone. 


CHAPTER IIP 

The Lauriston Garden Mystery 


I confess that I was considerably startled by 
this fresh proof of the practical nature of my 
companion's theories. My respect for his powers 
of analysis increased wondrously. There still re- 
mained some lurking suspicion in my mind, how- 
ever, that the whole thing was a pre-arranged 
episode, intended to dazzle me, though what 
earthly object he could have in taking me in was 


past my comprehension. When I looked at him 
he had finished reading the note, and his eyes had 
assumed the vacant, lack-lustre expression which 
showed mental abstraction. 

"How in the world did you deduce that?" I 
asked. 

"Deduce what?" said he, petulantly. 


14 



A Study In Scarlet 


"Why, that he was a retired sergeant of 
Marines." 

"I have no time for trifles," he answered, 
brusquely; then with a smile, "Excuse my rude- 
ness. You broke the thread of my thoughts; but 
perhaps it is as well. So you actually were not able 
to see that that man was a sergeant of Marines?" 

"No, indeed." 

"It was easier to know it than to explain why 
I knew it. If you were asked to prove that two 
and two made four, you might find some difficulty, 
and yet you are quite sure of the fact. Even across 
the street I could see a great blue anchor tattooed 
on the back of the fellow's hand. That smacked 
of the sea. He had a military carriage, however, 
and regulation side whiskers. There we have the 
marine. He was a man with some amount of self- 
importance and a certain air of command. You 
must have observed the way in which he held his 
head and swung his cane. A steady, respectable, 
middle-aged man, too, on the face of him — all 
facts which led me to believe that he had been a 
sergeant." 

"Wonderful!" I ejaculated. 

"Commonplace," said Holmes, though I 
thought from his expression that he was pleased 
at my evident surprise and admiration. "I said just 
now that there were no criminals. It appears that 
I am wrong — look at this!" He threw me over the 
note which the commissionaire had brought. 

"Why," I cried, as I cast my eye over it, "this is 
terrible!" 

"It does seem to be a little out of the common," 
he remarked, calmly. "Would you mind reading it 
to me aloud?" 

This is the letter which I read to him — 

"My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes: 

"There has been a bad business dur- 
ing the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens, 
off the Brixton Road. Our man on the 
beat saw a light there about two in 
the morning, and as the house was an 
empty one, suspected that something 
was amiss. He found the door open, 
and in the front room, which is bare 
of furniture, discovered the body of a 
gentleman, well dressed, and having 
cards in his pocket bearing the name 
of 'Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, 
U.S.A.' There had been no robbery, nor 
is there any evidence as to how the 
man met his death. There are marks 


of blood in the room, but there is no 
wound upon his person. We are at a 
loss as to how he came into the empty 
house; indeed, the whole affair is a 
puzzler. If you can come round to the 
house any time before twelve, you will 
find me there. I have left everything 
in statu quo until I hear from you. If 
you are unable to come I shall give you 
fuller details, and would esteem it a 
great kindness if you would favour me 
with your opinion. 

"Yours faithfully, 
"Tobias Gregson." 

"Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland 
Yarders," my friend remarked; "he and Lestrade 
are the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick and 
energetic, but conventional — shockingly so. They 
have their knives into one another, too. They are 
as jealous as a pair of professional beauties. There 
will be some fun over this case if they are both put 
upon the scent." 

I was amazed at the calm way in which he rip- 
pled on. "Surely there is not a moment to be lost," 
I cried, "shall I go and order you a cab?" 

"I'm not sure about whether I shall go. I am the 
most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe 
leather — that is, when the fit is on me, for I can be 
spry enough at times." 

"Why, it is just such a chance as you have been 
longing for." 

"My dear fellow, what does it matter to me. 
Supposing I unravel the whole matter, you may be 
sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co. will pocket 
all the credit. That comes of being an unofficial 
personage." 

"But he begs you to help him." 

"Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and ac- 
knowledges it to me; but he would cut his tongue 
out before he would own it to any third person. 
However, we may as well go and have a look. I 
shall work it out on my own hook. I may have a 
laugh at them if I have nothing else. Come on!" 

He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about 
in a way that showed that an energetic fit had su- 
perseded the apathetic one. 

"Get your hat," he said. 

"You wish me to come?" 

"Yes, if you have nothing better to do." A 
minute later we were both in a hansom, driving 
furiously for the Brixton Road. 

It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun- 
coloured veil hung over the house-tops, looking 


15 



A Study In Scarlet 


like the reflection of the mud-coloured streets be- 
neath. My companion was in the best of spirits, 
and prattled away about Cremona fiddles, and the 
difference between a Stradivarius and an Amati. 
As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather 
and the melancholy business upon which we were 
engaged, depressed my spirits. 

"You don't seem to give much thought to 
the matter in hand," I said at last, interrupting 
Holmes' musical disquisition. 

"No data yet," he answered. "It is a capital mis- 
take to theorize before you have all the evidence. 
It biases the judgment." 

"You will have your data soon," I remarked, 
pointing with my finger; "this is the Brixton Road, 
and that is the house, if I am not very much mis- 
taken." 

"So it is. Stop, driver, stop!" We were still a 
hundred yards or so from it, but he insisted upon 
our alighting, and we finished our journey upon 
foot. 

Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill- 
omened and minatory look. It was one of four 
which stood back some little way from the street, 
two being occupied and two empty. The latter 
looked out with three tiers of vacant melancholy 
windows, which were blank and dreary, save that 
here and there a "To Let" card had developed like 
a cataract upon the bleared panes. A small gar- 
den sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of 
sickly plants separated each of these houses from 
the street, and was traversed by a narrow path- 
way, yellowish in colour, and consisting apparently 
of a mixture of clay and of gravel. The whole 
place was very sloppy from the rain which had 
fallen through the night. The garden was bounded 
by a three-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood 
rails upon the top, and against this wall was lean- 
ing a stalwart police constable, surrounded by a 
small knot of loafers, who craned their necks and 
strained their eyes in the vain hope of catching 
some glimpse of the proceedings within. 

I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would 
at once have hurried into the house and plunged 
into a study of the mystery. Nothing appeared to 
be further from his intention. With an air of non- 
chalance which, under the circumstances, seemed 
to me to border upon affectation, he lounged up 
and down the pavement, and gazed vacantly at the 
ground, the sky, the opposite houses and the line 
of railings. Having finished his scrutiny, he pro- 
ceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the 
fringe of grass which flanked the path, keeping his 
eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice he stopped. 


and once I saw him smile, and heard him utter 
an exclamation of satisfaction. There were many 
marks of footsteps upon the wet clayey soil, but 
since the police had been coming and going over 
it, I was unable to see how my companion could 
hope to learn anything from it. Still I had had such 
extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his per- 
ceptive faculties, that I had no doubt that he could 
see a great deal which was hidden from me. 

At the door of the house we were met by a 
tall, white-faced, flaxen-haired man, with a note- 
book in his hand, who rushed forward and wrung 
my companion's hand with effusion. "It is indeed 
kind of you to come," he said, "I have had every- 
thing left untouched." 

"Except that!" my friend answered, pointing at 
the pathway. "If a herd of buffaloes had passed 
along there could not be a greater mess. No doubt, 
however, you had drawn your own conclusions, 
Gregson, before you permitted this." 

"I have had so much to do inside the house," 
the detective said evasively. "My colleague, Mr. 
Lestrade, is here. I had relied upon him to look 
after this." 

Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows 
sardonically. "With two such men as yourself and 
Lestrade upon the ground, there will not be much 
for a third party to find out," he said. 

Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied 
way. "I think we have done all that can be done," 
he answered; "it's a queer case though, and I knew 
your taste for such things." 

"You did not come here in a cab?" asked Sher- 
lock Holmes. 

"No, sir." 

"Nor Lestrade?" 

"No, sir." 

"Then let us go and look at the room." With 
which inconsequent remark he strode on into the 
house, followed by Gregson, whose features ex- 
pressed his astonishment. 

A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led 
to the kitchen and offices. Two doors opened out 
of it to the left and to the right. One of these had 
obviously been closed for many weeks. The other 
belonged to the dining-room, which was the apart- 
ment in which the mysterious affair had occurred. 
Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that 
subdued feeling at my heart which the presence of 
death inspires. 

It was a large square room, looking all the 
larger from the absence of all furniture. A vul- 
gar flaring paper adorned the walls, but it was 
blotched in places with mildew, and here and there 


16 



A Study In Scarlet 


great strips had become detached and hung down, 
exposing the yellow plaster beneath. Opposite the 
door was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a man- 
telpiece of imitation white marble. On one corner 
of this was stuck the stump of a red wax candle. 
The solitary window was so dirty that the light 
was hazy and uncertain, giving a dull grey tinge 
to everything, which was intensified by the thick 
layer of dust which coated the whole apartment. 

All these details I observed afterwards. At 
present my attention was centred upon the sin- 
gle grim motionless figure which lay stretched 
upon the boards, with vacant sightless eyes star- 
ing up at the discoloured ceiling. It was that of a 
man about forty-three or forty-four years of age, 
middle-sized, broad shouldered, with crisp curl- 
ing black hair, and a short stubbly beard. He 
was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat and 
waistcoat, with light-coloured trousers, and im- 
maculate collar and cuffs. A top hat, well brushed 
and trim, was placed upon the floor beside him. 
His hands were clenched and his arms thrown 
abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked 
as though his death struggle had been a grievous 
one. On his rigid face there stood an expression 
of horror, and as it seemed to me, of hatred, such 
as I have never seen upon human features. This 
malignant and terrible contortion, combined with 
the low forehead, blunt nose, and prognathous 
jaw gave the dead man a singularly simious and 
ape-like appearance, which was increased by his 
writhing, unnatural posture. I have seen death in 
many forms, but never has it appeared to me in 
a more fearsome aspect than in that dark grimy 
apartment, which looked out upon one of the main 
arteries of suburban London. 

Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was 
standing by the doorway, and greeted my compan- 
ion and myself. 

"This case will make a stir, sir," he remarked. 
"It beats anything I have seen, and I am no 
chicken." 

"There is no clue?" said Gregson. 

"None at all," chimed in Lestrade. 

Sherlock Holmes approached the body, and, 
kneeling down, examined it intently. "You are sure 
that there is no wound?" he asked, pointing to nu- 
merous gouts and splashes of blood which lay all 
round. 

"Positive!" cried both detectives. 

"Then, of course, this blood belongs to a sec- 
ond individual — presumably the murderer, if mur- 
der has been committed. It reminds me of the cir- 
cumstances attendant on the death of Van Jansen, 


in Utrecht, in the year '34. Do you remember the 
case, Gregson?" 

"No, sir." 

"Read it up — you really should. There is noth- 
ing new under the sun. It has all been done be- 
fore." 

As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying 
here, there, and everywhere, feeling, pressing, un- 
buttoning, examining, while his eyes wore the 
same far-away expression which I have already 
remarked upon. So swiftly was the examination 
made, that one would hardly have guessed the 
minuteness with which it was conducted. Finally, 
he sniffed the dead man's lips, and then glanced 
at the soles of his patent leather boots. 

"He has not been moved at all?" he asked. 

"No more than was necessary for the purposes 
of our examination." 

"You can take him to the mortuary now," he 
said. "There is nothing more to be learned." 

Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. 
At his call they entered the room, and the stranger 
was lifted and carried out. As they raised him, 
a ring tinkled down and rolled across the floor. 
Lestrade grabbed it up and stared at it with mys- 
tified eyes. 

"There's been a woman here," he cried. "It's a 
woman's wedding-ring." 

He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of 
his hand. We all gathered round him and gazed 
at it. There could be no doubt that that circlet of 
plain gold had once adorned the finger of a bride. 

"This complicates matters," said Gregson. 
"Heaven knows, they were complicated enough 
before." 

"You're sure it doesn't simplify them?" ob- 
served Holmes. "There's nothing to be learned by 
staring at it. What did you find in his pockets?" 

"We have it all here," said Gregson, pointing 
to a litter of objects upon one of the bottom steps 
of the stairs. "A gold watch. No. 97163, by Bar- 
raud, of London. Gold Albert chain, very heavy 
and solid. Gold ring, with masonic device. Gold 
pin — bull-dog's head, with rubies as eyes. Russian 
leather card-case, with cards of Enoch J. Drebber 
of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D. upon 
the linen. No purse, but loose money to the extent 
of seven pounds thirteen. Pocket edition of Boccac- 
cio's 'Decameron,' with name of Joseph Stanger- 
son upon the fly-leaf. Two letters — one addressed 
to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stangerson." 

"At what address?" 


17 



A Study In Scarlet 


"American Exchange, Strand — to be left till 
called for. They are both from the Guion 
Steamship Company, and refer to the sailing of 
their boats from Liverpool. It is clear that this un- 
fortunate man was about to return to New York." 

"Have you made any inquiries as to this man, 
Stangerson?" 

"I did it at once, sir," said Gregson. "I have had 
advertisements sent to all the newspapers, and one 
of my men has gone to the American Exchange, 
but he has not returned yet." 

"Have you sent to Cleveland?" 

"We telegraphed this morning." 

"How did you word your inquiries?" 

"We simply detailed the circumstances, and 
said that we should be glad of any information 
which could help us." 

"You did not ask for particulars on any point 
which appeared to you to be crucial?" 

"I asked about Stangerson." 

"Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on 
which this whole case appears to hinge? Will you 
not telegraph again?" 

"I have said all I have to say," said Gregson, in 
an offended voice. 

Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and ap- 
peared to be about to make some remark, when 
Lestrade, who had been in the front room while 
we were holding this conversation in the hall, reap- 
peared upon the scene, rubbing his hands in a 
pompous and self-satisfied manner. 

"Mr. Gregson," he said, "I have just made a dis- 
covery of the highest importance, and one which 
would have been overlooked had I not made a 
careful examination of the walls." 

The little man's eyes sparkled as he spoke, and 
he was evidently in a state of suppressed exulta- 
tion at having scored a point against his colleague. 

"Come here," he said, bustling back into the 
room, the atmosphere of which felt clearer since 
the removal of its ghastly inmate. "Now, stand 
there!" 

He struck a match on his boot and held it up 
against the wall. 

"Look at that!" he said, triumphantly. 

I have remarked that the paper had fallen away 
in parts. In this particular corner of the room a 
large piece had peeled off, leaving a yellow square 
of coarse plastering. Across this bare space there 
was scrawled in blood-red letters a single word — 
RACHE. 


"What do you think of that?" cried the detective, 
with the air of a showman exhibiting his show. 
"This was overlooked because it was in the darkest 
corner of the room, and no one thought of looking 
there. The murderer has written it with his or her 
own blood. See this smear where it has trickled 
down the wall! That disposes of the idea of sui- 
cide anyhow. Why was that corner chosen to write 
it on? I will tell you. See that candle on the man- 
telpiece. It was lit at the time, and if it was lit this 
corner would be the brightest instead of the dark- 
est portion of the wall." 

"And what does it mean now that you have 
found it?" asked Gregson in a depreciatory voice. 

"Mean? Why, it means that the writer was 
going to put the female name Rachel, but was 
disturbed before he or she had time to finish. 
You mark my words, when this case comes to 
be cleared up you will find that a woman named 
Rachel has something to do with it. It's all very 
well for you to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You 
may be very smart and clever, but the old hound 
is the best, when all is said and done." 

"I really beg your pardon!" said my compan- 
ion, who had ruffled the little man's temper by 
bursting into an explosion of laughter. "You cer- 
tainly have the credit of being the first of us to 
find this out, and, as you say, it bears every mark 
of having been written by the other participant in 
last night's mystery. I have not had time to exam- 
ine this room yet, but with your permission I shall 
do so now." 

As he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and 
a large round magnifying glass from his pocket. 
With these two implements he trotted noiselessly 
about the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally 
kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face. So 
engrossed was he with his occupation that he ap- 
peared to have forgotten our presence, for he chat- 
tered away to himself under his breath the whole 
time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, 
groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of en- 
couragement and of hope. As I watched him I 
was irresistibly reminded of a pure-blooded well- 
trained foxhound as it dashes backwards and for- 
wards through the covert, whining in its eagerness, 
until it comes across the lost scent. For twenty 
minutes or more he continued his researches, mea- 
suring with the most exact care the distance be- 
tween marks which were entirely invisible to me, 
and occasionally applying his tape to the walls in 
an equally incomprehensible manner. In one place 
he gathered up very carefully a little pile of grey 


r8 



A Study In Scarlet 


dust from the floor, and packed it away in an enve- 
lope. Finally, he examined with his glass the word 
upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the 
most minute exactness. This done, he appeared to 
be satisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glass 
in his pocket. 

"They say that genius is an infinite capacity for 
taking pains," he remarked with a smile. "It's a 
very bad definition, but it does apply to detective 
work." 

Gregson and Lestrade had watched the 
manoeuvres of their amateur companion with con- 
siderable curiosity and some contempt. They evi- 
dently failed to appreciate the fact, which I had be- 
gun to realize, that Sherlock Holmes' smallest ac- 
tions were all directed towards some definite and 
practical end. 

"What do you think of it, sir?" they both asked. 

"It would be robbing you of the credit of the 
case if I was to presume to help you," remarked 
my friend. "You are doing so well now that it 
would be a pity for anyone to interfere." There was 
a world of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. "If you 
will let me know how your investigations go," he 
continued, "I shall be happy to give you any help I 
can. In the meantime I should like to speak to the 
constable who found the body. Can you give me 
his name and address?" 


Lestrade glanced at his note-book. "John 
Ranee," he said. "He is off duty now. You will find 
him at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate." 

Holmes took a note of the address. 

"Come along. Doctor," he said; "we shall go 
and look him up. I'll tell you one thing which may 
help you in the case," he continued, turning to the 
two detectives. "There has been murder done, and 
the murderer was a man. He was more than six 
feet high, was in the prime of life, had small feet 
for his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots and 
smoked a Trichinopoly cigar. He came here with 
his victim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawn 
by a horse with three old shoes and one new one 
on his off fore leg. In all probability the murderer 
had a florid face, and the finger-nails of his right 
hand were remarkably long. These are only a few 
indications, but they may assist you." 

Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other 
with an incredulous smile. 

"If this man was murdered, how was it done?" 
asked the former. 

"Poison," said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and 
strode off. "One other thing, Lestrade," he added, 
turning round at the door: " 'Rache/ is the Ger- 
man for 'revenge;' so don't lose your time looking 
for Miss Rachel." 

With which Parthian shot he walked away, 
leaving the two rivals open-mouthed behind him. 


CHAPTER IV. 

What John Rance Had To Tell 


It was one o'clock when we left No. 3, Lau- 
riston Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led me to the 
nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched a 
long telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered 
the driver to take us to the address given us by 
Lestrade. 

"There is nothing like first hand evidence," he 
remarked; "as a matter of fact, my mind is entirely 
made up upon the case, but still we may as well 
learn all that is to be learned." 

"You amaze me. Holmes," said I. "Surely you 
are not as sure as you pretend to be of all those 
particulars which you gave." 


"There's no room for a mistake," he answered. 
"The very first thing which I observed on arriving 
there was that a cab had made two ruts with its 
wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we 
have had no rain for a week, so that those wheels 
which left such a deep impression must have been 
there during the night. There were the marks of 
the horse's hoofs, too, the outline of one of which 
was far more clearly cut than that of the other 
three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since 
the cab was there after the rain began, and was 
not there at any time during the morning — I have 
Gregson's word for that — it follows that it must 


19 



A Study In Scarlet 


have been there during the night, and, therefore, 
that it brought those two individuals to the house." 

"That seems simple enough," said I; "but how 
about the other man's height?" 

"Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out 
of ten, can be told from the length of his stride. 
It is a simple calculation enough, though there is 
no use my boring you with figures. I had this fel- 
low's stride both on the clay outside and on the 
dust within. Then I had a way of checking my cal- 
culation. When a man writes on a wall, his instinct 
leads him to write about the level of his own eyes. 
Now that writing was just over six feet from the 
ground. It was child's play." 

"And his age?" I asked. 

"Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet 
without the smallest effort, he can't be quite in 
the sere and yellow. That was the breadth of a 
puddle on the garden walk which he had evi- 
dently walked across. Patent-leather boots had 
gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over. 
There is no mystery about it at all. I am simply 
applying to ordinary life a few of those precepts 
of observation and deduction which I advocated 
in that article. Is there anything else that puzzles 
you?" 

"The finger nails and the Trichinopoly," I sug- 
gested. 

"The writing on the wall was done with a 
man's forefinger dipped in blood. My glass al- 
lowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly 
scratched in doing it, which would not have been 
the case if the man's nail had been trimmed. I 
gathered up some scattered ash from the floor. It 
was dark in colour and flakey — such an ash as is 
only made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a spe- 
cial study of cigar ashes — in fact, I have written a 
monograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that 
I can distinguish at a glance the ash of any known 
brand, either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just in 
such details that the skilled detective differs from 
the Gregson and Lestrade type." 

"And the florid face?" I asked. 

"Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I 
have no doubt that I was right. You must not ask 
me that at the present state of the affair." 

I passed my hand over my brow. "My head 
is in a whirl," I remarked; "the more one thinks 
of it the more mysterious it grows. How came 
these two men — if there were two men — into an 
empty house? What has become of the cabman 
who drove them? How could one man compel an- 
other to take poison? Where did the blood come 


from? What was the object of the murderer, since 
robbery had no part in it? How came the woman's 
ring there? Above all, why should the second 
man write up the German word RACHE before 
decamping? I confess that I cannot see any possi- 
ble way of reconciling all these facts." 

My companion smiled approvingly. 

"You sum up the difficulties of the situation 
succinctly and well," he said. "There is much that 
is still obscure, though I have quite made up my 
mind on the main facts. As to poor Lestrade's dis- 
covery it was simply a blind intended to put the 
police upon a wrong track, by suggesting Social- 
ism and secret societies. It was not done by a Ger- 
man. The A, if you noticed, was printed somewhat 
after the German fashion. Now, a real German in- 
variably prints in the Latin character, so that we 
may safely say that this was not written by one, but 
by a clumsy imitator who overdid his part. It was 
simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong chan- 
nel. I'm not going to tell you much more of the 
case. Doctor. You know a conjuror gets no credit 
when once he has explained his trick, and if I show 
you too much of my method of working, you will 
come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary 
individual after all." 

"I shall never do that," I answered; "you have 
brought detection as near an exact science as it ever 
will be brought in this world." 

My companion flushed up with pleasure at my 
words, and the earnest way in which I uttered 
them. I had already observed that he was as sen- 
sitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl 
could be of her beauty. 

"I'll tell you one other thing," he said. "Patent- 
leathers and Square-toes came in the same cab, 
and they walked down the pathway together as 
friendly as possible — arm-in-arm, in all probabil- 
ity. When they got inside they walked up and 
down the room — or rather. Patent-leathers stood 
still while Square-toes walked up and down. I 
could read all that in the dust; and I could read 
that as he walked he grew more and more ex- 
cited. That is shown by the increased length of his 
strides. He was talking all the while, and working 
himself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy 
occurred. I've told you all I know myself now, for 
the rest is mere surmise and conjecture. We have 
a good working basis, however, on which to start. 
We must hurry up, for I want to go to Halle's con- 
cert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon." 

This conversation had occurred while our cab 
had been threading its way through a long suc- 
cession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. In 


20 



A Study In Scarlet 


the dingiest and dreariest of them our driver sud- 
denly came to a stand. "That's Audley Court in 
there," he said, pointing to a narrow slit in the line 
of dead-coloured brick. "You'll find me here when 
you come back." 

Audley Court was not an attractive locality. 
The narrow passage led us into a quadrangle 
paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. 
We picked our way among groups of dirty chil- 
dren, and through lines of discoloured linen, until 
we came to Number 46, the door of which was 
decorated with a small slip of brass on which the 
name Ranee was engraved. Qn enquiry we found 
that the constable was in bed, and we were shown 
into a little front parlour to await his coming. 

He appeared presently, looking a little irritable 
at being disturbed in his slumbers. "I made my 
report at the office," he said. 

Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket 
and played with it pensively. "We thought that we 
should like to hear it all from your own lips," he 
said. 

"I shall be most happy to tell you anything I 
can," the constable answered with his eyes upon 
the little golden disk. 

"Just let us hear it all in your own way as it 
occurred." 

Ranee sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knit- 
ted his brows as though determined not to omit 
anything in his narrative. 

"I'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. 
"My time is from ten at night to six in the morn- 
ing. At eleven there was a fight at the 'White 
Hart'; but bar that all was quiet enough on the 
beat. At one o'clock it began to rain, and I met 
Harry Murcher — him who has the Holland Grove 
beat — and we stood together at the corner of Hen- 
rietta Street a-talkin'. Presently — maybe about two 
or a little after — I thought I would take a look 
round and see that all was right down the Brix- 
ton Road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not a 
soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab or 
two went past me. I was a strollin' down, thinkin' 
between ourselves how uncommon handy a four 
of gin hot would be, when suddenly the glint of 
a light caught my eye in the window of that same 
house. Now, I knew that them two houses in Lau- 
riston Gardens was empty on account of him that 
owns them who won't have the drains seed to, 
though the very last tenant what lived in one of 
them died o' typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a 
heap therefore at seeing a light in the window, and 
I suspected as something was wrong. When I got 
to the door — " 


"You stopped, and then walked back to the gar- 
den gate," my companion interrupted. "What did 
you do that for?" 

Ranee gave a violent jump, and stared at Sher- 
lock Holmes with the utmost amazement upon his 
features. 

"Why, that's true, sir," he said; "though how 
you come to know it. Heaven only knows. Ye see, 
when I got up to the door it was so still and so 
lonesome, that I thought I'd be none the worse for 
some one with me. I ain't afeared of anything on 
this side o' the grave; but I thought that maybe it 
was him that died o' the typhoid inspecting the 
drains what killed him. The thought gave me a 
kind o' turn, and I walked back to the gate to see 
if I could see Murcher 's lantern, but there wasn't 
no sign of him nor of anyone else." 

"There was no one in the street?" 

"Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. 
Then I pulled myself together and went back and 
pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, 
so I went into the room where the light was a- 
burnin'. There was a candle flickerin' on the man- 
telpiece — a red wax one — and by its light I saw — " 

"Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked 
round the room several times, and you knelt down 
by the body, and then you walked through and 
tried the kitchen door, and then — " 

John Ranee sprang to his feet with a frightened 
face and suspicion in his eyes. "Where was you 
hid to see all that?" he cried. "It seems to me that 
you knows a deal more than you should." 

Holmes laughed and threw his card across the 
table to the constable. "Don't get arresting me for 
the murder," he said. "I am one of the hounds and 
not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will an- 
swer for that. Go on, though. What did you do 
next?" 

Ranee resumed his seat, without however los- 
ing his mystified expression. "I went back to 
the gate and sounded my whistle. That brought 
Murcher and two more to the spot." 

"Was the street empty then?" 

"Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be 
of any good goes." 

"What do you mean?" 

The constable's features broadened into a grin. 
"I've seen many a drunk chap in my time," he said, 
"but never anyone so cryin' drunk as that cove. He 
was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin' up ag'in 
the railings, and a-singin' at the pitch o' his lungs 
about Columbine's New-fangled Banner, or some 
such stuff. He couldn't stand, far less help." 


21 



A Study In Scarlet 


"What sort of a man was he?" asked Sherlock 
Holmes. 

John Ranee appeared to be somewhat irritated 
at this digression. "He was an uncommon drunk 
sort o' man," he said. "He'd ha' found hisself in 
the station if we hadn't been so took up." 

"His face — his dress — didn't you notice them?" 
Holmes broke in impatiently. 

"I should think I did notice them, seeing that 
I had to prop him up — me and Murcher between 
us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower 
part muffled round — " 

"That will do," cried Holmes. "What became 
of him?" 

"We'd enough to do without lookin' after him," 
the policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. "I'll wa- 
ger he found his way home all right." 

"How was he dressed?" 

"A brown overcoat." 

"Had he a whip in his hand?" 

"A whip — no." 

"He must have left it behind," muttered my 
companion. "You didn't happen to see or hear a 
cab after that?" 

"No." 

"There's a half-sovereign for you," my compan- 
ion said, standing up and taking his hat. "I am 
afraid. Ranee, that you will never rise in the force. 
That head of yours should be for use as well as 
ornament. You might have gained your sergeant's 
stripes last night. The man whom you held in your 


hands is the man who holds the clue of this mys- 
tery, and whom we are seeking. There is no use of 
arguing about it now; I tell you that it is so. Come 
along. Doctor." 

We started off for the cab together, leaving our 
informant incredulous, but obviously uncomfort- 
able. 

"The blundering fool," Holmes said, bitterly, as 
we drove back to our lodgings. "Just to think of his 
having such an incomparable bit of good luck, and 
not taking advantage of it." 

"I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the 
description of this man tallies with your idea of 
the second party in this mystery. But why should 
he come back to the house after leaving it? That is 
not the way of criminals." 

"The ring, man, the ring: that was what he 
came back for. If we have no other way of catching 
him, we can always bait our line with the ring. I 
shall have him. Doctor — I'll lay you two to one that 
I have him. I must thank you for it all. I might 
not have gone but for you, and so have missed 
the finest study I ever came across: a study in 
scarlet, eh? Why shouldn't we use a little art jar- 
gon. There's the scarlet thread of murder running 
through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is 
to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch 
of it. And now for lunch, and then for Norman 
Neruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid. 
What's that little thing of Chopin's she plays so 
magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay." 

Leaning back in the cab, this amateur blood- 
hound carolled away like a lark while I meditated 
upon the many-sidedness of the human mind. 


CHAPTER V. 

Our Advertisement Brings A Visitor 


Our morning's exertions had been too much 
for my weak health, and I was tired out in the af- 
ternoon. After Holmes' departure for the concert, 
I lay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get 
a couple of hours' sleep. It was a useless attempt. 
My mind had been too much excited by all that 
had occurred, and the strangest fancies and sur- 
mises crowded into it. Every time that I closed 


my eyes I saw before me the distorted baboon- 
like countenance of the murdered man. So sinister 
was the impression which that face had produced 
upon me that I found it difficult to feel anything 
but gratitude for him who had removed its owner 
from the world. If ever human features bespoke 
vice of the most malignant type, they were cer- 
tainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland. Still 


22 



A Study In Scarlet 


I recognized that justice must be done, and that 
the depravity of the victim was no condonement 
in the eyes of the law. 

The more I thought of it the more extraordinary 
did my companion's hypothesis, that the man had 
been poisoned, appear. I remembered how he had 
sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had de- 
tected something which had given rise to the idea. 
Then, again, if not poison, what had caused the 
man's death, since there was neither wound nor 
marks of strangulation? But, on the other hand, 
whose blood was that which lay so thickly upon 
the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor 
had the victim any weapon with which he might 
have wounded an antagonist. As long as all these 
questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be 
no easy matter, either for Holmes or myself. His 
quiet self-confident manner convinced me that he 
had already formed a theory which explained all 
the facts, though what it was I could not for an 
instant conjecture. 

He was very late in returning — so late, that I 
knew that the concert could not have detained him 
all the time. Dinner was on the table before he ap- 
peared. 

"It was magnificent," he said, as he took his 
seat. "Do you remember what Darwin says about 
music? He claims that the power of producing and 
appreciating it existed among the human race long 
before the power of speech was arrived at. Perhaps 
that is why we are so subtly influenced by it. There 
are vague memories in our souls of those misty 
centuries when the world was in its childhood." 

"That's rather a broad idea," I remarked. 

"One's ideas must be as broad as Nature if they 
are to interpret Nature," he answered. "What's the 
matter? You're not looking quite yourself. This 
Brixton Road affair has upset you." 

"To tell the truth, it has," I said. "I ought to be 
more case-hardened after my Afghan experiences. 
I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at Mai- 
wand without losing my nerve." 

"I can understand. There is a mystery about 
this which stimulates the imagination; where there 
is no imagination there is no horror. Have you seen 
the evening paper?" 

"No." 

"It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It 
does not mention the fact that when the man was 
raised up, a woman's wedding ring fell upon the 
floor. It is just as well it does not." 

"Why?" 


"Look at this advertisement," he answered. "I 
had one sent to every paper this morning immedi- 
ately after the affair. " 

He threw the paper across to me and I glanced 
at the place indicated. It was the first announce- 
ment in the "Found" column. "In Brixton Road, 
this morning," it ran, "a plain gold wedding ring, 
found in the roadway between the 'White Hart' 
Tavern and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson, 
221B, Baker Street, between eight and nine this 
evening." 

"Excuse my using your name," he said. "If I 
used my own some of these dunderheads would 
recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair." 

"That is all right," I answered. "But supposing 
anyone applies, I have no ring." 

"Oh yes, you have," said he, handing me one. 
"This will do very well. It is almost a facsimile." 

"And who do you expect will answer this ad- 
vertisement." 

"Why, the man in the brown coat — our florid 
friend with the square toes. If he does not come 
himself he will send an accomplice." 

"Would he not consider it as too dangerous?" 

"Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, 
and I have every reason to believe that it is, this 
man would rather risk anything than lose the ring. 
According to my notion he dropped it while stoop- 
ing over Drebber's body, and did not miss it at 
the time. After leaving the house he discovered 
his loss and hurried back, but found the police al- 
ready in possession, owing to his own folly in leav- 
ing the candle burning. He had to pretend to be 
drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might 
have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. 
Now put yourself in that man's place. On think- 
ing the matter over, it must have occurred to him 
that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the 
road after leaving the house. What would he do, 
then? He would eagerly look out for the evening 
papers in the hope of seeing it among the arti- 
cles found. His eye, of course, would light upon 
this. He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear 
a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why 
the finding of the ring should be connected with 
the murder. He would come. He will come. You 
shall see him within an hour." 

"And then?" I asked. 

"Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. 
Have you any arms?" 

"I have my old service revolver and a few car- 
tridges." 


23 



A Study In Scarlet 


"You had better clean it and load it. He will 
be a desperate man, and though I shall take him 
unawares, it is as well to be ready for anything." 

I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. 
When I returned with the pistol the table had been 
cleared, and Holmes was engaged in his favourite 
occupation of scraping upon his violin. 

"The plot thickens," he said, as I entered; "I 
have just had an answer to my American telegram. 
My view of the case is the correct one." 

"And that is?" I asked eagerly. 

"My fiddle would be the better for new 
strings," he remarked. "Put your pistol in your 
pocket. When the fellow comes speak to him in an 
ordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don't frighten 
him by looking at him too hard." 

"It is eight o'clock now," I said, glancing at my 
watch. 

"Yes. He will probably be here in a few min- 
utes. Open the door slightly. That will do. Now 
put the key on the inside. Thank you! This is a 
queer old book I picked up at a stall yesterday — De 
Jure inter Gentes — published in Latin at Liege in the 
Lowlands, in 1642. Charles' head was still firm on 
his shoulders when this little brown-backed vol- 
ume was struck off." 

"Who is the printer?" 

"Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. 
On the fly-leaf, in very faded ink, is written 'Ex 
libris Guliolmi Whyte.' I wonder who William 
Whyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth cen- 
tury lawyer, I suppose. His writing has a legal 
twist about it. Here comes our man, I think." 

As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. 
Sherlock Holmes rose softly and moved his chair 
in the direction of the door. We heard the servant 
pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch 
as she opened it. 

"Does Dr. Watson live here?" asked a clear but 
rather harsh voice. We could not hear the servant's 
reply, but the door closed, and some one began to 
ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain 
and shuffling one. A look of surprise passed over 
the face of my companion as he listened to it. It 
came slowly along the passage, and there was a 
feeble tap at the door. 

"Come in," I cried. 

At my summons, instead of the man of vio- 
lence whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled 
woman hobbled into the apartment. She appeared 
to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and 
after dropping a curtsey, she stood blinking at us 


with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket 
with nervous, shaky fingers. I glanced at my com- 
panion, and his face had assumed such a discon- 
solate expression that it was all I could do to keep 
my countenance. 

The old crone drew out an evening paper, and 
pointed at our advertisement. "It's this as has 
brought me, good gentlemen," she said, dropping 
another curtsey; "a gold wedding ring in the Brix- 
ton Road. It belongs to my girl Sally, as was mar- 
ried only this time twelvemonth, which her hus- 
band is steward aboard a Union boat, and what 
he'd say if he comes 'ome and found her without 
her ring is more than I can think, he being short 
enough at the best o' times, but more especially 
when he has the drink. If it please you, she went 
to the circus last night along with — " 

"Is that her ring?" I asked. 

"The Lord be thanked!" cried the old woman; 
"Sally will be a glad woman this night. That's the 
ring." 

"And what may your address be?" I inquired, 
taking up a pencil. 

"13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary 
way from here." 

"The Brixton Road does not lie between any 
circus and Houndsditch," said Sherlock Holmes 
sharply. 

The old woman faced round and looked keenly 
at him from her little red-rimmed eyes. "The gen- 
tleman asked me for my address," she said. "Sally 
lives in lodgings at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham." 

"And your name is — ?" 

"My name is Sawyer — her's is Dennis, which 
Tom Dennis married her — and a smart, clean 
lad, too, as long as he's at sea, and no steward 
in the company more thought of; but when on 
shore, what with the women and what with liquor 
shops — " 

"Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer," I interrupted, 
in obedience to a sign from my companion; "it 
clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am glad 
to be able to restore it to the rightful owner." 

With many mumbled blessings and protesta- 
tions of gratitude the old crone packed it away in 
her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs. Sher- 
lock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment that 
she was gone and rushed into his room. He re- 
turned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster 
and a cravat. "I'll follow her," he said, hurriedly; 
"she must be an accomplice, and will lead me to 
him. Wait up for me." The hall door had hardly 


24 



A Study In Scarlet 


slammed behind our visitor before Holmes had 
descended the stair. Looking through the window 
I could see her walking feebly along the other side, 
while her pursuer dogged her some little distance 
behind. "Either his whole theory is incorrect," I 
thought to myself, "or else he will be led now to 
the heart of the mystery." There was no need for 
him to ask me to wait up for him, for I felt that 
sleep was impossible until I heard the result of his 
adventure. 

It was close upon nine when he set out. I had 
no idea how long he might be, but I sat stolidly 
puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pages of 
Henri Murger's Vie de Boheme. Ten o'clock passed, 
and I heard the footsteps of the maid as they pat- 
tered off to bed. Eleven, and the more stately tread 
of the landlady passed my door, bound for the 
same destination. It was close upon twelve before I 
heard the sharp sound of his latch-key. The instant 
he entered I saw by his face that he had not been 
successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be 
struggling for the mastery, until the former sud- 
denly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty 
laugh. 

"I wouldn't have the Scotland Yarders know it 
for the world," he cried, dropping into his chair; "I 
have chaffed them so much that they would never 
have let me hear the end of it. I can afford to laugh, 
because I know that I will be even with them in the 
long run." 

"What is it then?" I asked. 

"Oh, I don't mind telling a story against my- 
self. That creature had gone a little way when she 
began to limp and show every sign of being foot- 
sore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed a 
four-wheeler which was passing. I managed to 
be close to her so as to hear the address, but I 
need not have been so anxious, for she sang it out 
loud enough to be heard at the other side of the 
street, 'Drive to 13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch,' 


she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, 
and having seen her safely inside, I perched myself 
behind. That's an art which every detective should 
be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and never 
drew rein until we reached the street in question. 
I hopped off before we came to the door, and 
strolled down the street in an easy, lounging way. I 
saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down, and 
I saw him open the door and stand expectantly. 
Nothing came out though. When I reached him 
he was groping about frantically in the empty cab, 
and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of 
oaths that ever I listened to. There was no sign or 
trace of his passenger, and I fear it will be some 
time before he gets his fare. On inquiring at Num- 
ber 13 we found that the house belonged to a re- 
spectable paperhanger, named Keswick, and that 
no one of the name either of Sawyer or Dennis had 
ever been heard of there." 

"You don't mean to say," I cried, in amazement, 
"that that tottering, feeble old woman was able to 
get out of the cab while it was in motion, without 
either you or the driver seeing her?" 

"Old woman be damned!" said Sherlock 
Holmes, sharply. "We were the old women to be 
so taken in. It must have been a young man, and 
an active one, too, besides being an incomparable 
actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that he 
was followed, no doubt, and used this means of 
giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are 
after is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has 
friends who are ready to risk something for him. 
Now, Doctor, you are looking done-up. Take my 
advice and turn in." 

I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed 
his injunction. I left Holmes seated in front of the 
smouldering fire, and long into the watches of the 
night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his 
violin, and knew that he was still pondering over 
the strange problem which he had set himself to 
unravel. 


25 



A Study In Scarlet 


CHAPTER VI. 

Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do 


The papers next day were full of the "Brixton 
Mystery/' as they termed it. Each had a long ac- 
count of the affair, and some had leaders upon 
it in addition. There was some information in 
them which was new to me. I still retain in my 
scrap-book numerous clippings and extracts bear- 
ing upon the case. Here is a condensation of a few 
of them: — 

The Daily Telegraph remarked that in the history 
of crime there had seldom been a tragedy which 
presented stranger features. The German name of 
the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the 
sinister inscription on the wall, all pointed to its 
perpetration by political refugees and revolution- 
ists. The Socialists had many branches in America, 
and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their 
unwritten laws, and been tracked down by them. 
After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht, aqua to- 
fana. Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, 
the Darwinian theory, the principles of Malthus, 
and the Ratcliff Highway murders, the article con- 
cluded by admonishing the Government and ad- 
vocating a closer watch over foreigners in England. 

The Standard commented upon the fact that 
lawless outrages of the sort usually occurred un- 
der a Liberal Administration. They arose from the 
unsettling of the minds of the masses, and the con- 
sequent weakening of all authority. The deceased 
was an American gentleman who had been resid- 
ing for some weeks in the Metropolis. He had 
stayed at the boarding-house of Madame Charp- 
entier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell. He was 
accompanied in his travels by his private secre- 
tary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The two bade adieu to 
their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4th inst., and de- 
parted to Euston Station with the avowed intention 
of catching the Liverpool express. They were after- 
wards seen together upon the platform. Nothing 
more is known of them until Mr. Drebber's body 
was, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in 
the Brixton Road, many miles from Euston. How 
he came there, or how he met his fate, are ques- 
tions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing 
is known of the whereabouts of Stangerson. We 
are glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade and Mr. Greg- 
son, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged upon the 
case, and it is confidently anticipated that these 
well-known officers will speedily throw light upon 
the matter. 

The Daily Nezvs observed that there was no 
doubt as to the crime being a political one. The 


despotism and hatred of Liberalism which ani- 
mated the Continental Governments had had the 
effect of driving to our shores a number of men 
who might have made excellent citizens were they 
not soured by the recollection of all that they had 
undergone. Among these men there was a strin- 
gent code of honour, any infringement of which 
was punished by death. Every effort should be 
made to find the secretary, Stangerson, and to as- 
certain some particulars of the habits of the de- 
ceased. A great step had been gained by the dis- 
covery of the address of the house at which he had 
boarded — a result which was entirely due to the 
acuteness and energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland 
Yard. 

Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over 
together at breakfast, and they appeared to afford 
him considerable amusement. 

"I told you that, whatever happened, Lestrade 
and Gregson would be sure to score." 

"That depends on how it turns out." 

"Oh, bless you, it doesn't matter in the least. If 
the man is caught, it will be on account of their ex- 
ertions; if he escapes, it will be in spite of their exer- 
tions. It's heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever 
they do, they will have followers. ‘Un sot trouve 
toujours un plus sot qui I'admire.' " 

"What on earth is this?" I cried, for at this mo- 
ment there came the pattering of many steps in the 
hall and on the stairs, accompanied by audible ex- 
pressions of disgust upon the part of our landlady. 

"It's the Baker Street division of the detective 
police force," said my companion, gravely; and as 
he spoke there rushed into the room half a dozen 
of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs that 
ever I clapped eyes on. 

'"Tention!" cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and 
the six dirty little scoundrels stood in a line like so 
many disreputable statuettes. "In future you shall 
send up Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of 
you must wait in the street. Have you found it, 
Wiggins?" 

"No, sir, we hain't," said one of the youths. 

"I hardly expected you would. You must keep 
on until you do. Here are your wages." He handed 
each of them a shilling. "Now, off you go, and 
come back with a better report next time." 

He waved his hand, and they scampered away 
downstairs like so many rats, and we heard their 
shrill voices next moment in the street. 


26 



A Study In Scarlet 


"There's more work to be got out of one of 
those little beggars than out of a dozen of the 
force," Holmes remarked. "The mere sight of 
an official-looking person seals men's lips. These 
youngsters, however, go everywhere and hear ev- 
erything. They are as sharp as needles, too; all 
they want is organisation." 

"Is it on this Brixton case that you are employ- 
ing them?" I asked. 

"Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain. 
It is merely a matter of time. Hullo! we are going 
to hear some news now with a vengeance! Here 
is Gregson coming down the road with beatitude 
written upon every feature of his face. Bound for 
us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There he is!" 

There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a 
few seconds the fair-haired detective came up the 
stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into our 
sitting-room. 

"My dear fellow," he cried, wringing Holmes' 
unresponsive hand, "congratulate me! I have 
made the whole thing as clear as day." 

A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my 
companion's expressive face. 

"Do you mean that you are on the right track?" 
he asked. 

"The right track! Why, sir, we have the man 
under lock and key." 

"And his name is?" 

"Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her 
Majesty's navy," cried Gregson, pompously, rub- 
bing his fat hands and inflating his chest. 

Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and re- 
laxed into a smile. 

"Take a seat, and try one of these cigars," he 
said. "We are anxious to know how you managed 
it. Will you have some whiskey and water?" 

"I don't mind if I do," the detective answered. 
"The tremendous exertions which I have gone 
through during the last day or two have worn me 
out. Not so much bodily exertion, you understand, 
as the strain upon the mind. You will appreciate 
that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for we are both brain- 
workers." 

"You do me too much honour," said Holmes, 
gravely. "Let us hear how you arrived at this most 
gratifying result." 

The detective seated himself in the arm-chair, 
and puffed complacently at his cigar. Then sud- 
denly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm of 
amusement. 


"The fun of it is," he cried, "that that fool 
Lestrade, who thinks himself so smart, has gone 
off upon the wrong track altogether. He is after 
the secretary Stangerson, who had no more to do 
with the crime than the babe unborn. I have no 
doubt that he has caught him by this time." 

The idea tickled Gregson so much that he 
laughed until he choked. 

"And how did you get your clue?" 

"Ah, I'll tell you all about it. Of course. Doctor 
Watson, this is strictly between ourselves. The first 
difficulty which we had to contend with was the 
finding of this American's antecedents. Some peo- 
ple would have waited until their advertisements 
were answered, or until parties came forward and 
volunteered information. That is not Tobias Greg- 
son's way of going to work. You remember the hat 
beside the dead man?" 

"Yes," said Holmes; "by John Underwood and 
Sons, 129, Camberwell Road." 

Gregson looked quite crest-fallen. 

"I had no idea that you noticed that," he said. 
"Have you been there?" 

"No." 

"Ha!" cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; "you 
should never neglect a chance, however small it 
may seem." 

"To a great mind, nothing is little," remarked 
Holmes, sententiously. 

"Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him 
if he had sold a hat of that size and description. 
He looked over his books, and came on it at once. 
He had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber, residing 
at Charpentier 's Boarding Establishment, Torquay 
Terrace. Thus I got at his address." 

"Smart — very smart!" murmured Sherlock 
Holmes. 

"I next called upon Madame Charpentier," con- 
tinued the detective. "I found her very pale and 
distressed. Her daughter was in the room, too — an 
uncommonly fine girl she is, too; she was look- 
ing red about the eyes and her lips trembled as 
I spoke to her. That didn't escape my notice. I 
began to smell a rat. You know the feeling, Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes, when you come upon the right 
scent — a kind of thrill in your nerves. 'Have you 
heard of the mysterious death of your late boarder 
Mr. Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland?' I asked. 

"The mother nodded. She didn't seem able to 
get out a word. The daughter burst into tears. I felt 
more than ever that these people knew something 
of the matter. 

" 'At what o'clock did Mr. Drebber leave your 
house for the train?' I asked. 


27 



A Study In Scarlet 


" 'At eight o'clock/ she said, gulping in her 
throat to keep down her agitation. 'His secre- 
tary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were two 
trains — one at 9.15 and one at 11. He was to catch 
the first.' 

" 'And was that the last which you saw of him?' 

"A terrible change came over the woman's face 
as I asked the question. Her features turned per- 
fectly livid. It was some seconds before she could 
get out the single word 'Yes' — and when it did 
come it was in a husky unnatural tone. 

"There was silence for a moment, and then the 
daughter spoke in a calm clear voice. 

" 'No good can ever come of falsehood, 
mother,' she said. 'Let us be frank with this gen- 
tleman. We did see Mr. Drebber again.' 

"'God forgive you!' cried Madame Charpen- 
tier, throwing up her hands and sinking back in 
her chair. 'You have murdered your brother.' 

" 'Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,' 
the girl answered firmly. 

" 'You had best tell me all about it now,' I said. 
'Half-confidences are worse than none. Besides, 
you do not know how much we know of it.' 

" 'On your head be it, Alice!' cried her mother; 
and then, turning to me, 'I will tell you all, sir. Do 
not imagine that my agitation on behalf of my son 
arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand 
in this terrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. 
My dread is, however, that in your eyes and in the 
eyes of others he may appear to be compromised. 
That however is surely impossible. His high char- 
acter, his profession, his antecedents would all for- 
bid it.' 

" 'Your best way is to make a clean breast of the 
facts,' I answered. 'Depend upon it, if your son is 
innocent he will be none the worse.' 

"'Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us to- 
gether,' she said, and her daughter withdrew. 
'Now, sir,' she continued, 'I had no intention of 
telling you all this, but since my poor daughter has 
disclosed it I have no alternative. Having once de- 
cided to speak, I will tell you all without omitting 
any particular.' 

" 'It is your wisest course,' said I. 

" 'Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three 
weeks. He and his secretary, Mr. Stangerson, 
had been travelling on the Continent. I noticed 
a "Copenhagen" label upon each of their trunks, 
showing that that had been their last stopping 
place. Stangerson was a quiet reserved man, but 


his employer, I am sorry to say, was far other- 
wise. He was coarse in his habits and brutish in 
his ways. The very night of his arrival he became 
very much the worse for drink, and, indeed, af- 
ter twelve o'clock in the day he could hardly ever 
be said to be sober. His manners towards the 
maid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar. 
Worst of all, he speedily assumed the same atti- 
tude towards my daughter, Alice, and spoke to her 
more than once in a way which, fortunately, she 
is too innocent to understand. On one occasion 
he actually seized her in his arms and embraced 
her — an outrage which caused his own secretary 
to reproach him for his unmanly conduct.' 

" 'But why did you stand all this,' I asked. 'I 
suppose that you can get rid of your boarders 
when you wish.' 

"Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent 
question. 'Would to God that I had given him no- 
tice on the very day that he came,' she said. 'But it 
was a sore temptation. They were paying a pound 
a day each — fourteen pounds a week, and this is 
the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy in 
the Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose 
the money. I acted for the best. This last was too 
much, however, and I gave him notice to leave on 
account of it. That was the reason of his going.' 

" 'Well?' 

" 'My heart grew light when I saw him drive 
away. My son is on leave just now, but I did not tell 
him anything of all this, for his temper is violent, 
and he is passionately fond of his sister. When 
I closed the door behind them a load seemed to 
be lifted from my mind. Alas, in less than an 
hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned 
that Mr. Drebber had returned. He was much ex- 
cited, and evidently the worse for drink. He forced 
his way into the room, where I was sitting with 
my daughter, and made some incoherent remark 
about having missed his train. He then turned to 
Alice, and before my very face, proposed to her 
that she should fly with him. "You are of age," 
he said, "and there is no law to stop you. I have 
money enough and to spare. Never mind the old 
girl here, but come along with me now straight 
away. You shall live like a princess." Poor Alice 
was so frightened that she shrunk away from him, 
but he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured 
to draw her towards the door. I screamed, and at 
that moment my son Arthur came into the room. 
What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths 
and the confused sounds of a scuffle. I was too 
terrified to raise my head. When I did look up 
I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing. 


28 



A Study In Scarlet 


with a stick in his hand. "I don't think that fine 
fellow will trouble us again," he said. "I will just 
go after him and see what he does with himself." 
With those words he took his hat and started off 
down the street. The next morning we heard of 
Mr. Drebber's mysterious death.' 

"This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier's 
lips with many gasps and pauses. At times she 
spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words. I 
made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, 
so that there should be no possibility of a mistake." 

"It's quite exciting," said Sherlock Holmes, 
with a yawn. "What happened next?" 

"When Mrs. Charpentier paused," the detec- 
tive continued, "I saw that the whole case hung 
upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a 
way which I always found effective with women, I 
asked her at what hour her son returned. 

" 'I do not know,' she answered. 

" 'Not know?' 

" 'No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.' 

" 'After you went to bed?' 

" 'Yes.' 

" 'When did you go to bed?' 

" 'About eleven.' 

" 'So your son was gone at least two hours?' 

" 'Yes.' 

" 'Possibly four or five?' 

"'Yes.' 

" 'What was he doing during that time?' 

" 'I do not know,' she answered, turning white 
to her very lips. 

"Of course after that there was nothing more to 
be done. I found out where Lieutenant Charpen- 
tier was, took two officers with me, and arrested 
him. When I touched him on the shoulder and 
warned him to come quietly with us, he answered 
us as bold as brass, 'I suppose you are arresting me 
for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel 
Drebber,' he said. We had said nothing to him 
about it, so that his alluding to it had a most sus- 
picious aspect." 

"Very," said Holmes. 

"He still carried the heavy stick which the 
mother described him as having with him when 
he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel." 


"What is your theory, then?" 

"Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as 
far as the Brixton Road. When there, a fresh alter- 
cation arose between them, in the course of which 
Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit 
of the stomach, perhaps, which killed him without 
leaving any mark. The night was so wet that no 
one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body 
of his victim into the empty house. As to the can- 
dle, and the blood, and the writing on the wall, 
and the ring, they may all be so many tricks to 
throw the police on to the wrong scent." 

"Well done!" said Holmes in an encouraging 
voice. "Really, Gregson, you are getting along. We 
shall make something of you yet." 

"I flatter myself that I have managed it rather 
neatly," the detective answered proudly. "The 
young man volunteered a statement, in which he 
said that after following Drebber some time, the 
latter perceived him, and took a cab in order to get 
away from him. On his way home he met an old 
shipmate, and took a long walk with him. On be- 
ing asked where this old shipmate lived, he was 
unable to give any satisfactory reply. I think the 
whole case fits together uncommonly well. What 
amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started 
off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he won't 
make much of — Why, by Jove, here's the very man 
himself!" 

It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the 
stairs while we were talking, and who now entered 
the room. The assurance and jauntiness which 
generally marked his demeanour and dress were, 
however, wanting. His face was disturbed and 
troubled, while his clothes were disarranged and 
untidy. He had evidently come with the inten- 
tion of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on 
perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embar- 
rassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the 
room, fumbling nervously with his hat and uncer- 
tain what to do. "This is a most extraordinary 
case," he said at last — "a most incomprehensible 
affair." 

"Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!" cried Greg- 
son, triumphantly. "I thought you would come to 
that conclusion. Have you managed to find the 
Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?" 

"The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," said 
Lestrade gravely, "was murdered at Halliday's Pri- 
vate Hotel about six o'clock this morning." 


29 



A Study In Scarlet 


CHAPTER VIE 

Light In The Darkness 


The intelligence with which Lestrade greeted 
us was so momentous and so unexpected, that 
we were all three fairly dumfoundered. Gregson 
sprang out of his chair and upset the remainder of 
his whiskey and water. I stared in silence at Sher- 
lock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his 
brows drawn down over his eyes. 

"Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot 
thickens." 

"It was quite thick enough before," grumbled 
Lestrade, taking a chair. "I seem to have dropped 
into a sort of council of war." 

"Are you — are you sure of this piece of intelli- 
gence?" stammered Gregson. 

"I have just come from his room," said 
Lestrade. "I was the first to discover what had 
occurred." 

"We have been hearing Gregson's view of the 
matter," Holmes observed. "Would you mind let- 
ting us know what you have seen and done?" 

"I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seat- 
ing himself. "I freely confess that I was of the opin- 
ion that Stangerson was concerned in the death of 
Drebber. This fresh development has shown me 
that I was completely mistaken. Full of the one 
idea, I set myself to find out what had become of 
the Secretary. They had been seen together at Eu- 
ston Station about half-past eight on the evening of 
the third. At two in the morning Drebber had been 
found in the Brixton Road. The question which 
confronted me was to find out how Stangerson had 
been employed between 8.30 and the time of the 
crime, and what had become of him afterwards. 
I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description 
of the man, and warning them to keep a watch 
upon the American boats. I then set to work call- 
ing upon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the 
vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued that if Dreb- 
ber and his companion had become separated, the 
natural course for the latter would be to put up 
somewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then 
to hang about the station again next morning." 

"They would be likely to agree on some 
meeting-place beforehand," remarked Holmes. 

"So it proved. I spent the whole of yester- 
day evening in making enquiries entirely without 
avail. This morning I began very early, and at eight 
o'clock I reached Halliday's Private Hotel, in Little 
George Street. On my enquiry as to whether a Mr. 


Stangerson was living there, they at once answered 
me in the affirmative. 

" 'No doubt you are the gentleman whom he 
was expecting,' they said. 'He has been waiting 
for a gentleman for two days.' 

" 'Where is he now?' I asked. 

" 'He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called 
at nine.' 

" 'I will go up and see him at once,' I said. 

"It seemed to me that my sudden appearance 
might shake his nerves and lead him to say some- 
thing unguarded. The Boots volunteered to show 
me the room: it was on the second floor, and there 
was a small corridor leading up to it. The Boots 
pointed out the door to me, and was about to go 
downstairs again when I saw something that made 
me feel sickish, in spite of my twenty years' experi- 
ence. From under the door there curled a little red 
ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the 
passage and formed a little pool along the skirt- 
ing at the other side. I gave a cry, which brought 
the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. 
The door was locked on the inside, but we put our 
shoulders to it, and knocked it in. The window 
of the room was open, and beside the window, all 
huddled up, lay the body of a man in his night- 
dress. He was quite dead, and had been for some 
time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we 
turned him over, the Boots recognized him at once 
as being the same gentleman who had engaged the 
room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The 
cause of death was a deep stab in the left side, 
which must have penetrated the heart. And now 
comes the strangest part of the affair. What do you 
suppose was above the murdered man?" 

I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment 
of coming horror, even before Sherlock Holmes an- 
swered. 

"The word RACHE, written in letters of blood," 
he said. 

"That was it," said Lestrade, in an awe-struck 
voice; and we were all silent for a while. 

There was something so methodical and so in- 
comprehensible about the deeds of this unknown 
assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to his 
crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on 
the field of battle tingled as I thought of it. 

"The man was seen," continued Lestrade. "A 
milk boy, passing on his way to the dairy, hap- 
pened to walk down the lane which leads from 


30 



A Study In Scarlet 


the mews at the back of the hotel. He noticed 
that a ladder, which usually lay there, was raised 
against one of the windows of the second floor, 
which was wide open. After passing, he looked 
back and saw a man descend the ladder. He came 
down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined 
him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the 
hotel. He took no particular notice of him, beyond 
thinking in his own mind that it was early for him 
to be at work. He has an impression that the man 
was tall, had a reddish face, and was dressed in 
a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed in 
the room some little time after the murder, for we 
found blood-stained water in the basin, where he 
had washed his hands, and marks on the sheets 
where he had deliberately wiped his knife." 

I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description 
of the murderer, which tallied so exactly with his 
own. There was, however, no trace of exultation or 
satisfaction upon his face. 

"Did you find nothing in the room which could 
furnish a clue to the murderer?" he asked. 

"Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in 
his pocket, but it seems that this was usual, as he 
did all the paying. There was eighty odd pounds 
in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the 
motives of these extraordinary crimes, robbery is 
certainly not one of them. There were no papers 
or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, ex- 
cept a single telegram, dated from Cleveland about 
a month ago, and containing the words, 'J. H. is 
in Europe.' There was no name appended to this 
message." 

"And there was nothing else?" Holmes asked. 

"Nothing of any importance. The man's novel, 
with which he had read himself to sleep was lying 
upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chair beside 
him. There was a glass of water on the table, and 
on the window-sill a small chip ointment box con- 
taining a couple of pills." 

Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an 
exclamation of delight. 

"The last link," he cried, exultantly. "My case 
is complete." 

The two detectives stared at him in amazement. 

"I have now in my hands," my companion said, 
confidently, "all the threads which have formed 
such a tangle. There are, of course, details to be 
filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts, 
from the time that Drebber parted from Stanger- 
son at the station, up to the discovery of the body 
of the latter, as if I had seen them with my own 


eyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge. 
Could you lay your hand upon those pills?" 

"I have them," said Lestrade, producing a small 
white box; "I took them and the purse and the 
telegram, intending to have them put in a place 
of safety at the Police Station. It was the merest 
chance my taking these pills, for I am bound to 
say that I do not attach any importance to them." 

"Give them here," said Holmes. "Now, Doc- 
tor," turning to me, "are those ordinary pills?" 

They certainly were not. They were of a pearly 
grey colour, small, round, and almost transparent 
against the light. "From their lightness and trans- 
parency, I should imagine that they are soluble in 
water," I remarked. 

"Precisely so," answered Holmes. "Now would 
you mind going down and fetching that poor little 
devil of a terrier which has been bad so long, and 
which the landlady wanted you to put out of its 
pain yesterday." 

I went downstairs and carried the dog upstair 
in my arms. It's laboured breathing and glazing 
eye showed that it was not far from its end. In- 
deed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it 
had already exceeded the usual term of canine ex- 
istence. I placed it upon a cushion on the rug. 

"I will now cut one of these pills in two," said 
Holmes, and drawing his penknife he suited the 
action to the word. "One half we return into the 
box for future purposes. The other half I will place 
in this wine glass, in which is a teaspoonful of wa- 
ter. You perceive that our friend, the Doctor, is 
right, and that it readily dissolves." 

"This may be very interesting," said Lestrade, 
in the injured tone of one who suspects that he is 
being laughed at, "I cannot see, however, what it 
has to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stanger- 
son." 

"Patience, my friend, patience! You will find 
in time that it has everything to do with it. I shall 
now add a little milk to make the mixture palat- 
able, and on presenting it to the dog we find that 
he laps it up readily enough." 

As he spoke he turned the contents of the 
wine glass into a saucer and placed it in front of 
the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. Sherlock 
Holmes' earnest demeanour had so far convinced 
us that we all sat in silence, watching the ani- 
mal intently, and expecting some startling effect. 
None such appeared, however. The dog contin- 
ued to lie stretched upon the cushion, breathing in 
a laboured way, but apparently neither the better 
nor the worse for its draught. 


31 



A Study In Scarlet 


Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute 
followed minute without result, an expression of 
the utmost chagrin and disappointment appeared 
upon his features. He gnawed his lip, drummed 
his fingers upon the table, and showed every other 
symptom of acute impatience. So great was his 
emotion, that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while 
the two detectives smiled derisively, by no means 
displeased at this check which he had met. 

"It can't be a coincidence," he cried, at last 
springing from his chair and pacing wildly up and 
down the room; "it is impossible that it should be 
a mere coincidence. The very pills which I sus- 
pected in the case of Drebber are actually found 
after the death of Stangerson. And yet they are 
inert. What can it mean? Surely my whole chain 
of reasoning cannot have been false. It is impossi- 
ble! And yet this wretched dog is none the worse. 
Ah, I have it! I have it!" With a perfect shriek of de- 
light he rushed to the box, cut the other pill in two, 
dissolved it, added milk, and presented it to the 
terrier. The unfortunate creature's tongue seemed 
hardly to have been moistened in it before it gave 
a convulsive shiver in every limb, and lay as rigid 
and lifeless as if it had been struck by lightning. 

Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and 
wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "I 
should have more faith," he said; "I ought to know 
by this time that when a fact appears to be op- 
posed to a long train of deductions, it invariably 
proves to be capable of bearing some other inter- 
pretation. Of the two pills in that box one was of 
the most deadly poison, and the other was entirely 
harmless. I ought to have known that before ever 
I saw the box at all." 

This last statement appeared to me to be so 
startling, that I could hardly believe that he was 
in his sober senses. There was the dead dog, how- 
ever, to prove that his conjecture had been correct. 
It seemed to me that the mists in my own mind 
were gradually clearing away, and I began to have 
a dim, vague perception of the truth. 

"All this seems strange to you," continued 
Holmes, "because you failed at the beginning of 
the inquiry to grasp the importance of the single 
real clue which was presented to you. I had the 
good fortune to seize upon that, and everything 
which has occurred since then has served to con- 
firm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the 
logical sequence of it. Hence things which have 
perplexed you and made the case more obscure, 
have served to enlighten me and to strengthen 
my conclusions. It is a mistake to confound 


strangeness with mystery. The most common- 
place crime is often the most mysterious because 
it presents no new or special features from which 
deductions may be drawn. This murder would 
have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had 
the body of the victim been simply found lying in 
the roadway without any of those outre and sensa- 
tional accompaniments which have rendered it re- 
markable. These strange details, far from making 
the case more difficult, have really had the effect 
of making it less so." 

Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address 
with considerable impatience, could contain him- 
self no longer. "Look here, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," 
he said, "we are all ready to acknowledge that you 
are a smart man, and that you have your own 
methods of working. We want something more 
than mere theory and preaching now, though. It 
is a case of taking the man. I have made my case 
out, and it seems I was wrong. Young Charpentier 
could not have been engaged in this second affair. 
Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, and it ap- 
pears that he was wrong too. You have thrown 
out hints here, and hints there, and seem to know 
more than we do, but the time has come when we 
feel that we have a right to ask you straight how 
much you do know of the business. Can you name 
the man who did it?" 

"I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, 
sir," remarked Lestrade. "We have both tried, and 
we have both failed. You have remarked more than 
once since I have been in the room that you had all 
the evidence which you require. Surely you will 
not withhold it any longer." 

"Any delay in arresting the assassin," I ob- 
served, "might give him time to perpetrate some 
fresh atrocity." 

Thus pressed by us all. Holmes showed signs of 
irresolution. He continued to walk up and down 
the room with his head sunk on his chest and his 
brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in 
thought. 

"There will be no more murders," he said at 
last, stopping abruptly and facing us. "You can 
put that consideration out of the question. You 
have asked me if I know the name of the assas- 
sin. I do. The mere knowing of his name is a small 
thing, however, compared with the power of laying 
our hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to 
do. I have good hopes of managing it through my 
own arrangements; but it is a thing which needs 
delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and des- 
perate man to deal with, who is supported, as I 
have had occasion to prove, by another who is as 


32 



A Study In Scarlet 


clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea 
that anyone can have a clue there is some chance 
of securing him; but if he had the slightest suspi- 
cion, he would change his name, and vanish in an 
instant among the four million inhabitants of this 
great city. Without meaning to hurt either of your 
feelings, I am bound to say that I consider these 
men to be more than a match for the official force, 
and that is why I have not asked your assistance. 
If I fail I shall, of course, incur all the blame due 
to this omission; but that I am prepared for. At 
present I am ready to promise that the instant that 
I can communicate with you without endangering 
my own combinations, I shall do so." 

Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from 
satisfied by this assurance, or by the depreciating 
allusion to the detective police. The former had 
flushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the 
other's beady eyes glistened with curiosity and re- 
sentment. Neither of them had time to speak, how- 
ever, before there was a tap at the door, and the 
spokesman of the street Arabs, young Wiggins, in- 
troduced his insignificant and unsavoury person. 

"Please, sir," he said, touching his forelock, "I 
have the cab downstairs." 

"Good boy," said Holmes, blandly. "Why don't 
you introduce this pattern at Scotland Yard?" he 
continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffs from 
a drawer. "See how beautifully the spring works. 
They fasten in an instant." 

"The old pattern is good enough," remarked 
Lestrade, "if we can only find the man to put them 
on." 

"Very good, very good," said Holmes, smiling. 
"The cabman may as well help me with my boxes. 
Just ask him to step up, Wiggins." 

I was surprised to find my companion speak- 
ing as though he were about to set out on a jour- 
ney, since he had not said anything to me about 
it. There was a small portmanteau in the room, 
and this he pulled out and began to strap. He was 
busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the 
room. 

"Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman," 
he said, kneeling over his task, and never turning 
his head. 


The fellow came forward with a somewhat 
sullen, defiant air, and put down his hands to as- 
sist. At that instant there was a sharp click, the 
jangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to 
his feet again. 

"Gentlemen," he cried, with flashing eyes, "let 
me introduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, the mur- 
derer of Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stangerson." 

The whole thing occurred in a moment — so 
quickly that I had no time to realize it. I have 
a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes' 
triumphant expression and the ring of his voice, 
of the cabman's dazed, savage face, as he glared 
at the glittering handcuffs, which had appeared 
as if by magic upon his wrists. For a second 
or two we might have been a group of statues. 
Then, with an inarticulate roar of fury, the pris- 
oner wrenched himself free from Holmes's grasp, 
and hurled himself through the window. Wood- 
work and glass gave way before him; but before he 
got quite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes 
sprang upon him like so many staghounds. He 
was dragged back into the room, and then com- 
menced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so 
fierce was he, that the four of us were shaken off 
again and again. He appeared to have the con- 
vulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His 
face and hands were terribly mangled by his pas- 
sage through the glass, but loss of blood had no ef- 
fect in diminishing his resistance. It was not until 
Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside his 
neckcloth and half-strangling him that we made 
him realize that his struggles were of no avail; and 
even then we felt no security until we had pinioned 
his feet as well as his hands. That done, we rose to 
our feet breathless and panting. 

"We have his cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "It 
will serve to take him to Scotland Yard. And now, 
gentlemen," he continued, with a pleasant smile, 
"we have reached the end of our little mystery. 
You are very welcome to put any questions that 
you like to me now, and there is no danger that I 
will refuse to answer them." 


33 



A Study In Scarlet 


CHAPTER IIX. 

A Continuation Of The Reminiscences Of John Watson, M.D. 


Our prisoner's furious resistance did not 
apparently indicate any ferocity in his disposition 
towards ourselves, for on finding himself power- 
less, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressed 
his hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the 
scuffle. "I guess you're going to take me to the 
police-station," he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. 
"My cab's at the door. If you'll loose my legs I'll 
walk down to it. I'm not so light to lift as I used to 
be." 

Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if 
they thought this proposition rather a bold one; 
but Holmes at once took the prisoner at his word, 
and loosened the towel which we had bound 
round his ankles. He rose and stretched his legs, as 
though to assure himself that they were free once 
more. I remember that I thought to myself, as I 
eyed him, that I had seldom seen a more power- 
fully built man; and his dark sunburned face bore 
an expression of determination and energy which 
was as formidable as his personal strength. 

"If there's a vacant place for a chief of the po- 
lice, I reckon you are the man for it," he said, 
gazing with undisguised admiration at my fellow- 
lodger. "The way you kept on my trail was a cau- 
tion." 

"You had better come with me," said Holmes 
to the two detectives. 

"I can drive you," said Lestrade. 

"Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. 
You too. Doctor, you have taken an interest in the 
case and may as well stick to us." 

I assented gladly, and we all descended to- 
gether. Our prisoner made no attempt at escape, 
but stepped calmly into the cab which had been 
his, and we followed him. Lestrade mounted the 
box, whipped up the horse, and brought us in a 
very short time to our destination. We were ush- 
ered into a small chamber where a police Inspector 
noted down our prisoner's name and the names of 
the men with whose murder he had been charged. 
The official was a white-faced unemotional man, 
who went through his duties in a dull mechanical 
way. "The prisoner will be put before the mag- 
istrates in the course of the week," he said; "in 
the mean time, Mr. Jefferson Hope, have you any- 
thing that you wish to say? I must warn you that 
your words will be taken down, and may be used 
against you." 


"I've got a good deal to say," our prisoner said 
slowly. "I want to tell you gentlemen all about it." 

"Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?" 
asked the Inspector. 

"I may never be tried," he answered. "You 
needn't look startled. It isn't suicide I am think- 
ing of. Are you a Doctor?" He turned his fierce 
dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question. 

"Yes; I am," I answered. 

"Then put your hand here," he said, with a 
smile, motioning with his manacled wrists to- 
wards his chest. 

I did so; and became at once conscious of an ex- 
traordinary throbbing and commotion which was 
going on inside. The walls of his chest seemed to 
thrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside 
when some powerful engine was at work. In the 
silence of the room I could hear a dull humming 
and buzzing noise which proceeded from the same 
source. 

"Why," I cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!" 

"That's what they call it," he said, placidly. "I 
went to a Doctor last week about it, and he told me 
that it is bound to burst before many days passed. 
It has been getting worse for years. I got it from 
over-exposure and under-feeding among the Salt 
Lake Mountains. I've done my work now, and I 
don't care how soon I go, but I should like to leave 
some account of the business behind me. I don't 
want to be remembered as a common cut-throat." 

The Inspector and the two detectives had a hur- 
ried discussion as to the advisability of allowing 
him to tell his story. 

"Do you consider. Doctor, that there is imme- 
diate danger?" the former asked. 

"Most certainly there is," I answered. 

"In that case it is clearly our duty, in the in- 
terests of justice, to take his statement," said the 
Inspector. "You are at liberty, sir, to give your 
account, which I again warn you will be taken 
down." 

"I'll sit down, with your leave," the pris- 
oner said, suiting the action to the word. "This 
aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and the 
tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended 
matters. I'm on the brink of the grave, and I am 
not likely to lie to you. Every word I say is the ab- 
solute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no 
consequence to me." 


55 



A Study In Scarlet 


With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back 
in his chair and began the following remarkable 
statement. He spoke in a calm and methodical 
manner, as though the events which he narrated 
were commonplace enough. I can vouch for the 
accuracy of the subjoined account, for I have had 
access to Lestrade's note-book, in which the pris- 
oner's words were taken down exactly as they 
were uttered. 

"It don't much matter to you why I hated these 
men," he said; "it's enough that they were guilty 
of the death of two human beings — a father and a 
daughter — and that they had, therefore, forfeited 
their own lives. After the lapse of time that has 
passed since their crime, it was impossible for me 
to secure a conviction against them in any court. I 
knew of their guilt though, and I determined that 
I should be judge, jury, and executioner all rolled 
into one. You'd have done the same, if you have 
any manhood in you, if you had been in my place. 

"That girl that I spoke of was to have married 
me twenty years ago. She was forced into marry- 
ing that same Drebber, and broke her heart over it. 
I took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and 
I vowed that his dying eyes should rest upon that 
very ring, and that his last thoughts should be of 
the crime for which he was punished. I have car- 
ried it about with me, and have followed him and 
his accomplice over two continents until I caught 
them. They thought to tire me out, but they could 
not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely enough, 
I die knowing that my work in this world is done, 
and well done. They have perished, and by my 
hand. There is nothing left for me to hope for, or 
to desire. 

"They were rich and I was poor, so that it was 
no easy matter for me to follow them. When I 
got to London my pocket was about empty, and I 
found that I must turn my hand to something for 
my living. Driving and riding are as natural to me 
as walking, so I applied at a cabowner's office, and 
soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum 
a week to the owner, and whatever was over that 
I might keep for myself. There was seldom much 
over, but I managed to scrape along somehow. The 
hardest job was to learn my way about, for I reckon 
that of all the mazes that ever were contrived, this 
city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me 
though, and when once I had spotted the principal 
hotels and stations, I got on pretty well. 

"It was some time before I found out where my 
two gentlemen were living; but I inquired and in- 
quired until at last I dropped across them. They 
were at a boarding-house at Camberwell, over on 


the other side of the river. When once I found 
them out I knew that I had them at my mercy. 
I had grown my beard, and there was no chance 
of their recognizing me. I would dog them and 
follow them until I saw my opportunity. I was de- 
termined that they should not escape me again. 

"They were very near doing it for all that. Go 
where they would about London, I was always at 
their heels. Sometimes I followed them on my cab, 
and sometimes on foot, but the former was the 
best, for then they could not get away from me. It 
was only early in the morning or late at night that 
I could earn anything, so that I began to get be- 
hind hand with my employer. I did not mind that, 
however, as long as I could lay my hand upon the 
men I wanted. 

"They were very cunning, though. They must 
have thought that there was some chance of their 
being followed, for they would never go out alone, 
and never after nightfall. During two weeks I 
drove behind them every day, and never once saw 
them separate. Drebber himself was drunk half 
the time, but Stangerson was not to be caught nap- 
ping. I watched them late and early, but never saw 
the ghost of a chance; but I was not discouraged, 
for something told me that the hour had almost 
come. My only fear was that this thing in my chest 
might burst a little too soon and leave my work 
undone. 

"At last, one evening I was driving up and 
down Torquay Terrace, as the street was called in 
which they boarded, when I saw a cab drive up to 
their door. Presently some luggage was brought 
out, and after a time Drebber and Stangerson fol- 
lowed it, and drove off. I whipped up my horse 
and kept within sight of them, feeling very ill at 
ease, for I feared that they were going to shift their 
quarters. At Euston Station they got out, and I left 
a boy to hold my horse, and followed them on to 
the platform. I heard them ask for the Liverpool 
train, and the guard answer that one had just gone 
and there would not be another for some hours. 
Stangerson seemed to be put out at that, but Dreb- 
ber was rather pleased than otherwise. I got so 
close to them in the bustle that I could hear every 
word that passed between them. Drebber said that 
he had a little business of his own to do, and that 
if the other would wait for him he would soon re- 
join him. His companion remonstrated with him, 
and reminded him that they had resolved to stick 
together. Drebber answered that the matter was a 
delicate one, and that he must go alone. I could not 
catch what Stangerson said to that, but the other 
burst out swearing, and reminded him that he was 


56 



A Study In Scarlet 


nothing more than his paid servant, and that he 
must not presume to dictate to him. Qn that the 
Secretary gave it up as a bad job, and simply bar- 
gained with him that if he missed the last train he 
should rejoin him at Halliday's Private Hotel; to 
which Drebber answered that he would be back 
on the platform before eleven, and made his way 
out of the station. 

"The moment for which I had waited so long 
had at last come. I had my enemies within my 
power. Together they could protect each other, 
but singly they were at my mercy. I did not 
act, however, with undue precipitation. My plans 
were already formed. There is no satisfaction in 
vengeance unless the offender has time to real- 
ize who it is that strikes him, and why retribu- 
tion has come upon him. I had my plans arranged 
by which I should have the opportunity of making 
the man who had wronged me understand that his 
old sin had found him out. It chanced that some 
days before a gentleman who had been engaged in 
looking over some houses in the Brixton Road had 
dropped the key of one of them in my carriage. 
It was claimed that same evening, and returned; 
but in the interval I had taken a moulding of it, 
and had a duplicate constructed. By means of this 
I had access to at least one spot in this great city 
where I could rely upon being free from interrup- 
tion. How to get Drebber to that house was the 
difficult problem which I had now to solve. 

"He walked down the road and went into one 
or two liquor shops, staying for nearly half-an- 
hour in the last of them. When he came out he 
staggered in his walk, and was evidently pretty 
well on. There was a hansom just in front of me, 
and he hailed it. I followed it so close that the 
nose of my horse was within a yard of his driver 
the whole way. We rattled across Waterloo Bridge 
and through miles of streets, until, to my astonish- 
ment, we found ourselves back in the Terrace in 
which he had boarded. I could not imagine what 
his intention was in returning there; but I went on 
and pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from 
the house. He entered it, and his hansom drove 
away. Give me a glass of water, if you please. My 
mouth gets dry with the talking." 

I handed him the glass, and he drank it down. 

"That's better," he said. "Well, I waited for 
a quarter of an hour, or more, when suddenly 
there came a noise like people struggling inside 
the house. Next moment the door was flung open 
and two men appeared, one of whom was Drebber, 
and the other was a young chap whom I had never 
seen before. This fellow had Drebber by the collar. 


and when they came to the head of the steps he 
gave him a shove and a kick which sent him half 
across the road. 'You hound/ he cried, shaking 
his stick at him; 'I'll teach you to insult an honest 
girl!' He was so hot that I think he would have 
thrashed Drebber with his cudgel, only that the 
cur staggered away down the road as fast as his 
legs would carry him. He ran as far as the corner, 
and then, seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped 
in. 'Drive me to Halliday's Private Hotel/ said he. 

"When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heart 
jumped so with joy that I feared lest at this last mo- 
ment my aneurism might go wrong. I drove along 
slowly, weighing in my own mind what it was best 
to do. I might take him right out into the country, 
and there in some deserted lane have my last in- 
terview with him. I had almost decided upon this, 
when he solved the problem for me. The craze for 
drink had seized him again, and he ordered me 
to pull up outside a gin palace. He went in, leav- 
ing word that I should wait for him. There he re- 
mained until closing time, and when he came out 
he was so far gone that I knew the game was in 
my own hands. 

"Don't imagine that I intended to kill him in 
cold blood. It would only have been rigid justice 
if I had done so, but I could not bring myself to 
do it. I had long determined that he should have 
a show for his life if he chose to take advantage 
of it. Among the many billets which I have filled 
in America during my wandering life, I was once 
janitor and sweeper out of the laboratory at York 
College. One day the professor was lecturing on 
poisons, and he showed his students some alka- 
loid, as he called it, which he had extracted from 
some South American arrow poison, and which 
was so powerful that the least grain meant instant 
death. I spotted the bottle in which this prepa- 
ration was kept, and when they were all gone, I 
helped myself to a little of it. I was a fairly good 
dispenser, so I worked this alkaloid into small, sol- 
uble pills, and each pill I put in a box with a sim- 
ilar pill made without the poison. I determined at 
the time that when I had my chance, my gentle- 
men should each have a draw out of one of these 
boxes, while I ate the pill that remained. It would 
be quite as deadly, and a good deal less noisy than 
firing across a handkerchief. From that day I had 
always my pill boxes about with me, and the time 
had now come when I was to use them. 

"It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, 
bleak night, blowing hard and raining in torrents. 
Dismal as it was outside, I was glad within — so 
glad that I could have shouted out from pure exul- 
tation. If any of you gentlemen have ever pined for 


57 



A Study In Scarlet 


a thing, and longed for it during twenty long years, 
and then suddenly found it within your reach, you 
would understand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and 
puffed at it to steady my nerves, but my hands 
were trembling, and my temples throbbing with 
excitement. As I drove, I could see old John Ferrier 
and sweet Lucy looking at me out of the darkness 
and smiling at me, just as plain as I see you all in 
this room. All the way they were ahead of me, one 
on each side of the horse until I pulled up at the 
house in the Brixton Road. 

"There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to 
be heard, except the dripping of the rain. When I 
looked in at the window, I found Drebber all hud- 
dled together in a drunken sleep. I shook him by 
the arm, 'It's time to get out,' I said. 

" 'All right, cabby/ said he. 

"I suppose he thought we had come to the ho- 
tel that he had mentioned, for he got out without 
another word, and followed me down the garden. 
I had to walk beside him to keep him steady, for he 
was still a little top-heavy. When we came to the 
door, I opened it, and led him into the front room. 
I give you my word that all the way, the father and 
the daughter were walking in front of us. 

" 'It's infernally dark,' said he, stamping about. 

" 'We'll soon have a light/ I said, striking a 
match and putting it to a wax candle which I had 
brought with me. 'Now, Enoch Drebber/ I contin- 
ued, turning to him, and holding the light to my 
own face, 'who am I?' 

"He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes 
for a moment, and then I saw a horror spring up 
in them, and convulse his whole features, which 
showed me that he knew me. He staggered back 
with a livid face, and I saw the perspiration break 
out upon his brow, while his teeth chattered in his 
head. At the sight, I leaned my back against the 
door and laughed loud and long. I had always 
known that vengeance would be sweet, but I had 
never hoped for the contentment of soul which 
now possessed me. 

"'You dog!' I said; 'I have hunted you from 
Salt Lake City to St. Petersburg, and you have al- 
ways escaped me. Now, at last your wanderings 
have come to an end, for either you or I shall never 
see to-morrow's sun rise.' He shrunk still further 
away as I spoke, and I could see on his face that 
he thought I was mad. So I was for the time. The 
pulses in my temples beat like sledge-hammers, 
and I believe I would have had a fit of some sort 
if the blood had not gushed from my nose and re- 
lieved me. 


" 'What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?' I 
cried, locking the door, and shaking the key in his 
face. 'Punishment has been slow in coming, but it 
has overtaken you at last.' I saw his coward lips 
tremble as I spoke. He would have begged for his 
life, but he knew well that it was useless. 

" 'Would you murder me?' he stammered. 

" 'There is no murder/ I answered. 'Who talks 
of murdering a mad dog? What mercy had you 
upon my poor darling, when you dragged her 
from her slaughtered father, and bore her away to 
your accursed and shameless harem.' 

" 'It was not I who killed her father/ he cried. 

" 'But it was you who broke her innocent heart/ 
I shrieked, thrusting the box before him. 'Let 
the high God judge between us. Choose and eat. 
There is death in one and life in the other. I shall 
take what you leave. Let us see if there is justice 
upon the earth, or if we are ruled by chance.' 

"He cowered away with wild cries and prayers 
for mercy, but I drew my knife and held it to his 
throat until he had obeyed me. Then I swallowed 
the other, and we stood facing one another in si- 
lence for a minute or more, waiting to see which 
was to live and which was to die. Shall I ever for- 
get the look which came over his face when the 
first warning pangs told him that the poison was 
in his system? I laughed as I saw it, and held 
Lucy's marriage ring in front of his eyes. It was 
but for a moment, for the action of the alkaloid 
is rapid. A spasm of pain contorted his features; 
he threw his hands out in front of him, staggered, 
and then, with a hoarse cry, fell heavily upon the 
floor. I turned him over with my foot, and placed 
my hand upon his heart. There was no movement. 
He was dead! 

"The blood had been streaming from my nose, 
but I had taken no notice of it. I don't know what 
it was that put it into my head to write upon the 
wall with it. Perhaps it was some mischievous idea 
of setting the police upon a wrong track, for I felt 
light-hearted and cheerful. I remembered a Ger- 
man being found in New York with RACHE writ- 
ten up above him, and it was argued at the time 
in the newspapers that the secret societies must 
have done it. I guessed that what puzzled the New 
Yorkers would puzzle the Londoners, so I dipped 
my finger in my own blood and printed it on a 
convenient place on the wall. Then I walked down 
to my cab and found that there was nobody about, 
and that the night was still very wild. I had driven 
some distance when I put my hand into the pocket 
in which I usually kept Lucy's ring, and found that 
it was not there. I was thunderstruck at this, for it 


58 



A Study In Scarlet 


was the only memento that I had of her. Thinking 
that I might have dropped it when I stooped over 
Drebber's body, I drove back, and leaving my cab 
in a side street, I went boldly up to the house — for 
I was ready to dare anything rather than lose the 
ring. When I arrived there, I walked right into 
the arms of a police-officer who was coming out, 
and only managed to disarm his suspicions by pre- 
tending to be hopelessly drunk. 

"That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. 
All I had to do then was to do as much for Stanger- 
son, and so pay off John Ferrier's debt. I knew that 
he was staying at Halliday's Private Hotel, and I 
hung about all day, but he never came out. I fancy 
that he suspected something when Drebber failed 
to put in an appearance. He was cunning, was 
Stangerson, and always on his guard. If he thought 
he could keep me off by staying indoors he was 
very much mistaken. I soon found out which was 
the window of his bedroom, and early next morn- 
ing I took advantage of some ladders which were 
lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my 
way into his room in the grey of the dawn. I woke 
him up and told him that the hour had come when 
he was to answer for the life he had taken so long 
before. I described Drebber's death to him, and 
I gave him the same choice of the poisoned pills. 
Instead of grasping at the chance of safety which 
that offered him, he sprang from his bed and flew 
at my throat. In self-defence I stabbed him to the 
heart. It would have been the same in any case, for 
Providence would never have allowed his guilty 
hand to pick out anything but the poison. 

"I have little more to say, and it's as well, for 
I am about done up. I went on cabbing it for a 
day or so, intending to keep at it until I could save 
enough to take me back to America. I was stand- 
ing in the yard when a ragged youngster asked 
if there was a cabby there called Jefferson Hope, 


and said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman 
at 221B, Baker Street. I went round, suspecting no 
harm, and the next thing I knew, this young man 
here had the bracelets on my wrists, and as neatly 
snackled as ever I saw in my life. That's the whole 
of my story, gentlemen. You may consider me to 
be a murderer; but I hold that I am just as much 
an officer of justice as you are." 

So thrilling had the man's narrative been, and 
his manner was so impressive that we had sat 
silent and absorbed. Even the professional detec- 
tives, blase as they were in every detail of crime, ap- 
peared to be keenly interested in the man's story. 
When he finished we sat for some minutes in a 
stillness which was only broken by the scratch- 
ing of Lestrade's pencil as he gave the finishing 
touches to his shorthand account. 

"There is only one point on which I should like 
a little more information," Sherlock Holmes said 
at last. "Who was your accomplice who came for 
the ring which I advertised?" 

The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. "I 
can tell my own secrets," he said, "but I don't get 
other people into trouble. I saw your advertise- 
ment, and I thought it might be a plant, or it might 
be the ring which I wanted. My friend volunteered 
to go and see. I think you'll own he did it smartly." 

"Not a doubt of that," said Holmes heartily. 

"Now, gentlemen," the Inspector remarked 
gravely, "the forms of the law must be complied 
with. On Thursday the prisoner will be brought 
before the magistrates, and your attendance will 
be required. Until then I will be responsible for 
him." He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jefferson 
Hope was led off by a couple of warders, while my 
friend and I made our way out of the Station and 
took a cab back to Baker Street. 


CHAPTER IX. 

The Conclusion 


We had all been warned to appear before 
the magistrates upon the Thursday; but when the 
Thursday came there was no occasion for our tes- 
timony. A higher Judge had taken the matter in 


hand, and Jefferson Hope had been summoned be- 
fore a tribunal where strict justice would be meted 
out to him. On the very night after his capture the 
aneurism burst, and he was found in the morning 


59 



A Study In Scarlet 


stretched upon the floor of the cell, with a placid 
smile upon his face, as though he had been able in 
his dying moments to look back upon a useful life, 
and on work well done. 

"Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his 
death," Holmes remarked, as we chatted it over 
next evening. "Where will their grand advertise- 
ment be now?" 

"I don't see that they had very much to do with 
his capture," I answered. 

"What you do in this world is a matter of no 
consequence," returned my companion, bitterly. 
"The question is, what can you make people be- 
lieve that you have done. Never mind," he con- 
tinued, more brightly, after a pause. "I would not 
have missed the investigation for anything. There 
has been no better case within my recollection. 
Simple as it was, there were several most instruc- 
tive points about it." 

"Simple!" I ejaculated. 

"Well, really, it can hardly be described as oth- 
erwise," said Sherlock Holmes, smiling at my sur- 
prise. "The proof of its intrinsic simplicity is, that 
without any help save a few very ordinary deduc- 
tions I was able to lay my hand upon the criminal 
within three days." 

"That is true," said I. 

"I have already explained to you that what is 
out of the common is usually a guide rather than 
a hindrance. In solving a problem of this sort, the 
grand thing is to be able to reason backwards. That 
is a very useful accomplishment, and a very easy 
one, but people do not practise it much. In the 
every-day affairs of life it is more useful to reason 
forwards, and so the other comes to be neglected. 
There are fifty who can reason synthetically for 
one who can reason analytically." 

"I confess," said I, "that I do not quite follow 
you." 

"I hardly expected that you would. Let me see 
if I can make it clearer. Most people, if you de- 
scribe a train of events to them, will tell you what 
the result would be. They can put those events to- 
gether in their minds, and argue from them that 
something will come to pass. There are few peo- 
ple, however, who, if you told them a result, would 
be able to evolve from their own inner conscious- 
ness what the steps were which led up to that re- 
sult. This power is what I mean when I talk of 
reasoning backwards, or analytically." 

"I understand," said I. 


"Now this was a case in which you were given 
the result and had to find everything else for your- 
self. Now let me endeavour to show you the dif- 
ferent steps in my reasoning. To begin at the be- 
ginning. I approached the house, as you know, 
on foot, and with my mind entirely free from all 
impressions. I naturally began by examining the 
roadway, and there, as I have already explained to 
you, I saw clearly the marks of a cab, which, I as- 
certained by inquiry, must have been there during 
the night. I satisfied myself that it was a cab and 
not a private carriage by the narrow gauge of the 
wheels. The ordinary London growler is consider- 
ably less wide than a gentleman's brougham. 

"This was the first point gained. I then walked 
slowly down the garden path, which happened 
to be composed of a clay soil, peculiarly suitable 
for taking impressions. No doubt it appeared to 
you to be a mere trampled line of slush, but to 
my trained eyes every mark upon its surface had 
a meaning. There is no branch of detective science 
which is so important and so much neglected as 
the art of tracing footsteps. Happily, I have always 
laid great stress upon it, and much practice has 
made it second nature to me. I saw the heavy foot- 
marks of the constables, but I saw also the track 
of the two men who had first passed through the 
garden. It was easy to tell that they had been 
before the others, because in places their marks 
had been entirely obliterated by the others com- 
ing upon the top of them. In this way my second 
link was formed, which told me that the noctur- 
nal visitors were two in number, one remarkable 
for his height (as I calculated from the length of 
his stride), and the other fashionably dressed, to 
judge from the small and elegant impression left 
by his boots. 

"On entering the house this last inference was 
confirmed. My well-booted man lay before me. 
The tall one, then, had done the murder, if murder 
there was. There was no wound upon the dead 
man's person, but the agitated expression upon his 
face assured me that he had foreseen his fate be- 
fore it came upon him. Men who die from heart 
disease, or any sudden natural cause, never by any 
chance exhibit agitation upon their features. Hav- 
ing sniffed the dead man's lips I detected a slightly 
sour smell, and I came to the conclusion that he 
had had poison forced upon him. Again, I argued 
that it had been forced upon him from the hatred 
and fear expressed upon his face. By the method of 
exclusion, I had arrived at this result, for no other 
hypothesis would meet the facts. Do not imagine 
that it was a very unheard of idea. The forcible ad- 
ministration of poison is by no means a new thing 


60 



A Study In Scarlet 


in criminal annals. The cases of Dolsky in Odessa, 
and of Leturier in Montpellier, will occur at once 
to any toxicologist. 

"And now came the great question as to the 
reason why. Robbery had not been the object of 
the murder, for nothing was taken. Was it poli- 
tics, then, or was it a woman? That was the ques- 
tion which confronted me. I was inclined from the 
first to the latter supposition. Political assassins 
are only too glad to do their work and to fly. This 
murder had, on the contrary, been done most de- 
liberately, and the perpetrator had left his tracks all 
over the room, showing that he had been there all 
the time. It must have been a private wrong, and 
not a political one, which called for such a method- 
ical revenge. When the inscription was discovered 
upon the wall I was more inclined than ever to 
my opinion. The thing was too evidently a blind. 
When the ring was found, however, it settled the 
question. Clearly the murderer had used it to re- 
mind his victim of some dead or absent woman. 
It was at this point that I asked Gregson whether 
he had enquired in his telegram to Cleveland as 
to any particular point in Mr. Drebber's former ca- 
reer. He answered, you remember, in the negative. 

"I then proceeded to make a careful examina- 
tion of the room, which confirmed me in my opin- 
ion as to the murderer's height, and furnished me 
with the additional details as to the Trichinopoly 
cigar and the length of his nails. I had already 
come to the conclusion, since there were no signs 
of a struggle, that the blood which covered the 
floor had burst from the murderer's nose in his ex- 
citement. I could perceive that the track of blood 
coincided with the track of his feet. It is sel- 
dom that any man, unless he is very full-blooded, 
breaks out in this way through emotion, so I haz- 
arded the opinion that the criminal was probably 
a robust and ruddy-faced man. Events proved that 
I had judged correctly. 

"Having left the house, I proceeded to do what 
Gregson had neglected. I telegraphed to the head 
of the police at Cleveland, limiting my enquiry to 
the circumstances connected with the marriage of 
Enoch Drebber. The answer was conclusive. It 
told me that Drebber had already applied for the 
protection of the law against an old rival in love, 
named Jefferson Hope, and that this same Hope 
was at present in Europe. I knew now that I held 
the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all that 
remained was to secure the murderer. 

"I had already determined in my own mind 
that the man who had walked into the house with 
Drebber, was none other than the man who had 


driven the cab. The marks in the road showed me 
that the horse had wandered on in a way which 
would have been impossible had there been any- 
one in charge of it. Where, then, could the driver 
be, unless he were inside the house? Again, it is 
absurd to suppose that any sane man would carry 
out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it 
were, of a third person, who was sure to betray 
him. Lastly, supposing one man wished to dog 
another through London, what better means could 
he adopt than to turn cabdriver. All these consid- 
erations led me to the irresistible conclusion that 
Jefferson Hope was to be found among the jarveys 
of the Metropolis. 

"If he had been one there was no reason to be- 
lieve that he had ceased to be. On the contrary, 
from his point of view, any sudden chance would 
be likely to draw attention to himself. He would, 
probably, for a time at least, continue to perform 
his duties. There was no reason to suppose that he 
was going under an assumed name. Why should 
he change his name in a country where no one 
knew his original one? I therefore organized my 
Street Arab detective corps, and sent them sys- 
tematically to every cab proprietor in London un- 
til they ferreted out the man that I wanted. How 
well they succeeded, and how quickly I took ad- 
vantage of it, are still fresh in your recollection. 
The murder of Stangerson was an incident which 
was entirely unexpected, but which could hardly 
in any case have been prevented. Through it, as 
you know, I came into possession of the pills, the 
existence of which I had already surmised. You 
see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences 
without a break or flaw." 

"It is wonderful!" I cried. "Your merits should 
be publicly recognized. You should publish an ac- 
count of the case. If you won't, I will for you." 

"You may do what you like. Doctor," he an- 
swered. "See here!" he continued, handing a paper 
over to me, "look at this!" 

It was the Echo for the day, and the paragraph 
to which he pointed was devoted to the case in 
question. 

"The public," it said, "have lost a sensational 
treat through the sudden death of the man Hope, 
who was suspected of the murder of Mr. Enoch 
Drebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The de- 
tails of the case will probably be never known now, 
though we are informed upon good authority that 
the crime was the result of an old standing and ro- 
mantic feud, in which love and Mormonism bore 
a part. It seems that both the victims belonged, in 
their younger days, to the Latter Day Saints, and 


61 



Hope, the deceased prisoner, hails also from Salt 
Lake City. If the case has had no other effect, it, at 
least, brings out in the most striking manner the 
efficiency of our detective police force, and will 
serve as a lesson to all foreigners that they will 
do wisely to settle their feuds at home, and not 
to carry them on to British soil. It is an open se- 
cret that the credit of this smart capture belongs 
entirely to the well-known Scotland Yard officials, 
Messrs. Lestrade and Gregson. The man was ap- 
prehended, it appears, in the rooms of a certain 
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who has himself, as an am- 
ateur, shown some talent in the detective line, and 
who, with such instructors, may hope in time to 
attain to some degree of their skill. It is expected 


that a testimonial of some sort will be presented 
to the two officers as a fitting recognition of their 
services." 

"Didn't I tell you so when we started?" cried 
Sherlock Holmes with a laugh. "That's the result 
of all our Study in Scarlet: to get them a testimo- 
nial!" 

"Never mind," I answered, "I have all the facts 
in my journal, and the public shall know them. In 
the meantime you must make yourself contented 
by the consciousness of success, like the Roman 
miser — 

" 'Populus me sibilat, at mihi plando 
Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in area.’ " 



The Resident Patient 


lancing over the somewhat incoherent 
series of Memoirs with which I have en- 
deavored to illustrate a few of the men- 
tal peculiarities of my friend Mr. Sher- 
lock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty 
which I have experienced in picking out exam- 
ples which shall in every way answer my purpose. 
For in those cases in which Holmes has performed 
some tour deforce of analytical reasoning, and has 
demonstrated the value of his peculiar methods of 
investigation, the facts themselves have often been 
so slight or so commonplace that I could not feel 
justified in laying them before the public. On the 
other hand, it has frequently happened that he has 
been concerned in some research where the facts 
have been of the most remarkable and dramatic 
character, but where the share which he has him- 
self taken in determining their causes has been less 
pronounced than I, as his biographer, could wish. 
The small matter which I have chronicled under 
the heading of "A Study in Scarlet," and that other 
later one connected with the loss of the Gloria Scott, 
may serve as examples of this Scylla and Charyb- 
dis which are forever threatening the historian. It 
may be that in the business of which I am now 
about to write the part which my friend played 
is not sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole 
train of circumstances is so remarkable that I can- 
not bring myself to omit it entirely from this series. 

It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our 
blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled 
upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter 
which he had received by the morning post. For 
myself, my term of service in India had trained me 
to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer 
of 90 was no hardship. But the paper was uninter- 
esting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out 
of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New 
Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank 
account had caused me to postpone my holiday, 
and as to my companion, neither the country nor 
the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. 
He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of 
people, with his filaments stretching out and run- 
ning through them, responsive to every little ru- 
mor or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation 
of Nature found no place among his many gifts, 
and his only change was when he turned his mind 
from the evil-doer of the town to track down his 
brother of the country. 

Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for con- 
versation, I had tossed aside the barren paper, and 
leaning back in my chair, I fell into a brown study. 
Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my 
thoughts. 



"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem 
a very preposterous way of settling a dispute." 

"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then, 
suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost 
thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared 
at him in blank amazement. 

"What is this. Holmes?" I cried. "This is be- 
yond anything which I could have imagined." 

He laughed heartily at my perplexity. 

"You remember," said he, "that some little time 
ago, when I read you the passage in one of Poe's 
sketches, in which a close reasoner follows the un- 
spoken thought of his companion, you were in- 
clined to treat the matter as a mere tour deforce of 
the author. On my remarking that I was constantly 
in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed 
incredulity." 

"Oh, no!" 

"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Wat- 
son, but certainly with your eyebrows. So when I 
saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a 
train of thought, I was very happy to have the op- 
portunity of reading it off, and eventually of break- 
ing into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport 
with you." 

But I was still far from satisfied. "In the exam- 
ple which you read to me," said I, "the reasoner 
drew his conclusions from the actions of the man 
whom he observed. If I remember right, he stum- 
bled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, 
and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my 
chair, and what clues can I have given you?" 

"You do yourself an injustice. The features 
are given to man as the means by which he shall 
express his emotions, and yours are faithful ser- 
vants." 

"Do you mean to say that you read my train of 
thoughts from my features?" 

"Your features, and especially your eyes. Per- 
haps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie 
commenced?" 

"No, I cannot." 

"Then I will tell you. After throwing down 
your paper, which was the action which drew my 
attention to you, you sat for half a minute with 
a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed them- 
selves upon your newly-framed picture of General 
Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face 
that a train of thought had been started. But it 
did not lead very far. Your eyes turned across 
to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher 
which stands upon the top of your books. You 
then glanced up at the wall, and of course your 
meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if 


363 



The Resident Patient 


the portrait were framed it would just cover that 
bare space and correspond with Gordon's picture 
over there." 

"You have followed me wonderfully!" I ex- 
claimed. 

"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But 
now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you 
looked hard across as if you were studying the 
character in his features. Then your eyes ceased 
to pucker, but you continued to look across, and 
your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the 
incidents of Beecher 's career. I was well aware that 
you could not do this without thinking of the mis- 
sion which he undertook on behalf of the North 
at the time of the Civil War, for I remember you 
expressing your passionate indignation at the way 
in which he was received by the more turbulent 
of our people. You felt so strongly about it that 
I knew you could not think of Beecher without 
thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw 
your eyes wander away from the picture, I sus- 
pected that your mind had now turned to the Civil 
War, and when I observed that your lips set, your 
eyes sparkled, and your hands clinched, I was pos- 
itive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry 
which was shown by both sides in that desperate 
struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder; 
you shook your head. You were dwelling upon 
the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. 
Your hand stole towards your own old wound, and 
a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me 
that the ridiculous side of this method of settling 
international questions had forced itself upon your 
mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was 
preposterous, and was glad to find that all my de- 
ductions had been correct." 

"Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have 
explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as be- 
fore." 

"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I as- 
sure you. I should not have intruded it upon your 
attention had you not shown some incredulity the 
other day. But the evening has brought a breeze 
with it. What do you say to a ramble through Lon- 
don?" 

I was weary of our little sitting-room and 
gladly acquiesced. For three hours we strolled 
about together, watching the ever-changing kalei- 
doscope of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet 
Street and the Strand. His characteristic talk, with 
its keen observance of detail and subtle power of 
inference held me amused and enthralled. It was 
ten o'clock before we reached Baker Street again. 
A brougham was waiting at our door. 


"Hum! A doctor's — general practitioner, I per- 
ceive," said Holmes. "Not been long in practice, 
but has had a good deal to do. Come to consult 
us, I fancy! Lucky we came back!" 

I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's 
methods to be able to follow his reasoning, and to 
see that the nature and state of the various med- 
ical instruments in the wicker basket which hung 
in the lamplight inside the brougham had given 
him the data for his swift deduction. The light in 
our window above showed that this late visit was 
indeed intended for us. With some curiosity as 
to what could have sent a brother medico to us at 
such an hour, I followed Holmes into our sanctum. 

A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers 
rose up from a chair by the fire as we entered. His 
age may not have been more than three or four and 
thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy 
hue told of a life which has sapped his strength 
and robbed him of his youth. His manner was 
nervous and shy, like that of a sensitive gentle- 
man, and the thin white hand which he laid on the 
mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist rather 
than of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and som- 
bre — a black frock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch 
of color about his necktie. 

"Good-evening, doctor," said Holmes, cheerily. 
"I am glad to see that you have only been waiting 
a very few minutes." 

"You spoke to my coachman, then?" 

"No, it was the candle on the side-table that 
told me. Pray resume your seat and let me know 
how I can serve you." 

"My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan," said our 
visitor, "and I live at 403 Brook Street." 

"Are you not the author of a monograph upon 
obscure nervous lesions?" I asked. 

His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hear- 
ing that his work was known to me. 

"I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it 
was quite dead," said he. "My publishers gave me 
a most discouraging account of its sale. You are 
yourself, I presume, a medical man?" 

"A retired army surgeon." 

"My own hobby has always been nervous dis- 
ease. I should wish to make it an absolute spe- 
cialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can 
get at first. This, however, is beside the question, 
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I quite appreciate how 
valuable your time is. The fact is that a very sin- 
gular train of events has occurred recently at my 
house in Brook Street, and to-night they came to 
such a head that I felt it was quite impossible for 


364 



The Resident Patient 


me to wait another hour before asking for your ad- 
vice and assistance." 

Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. 
"You are very welcome to both," said he. "Pray 
let me have a detailed account of what the circum- 
stances are which have disturbed you." 

"One or two of them are so trivial," said Dr. 
Trevelyan, "that really I am almost ashamed to 
mention them. But the matter is so inexplicable, 
and the recent turn which it has taken is so elabo- 
rate, that I shall lay it all before you, and you shall 
judge what is essential and what is not. 

"I am compelled, to begin with, to say some- 
thing of my own college career. I am a London 
University man, you know, and I am sure that you 
will not think that I am unduly singing my own 
praises if I say that my student career was consid- 
ered by my professors to be a very promising one. 
After I had graduated I continued to devote myself 
to research, occupying a minor position in King's 
College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough to 
excite considerable interest by my research into 
the pathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the 
Bruce Pinkerton prize and medal by the mono- 
graph on nervous lesions to which your friend has 
just alluded. I should not go too far if I were to say 
that there was a general impression at that time 
that a distinguished career lay before me. 

"But the one great stumbling-block lay in my 
want of capital. As you will readily understand, 
a specialist who aims high is compelled to start 
in one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square 
quarter, all of which entail enormous rents and 
furnishing expenses. Besides this preliminary out- 
lay, he must be prepared to keep himself for some 
years, and to hire a presentable carriage and horse. 
To do this was quite beyond my power, and I 
could only hope that by economy I might in ten 
years' time save enough to enable me to put up 
my plate. Suddenly, however, an unexpected inci- 
dent opened up quite a new prospect to me. 

"This was a visit from a gentleman of the name 
of Blessington, who was a complete stranger to 
me. He came up to my room one morning, and 
plunged into business in an instant. 

" 'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has 
had so distinguished a career and won a great 
prize lately?' said he. 

"I bowed. 

" 'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you 
will find it to your interest to do so. You have 
all the cleverness which makes a successful man. 
Have you the tact?' 


"I could not help smiling at the abruptness of 
the question. 

" 'I trust that I have my share,' I said. 

" 'Any bad habits? Not drawn towards drink, 
eh?' 

" 'Really, sir!' I cried. 

" 'Quite right! That's all right! But I was bound 
to ask. With all these qualities, why are you not in 
practice?' 

"I shrugged my shoulders. 

" 'Come, come!' said he, in his bustling way. 
'It's the old story. More in your brains than in your 
pocket, eh? What would you say if I were to start 
you in Brook Street?' 

"I stared at him in astonishment. 

" 'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 
'I'll be perfectly frank with you, and if it suits you 
it will suit me very well. I have a few thousands to 
invest, d'ye see, and I think I'll sink them in you.' 

" 'But why?' I gasped. 

" 'Well, it's just like any other speculation, and 
safer than most.' 

" 'What am I to do, then?' 

" 'I'll tell you. I'll take the house, furnish it, 
pay the maids, and run the whole place. All you 
have to do is just to wear out your chair in the 
consulting-room. I'll let you have pocket-money 
and everything. Then you hand over to me three 
quarters of what you earn, and you keep the other 
quarter for yourself.' 

"This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, 
with which the man Blessington approached me. 
I won't weary you with the account of how we 
bargained and negotiated. It ended in my mov- 
ing into the house next Lady-day, and starting in 
practice on very much the same conditions as he 
had suggested. He came himself to live with me in 
the character of a resident patient. His heart was 
weak, it appears, and he needed constant medi- 
cal supervision. He turned the two best rooms of 
the first floor into a sitting-room and bedroom for 
himself. He was a man of singular habits, shun- 
ning company and very seldom going out. His life 
was irregular, but in one respect he was regularity 
itself. Every evening, at the same hour, he walked 
into the consulting-room, examined the books, put 
down five and three-pence for every guinea that I 
had earned, and carried the rest off to the strong- 
box in his own room. 

"I may say with confidence that he never had 
occasion to regret his speculation. From the first it 
was a success. A few good cases and the reputa- 
tion which I had won in the hospital brought me 


365 



The Resident Patient 


rapidly to the front, and during the last few years 
I have made him a rich man. 

"So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and 
my relations with Mr. Blessington. It only remains 
for me now to tell you what has occurred to bring 
me her to-night. 

"Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down 
to me in, as it seemed to me, a state of consider- 
able agitation. He spoke of some burglary which, 
he said, had been committed in the West End, and 
he appeared, I remember, to be quite unnecessar- 
ily excited about it, declaring that a day should 
not pass before we should add stronger bolts to 
our windows and doors. For a week he contin- 
ued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness, peer- 
ing continually out of the windows, and ceasing 
to take the short walk which had usually been the 
prelude to his dinner. From his manner it struck 
me that he was in mortal dread of something or 
somebody, but when I questioned him upon the 
point he became so offensive that I was compelled 
to drop the subject. Gradually, as time passed, his 
fears appeared to die away, and he had renewed 
his former habits, when a fresh event reduced him 
to the pitiable state of prostration in which he now 
lies. 

"What happened was this. Two days ago I re- 
ceived the letter which I now read to you. Neither 
address nor date is attached to it. 

" 'A Russian nobleman who is now 
resident in England/ it runs, 'would 
be glad to avail himself of the profes- 
sional assistance of Dr. Percy Trevelyan. 

He has been for some years a victim 
to cataleptic attacks, on which, as is 
well known. Dr. Trevelyan is an author- 
ity. He proposes to call at about quar- 
ter past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. 
Trevelyan will make it convenient to be 
at home.' 

"This letter interest me deeply, because the 
chief difficulty in the study of catalepsy is the 
rareness of the disease. You may believe, than, 
that I was in my consulting-room when, at the ap- 
pointed hour, the page showed in the patient. 

He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and 
common-place — by no means the conception one 
forms of a Russian nobleman. I was much more 
struck by the appearance of his companion. This 
was a tall young man, surprisingly handsome, 
with a dark, fierce face, and the limbs and chest 
of a Hercules. He had his hand under the other's 
arm as they entered, and helped him to a chair 


with a tenderness which one would hardly have 
expected from his appearance. 

" 'You will excuse my coming in, doctor,' said 
he to me, speaking English with a slight lisp. 'This 
is my father, and his health is a matter of the most 
overwhelming importance to me.' 

"I was touched by this filial anxiety. 'You 
would, perhaps, care to remain during the consul- 
tation?' said I. 

" 'Not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of 
horror. 'It is more painful to me than I can express. 
If I were to see my father in one of these dreadful 
seizures I am convinced that I should never sur- 
vive it. My own nervous system is an exception- 
ally sensitive one. With your permission, I will 
remain in the waiting-room while you go into my 
father's case.' 

"To this, of course, I assented, and the young 
man withdrew. The patient and I then plunged 
into a discussion of his case, of which I took ex- 
haustive notes. He was not remarkable for intel- 
ligence, and his answers were frequently obscure, 
which I attributed to his limited acquaintance with 
our language. Suddenly, however, as I sat writing, 
he ceased to give any answer at all to my inquiries, 
and on my turning towards him I was shocked to 
see that he was sitting bolt upright in his chair, 
staring at me with a perfectly blank and rigid face. 
He was again in the grip of his mysterious malady. 

"My first feeling, as I have just said, was one 
of pity and horror. My second, I fear, was rather 
one of professional satisfaction. I made notes of 
my patient's pulse and temperature, tested the 
rigidity of his muscles, and examined his reflexes. 
There was nothing markedly abnormal in any of 
these conditions, which harmonized with my for- 
mer experiences. I had obtained good results in 
such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of amyl, and 
the present seemed an admirable opportunity of 
testing its virtues. The bottle was downstairs in 
my laboratory, so leaving my patient seated in his 
chair, I ran down to get it. There was some little 
delay in finding it — five minutes, let us say — and 
then I returned. Imagine my amazement to find 
the room empty and the patient gone. 

"Of course, my first act was to run into the 
waiting-room. The son had gone also. The hall 
door had been closed, but not shut. My page who 
admits patients is a new boy and by no means 
quick. He waits downstairs, and runs up to show 
patients out when I ring the consulting-room bell. 
He had heard nothing, and the affair remained a 
complete mystery. Mr. Blessington came in from 


366 



The Resident Patient 


his walk shortly afterwards, but I did not say any- 
thing to him upon the subject, for, to tell the truth, 
I have got in the way of late of holding as little 
communication with him as possible. 

"Well, I never thought that I should see any- 
thing more of the Russian and his son, so you can 
imagine my amazement when, at the very same 
hour this evening, they both came marching into 
my consulting-room, just as they had done before. 

" 'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies 
for my abrupt departure yesterday, doctor/ said 
my patient. 

"'I confess that I was very much surprised at 
it/ said I. 

" 'Well, the fact is/ he remarked, 'that when I 
recover from these attacks my mind is always very 
clouded as to all that has gone before. I woke up 
in a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made 
my way out into the street in a sort of dazed way 
when you were absent.' 

" 'And 1/ said the son, 'seeing my father pass 
the door of the waiting-room, naturally thought 
that the consultation had come to an end. It was 
not until we had reached home that I began to re- 
alize the true state of affairs.' 

" 'Well/ said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done 
except that you puzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, 
would kindly step into the waiting-room I shall 
be happy to continue our consultation which was 
brought to so abrupt an ending.' 

"For half an hour or so I discussed that old 
gentleman's symptoms with him, and then, hav- 
ing prescribed for him, I saw him go off upon the 
arm of his son. 

"I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally 
chose this hour of the day for his exercise. He came 
in shortly afterwards and passed upstairs. An in- 
stant later I heard him running down, and he burst 
into my consulting-room like a man who is mad 
with panic. 

" 'Who has been in my room?' he cried. 

" 'No one/ said I. 

" 'It's a lie!' He yelled. 'Come up and look!' 

"I passed over the grossness of his language, as 
he seemed half out of his mind with fear. When I 
went upstairs with him he pointed to several foot- 
prints upon the light carpet. 

" 'D'you mean to say those are mine?' he cried. 

"They were certainly very much larger than 
any which he could have made, and were evi- 
dently quite fresh. It rained hard this afternoon, as 
you know, and my patients were the only people 


who called. It must have been the case, then, that 
the man in the waiting-room had, for some un- 
known reason, while I was busy with the other, as- 
cended to the room of my resident patient. Noth- 
ing has been touched or taken, but there were the 
footprints to prove that the intrusion was an un- 
doubted fact. 

"Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over 
the matter than I should have thought possible, 
though of course it was enough to disturb any- 
body's peace of mind. He actually sat crying in an 
arm-chair, and I could hardly get him to speak co- 
herently. It was his suggestion that I should come 
round to you, and of course I at once saw the pro- 
priety of it, for certainly the incident is a very sin- 
gular one, though he appears to completely over- 
rate its importance. If you would only come back 
with me in my brougham, you would at least be 
able to soothe him, though I can hardly hope that 
you will be able to explain this remarkable occur- 
rence." 

Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long nar- 
rative with an intentness which showed me that 
his interest was keenly aroused. His face was as 
impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more 
heavily over his eyes, and his smoke had curled 
up more thickly from his pipe to emphasize each 
curious episode in the doctor's tale. As our visi- 
tor concluded. Holmes sprang up without a word, 
handed me my hat, picked his own from the table, 
and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a 
quarter of an hour we had been dropped at the 
door of the physician's residence in Brook Street, 
one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which one 
associates with a West-End practice. A small page 
admitted us, and we began at once to ascend the 
broad, well-carpeted stair. 

But a singular interruption brought us to a 
standstill. The light at the top was suddenly 
whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy, 
quivering voice. 

"I have a pistol," it cried. "I give you my word 
that I'll fire if you come any nearer." 

"This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessing- 
ton," cried Dr. Trevelyan. 

"Oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with 
a great heave of relief. "But those other gentlemen, 
are they what they pretend to be?" 

We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the 
darkness. 

"Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. 
"You can come up, and I am sorry if my precau- 
tions have annoyed you." 


367 



The Resident Patient 


He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw 
before us a singular-looking man, whose appear- 
ance, as well as his voice, testified to his jangled 
nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently at 
some time been much fatter, so that the skin hung 
about his face in loose pouches, like the cheeks of 
a blood-hound. He was of a sickly color, and his 
thin, sandy hair seemed to bristle up with the in- 
tensity of his emotion. In his hand he held a pistol, 
but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced. 

"Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am 
sure I am very much obliged to you for coming 
round. No one ever needed your advice more than 
I do. I suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of 
this most unwarrantable intrusion into my rooms." 

"Quite so," said Holmes. "Who are these two 
men Mr. Blessington, and why do they wish to mo- 
lest you?" 

"Well, well," said the resident patient, in a ner- 
vous fashion, "of course it is hard to say that. You 
can hardly expect me to answer that, Mr. Holmes." 

"Do you mean that you don't know?" 

"Come in here, if you please. Just have the 
kindness to step in here." 

He led the way into his bedroom, which was 
large and comfortably furnished. 

"You see that," said he, pointing to a big black 
box at the end of his bed. "I have never been a 
very rich man, Mr. Holmes — never made but one 
investment in my life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tell 
you. But I don't believe in bankers. I would never 
trust a banker, Mr. Holmes. Between ourselves, 
what little I have is in that box, so you can under- 
stand what it means to me when unknown people 
force themselves into my rooms." 

Holmes looked at Blessington in his question- 
ing way and shook his head. 

"I cannot possibly advise you if you try to de- 
ceive me," said he. 

"But I have told you everything." 

Holmes turned on his heel with a gesture of 
disgust. "Good-night, Dr. Trevelyan," said he. 

"And no advice for me?" cried Blessington, in 
a breaking voice. 

"My advice to your, sir, is to speak the truth." 

A minute later we were in the street and walk- 
ing for home. We had crossed Oxford Street and 
were half way down Harley Street before I could 
get a word from my companion. 

"Sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand, 
Watson," he said at last. "It is an interesting case, 
too, at the bottom of it." 


"I can make little of it," I confessed. 

"Well, it is quite evident that there are two 
men — more, perhaps, but at least two — who are 
determined for some reason to get at this fellow 
Blessington. I have no doubt in my mind that both 
on the first and on the second occasion that young 
man penetrated to Blessington's room, while his 
confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doc- 
tor from interfering." 

"And the catalepsy?" 

"A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I 
should hardly dare to hint as much to our special- 
ist. It is a very easy complaint to imitate. I have 
done it myself." 

"And then?" 

"By the purest chance Blessington was out on 
each occasion. Their reason for choosing so un- 
usual an hour for a consultation was obviously to 
insure that there should be no other patient in the 
waiting-room. It just happened, however, that this 
hour coincided with Blessington's constitutional, 
which seems to show that they were not very well 
acquainted with his daily routine. Of course, if 
they had been merely after plunder they would at 
least have made some attempt to search for it. Be- 
sides, I can read in a man's eye when it is his own 
skin that he is frightened for. It is inconceivable 
that this fellow could have made two such vindic- 
tive enemies as these appear to be without know- 
ing of it. I hold it, therefore, to be certain that he 
does know who these men are, and that for rea- 
sons of his own he suppresses it. It is just possible 
that to-morrow may find him in a more commu- 
nicative mood." 

"Is there not one alternative," I suggested, 
"grotesquely improbably, no doubt, but still just 
conceivable? Might the whole story of the catalep- 
tic Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr. 
Trevelyan's, who has, for his own purposes, been 
in Blessington's rooms?" 

I saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an 
amused smile at this brilliant departure of mine. 

"My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the 
first solutions which occurred to me, but I was 
soon able to corroborate the doctor's tale. This 
young man has left prints upon the stair-carpet 
which made it quite superfluous for me to ask to 
see those which he had made in the room. When 
I tell you that his shoes were square-toed instead 
of being pointed like Blessington's, and were quite 
an inch and a third longer than the doctor's, you 
will acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to 
his individuality. But we may sleep on it now, for 


368 



The Resident Patient 


I shall be surprised if we do not hear something 
further from Brook Street in the morning." 

Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, 
and in a dramatic fashion. At half-past seven next 
morning, in the first glimmer of daylight, I found 
him standing by my bedside in his dressing-gown. 

"There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson," 
said he. 

"What's the matter, then?" 

"The Brook Street business." 

"Any fresh news?" 

"Tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up 
the blind. "Look at this — a sheet from a note-book, 
with 'For God's sake come at once — P. T.,' scrawled 
upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor, was hard 
put to it when he wrote this. Come along, my dear 
fellow, for it's an urgent call." 

In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at 
the physician's house. He came running out to 
meet us with a face of horror. 

"Oh, such a business!" he cried, with his hands 
to his temples. 

"What then?" 

"Blessington has committed suicide!" 

Holmes whistled. 

"Yes, he hanged himself during the night." 

We had entered, and the doctor had preceded 
us into what was evidently his waiting-room. 

"I really hardly know what I am doing," he 
cried. "The police are already upstairs. It has 
shaken me most dreadfully." 

"When did you find it out?" 

"He has a cup of tea taken in to him early every 
morning. When the maid entered, about seven, 
there the unfortunate fellow was hanging in the 
middle of the room. He had tied his cord to the 
hook on which the heavy lamp used to hang, and 
he had jumped off from the top of the very box 
that he showed us yesterday." 

Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought. 

"With your permission," said he at last, "I 
should like to go upstairs and look into the mat- 
ter." 

We both ascended, followed by the doctor. 

It was a dreadful sight which met us as we en- 
tered the bedroom door. I have spoken of the im- 
pression of flabbiness which this man Blessington 
conveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was ex- 
aggerated and intensified until he was scarce hu- 
man in his appearance. The neck was drawn out 


like a plucked chicken's, making the rest of him 
seem the more obese and unnatural by the con- 
trast. He was clad only in his long night-dress, and 
his swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded 
starkly from beneath it. Beside him stood a smart- 
looking police-inspector, who was taking notes in 
a pocket-book. 

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he, heartily, as my 
friend entered, "I am delighted to see you." 

"Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes; 
"you won't think me an intruder, I am sure. Have 
you heard of the events which led up to this af- 
fair?" 

"Yes, I heard something of them." 

"Have you formed any opinion?" 

"As far as I can see, the man has been driven 
out of his senses by fright. The bed has been 
well slept in, you see. There's his impression deep 
enough. It's about five in the morning, you know, 
that suicides are most common. That would be 
about his time for hanging himself. It seems to 
have been a very deliberate affair. " 

"I should say that he has been dead about three 
hours, judging by the rigidity of the muscles," said 
I. 

"Noticed anything peculiar about the room?" 
asked Holmes. 

"Found a screw-driver and some screws on the 
wash-hand stand. Seems to have smoked heavily 
during the night, too. Here are four cigar-ends that 
I picked out of the fireplace." 

"Hum!" said Holmes, "have you got his cigar- 
holder?" 

"No, I have seen none." 

"His cigar-case, then?" 

"Yes, it was in his coat-pocket." 

Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar 
which it contained. 

"Oh, this is an Havana, and these others are 
cigars of the peculiar sort which are imported by 
the Dutch from their East Indian colonies. They 
are usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are 
thinner for their length than any other brand." He 
picked up the four ends and examined them with 
his pocket-lens. 

"Two of these have been smoked from a holder 
and two without," said he. "Two have been cut by 
a not very sharp knife, and two have had the ends 
bitten off by a set of excellent teeth. This is no sui- 
cide, Mr. Lanner. It is a very deeply planned and 
cold-blooded murder." 

"Impossible!" cried the inspector. 

"And why?" 


369 



The Resident Patient 


"Why should any one murder a man in so 
clumsy a fashion as by hanging him?" 

"That is what we have to find out. " 

"How could they get in?" 

"Through the front door." 

"It was barred in the morning." 

"Then it was barred after them." 

"How do you know?" 

"I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I 
may be able to give you some further information 
about it." 

He went over to the door, and turning the lock 
he examined it in his methodical way. Then he 
took out the key, which was on the inside, and in- 
spected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs 
the mantelpiece, the dead body, and the rope were 
each in turn examined, until at last he professed 
himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the 
inspector cut down the wretched object and laid it 
reverently under a sheet. 

"How about this rope?" he asked. 

"It is cut off this," said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a 
large coil from under the bed. "He was morbidly 
nervous of fire, and always kept this beside him, 
so that he might escape by the window in case the 
stairs were burning." 

"That must have saved them trouble," said 
Holmes, thoughtfully. "Yes, the actual facts are 
very plain, and I shall be surprised if by the af- 
ternoon I cannot give you the reasons for them as 
well. I will take this photograph of Blessington, 
which I see upon the mantelpiece, as it may help 
me in my inquiries." 

"But you have told us nothing!" cried the doc- 
tor. 

"Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence 
of events," said Holmes. "There were three of 
them in it: the young man, the old man, and a 
third, to whose identity I have no clue. The first 
two, I need hardly remark, are the same who mas- 
queraded as the Russian count and his son, so we 
can give a very full description of them. They 
were admitted by a confederate inside the house. 
If I might offer you a word of advice. Inspector, it 
would be to arrest the page, who, as I understand, 
has only recently come into your service. Doctor." 

"The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. 
Trevelyan; "the maid and the cook have just been 
searching for him." 

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. 


"He has played a not unimportant part in this 
drama," said he. "The three men having ascended 
the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the elder man 
first, the younger man second, and the unknown 
man in the rear — " 

"My dear Holmes!" I ejaculated. 

"Oh, there could be no question as to the su- 
perimposing of the footmarks. I had the advantage 
of learning which was which last night. They as- 
cended, then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the door 
of which they found to be locked. With the help of 
a wire, however, they forced round the key. Even 
without the lens you will perceive, by the scratches 
on this ward, where the pressure was applied. 

"On entering the room their first proceeding 
must have been to gag Mr. Blessington. He may 
have been asleep, or he may have been so para- 
lyzed with terror as to have been unable to cry out. 
These walls are thick, and it is conceivable that his 
shriek, if he had time to utter one, was unheard. 

"Having secured him, it is evident to me that 
a consultation of some sort was held. Probably 
it was something in the nature of a judicial pro- 
ceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for 
it was then that these cigars were smoked. The 
older man sat in that wicker chair; it was he who 
used the cigar-holder. The younger man sat over 
yonder; he knocked his ash off against the chest 
of drawers. The third fellow paced up and down. 
Blessington, I think, sat upright in the bed, but of 
that I cannot be absolutely certain. 

"Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and 
hanging him. The matter was so prearranged that 
it is my belief that they brought with them some 
sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gal- 
lows. That screw-driver and those screws were, as 
I conceive, for fixing it up. Seeing the hook, how- 
ever they naturally saved themselves the trouble. 
Having finished their work they made off, and the 
door was barred behind them by their confeder- 
ate." 

We had all listened with the deepest interest 
to this sketch of the night's doings, which Holmes 
had deduced from signs so subtle and minute that, 
even when he had pointed them out to us, we 
could scarcely follow him in his reasoning. The 
inspector hurried away on the instant to make in- 
quiries about the page, while Holmes and I re- 
turned to Baker Street for breakfast. 

"I'll be back by three," said he, when we had 
finished our meal. "Both the inspector and the 
doctor will meet me here at that hour, and I hope 
by that time to have cleared up any little obscurity 
which the case may still present." 


370 



Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but 
it was a quarter to four before my friend put in 
an appearance. From his expression as he entered, 
however, I could see that all had gone well with 
him. 

"Any news. Inspector?" 

"We have got the boy, sir. " 

"Excellent, and I have got the men." 

"You have got them!" we cried, all three. 

"Well, at least I have got their identity. This 
so-called Blessington is, as I expected, well known 
at headquarters, and so are his assailants. Their 
names are Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat." 

"The Worthingdon bank gang," cried the in- 
spector. 

"Precisely," said Holmes. 

"Then Blessington must have been Sutton." 

"Exactly," said Holmes. 

"Why, that makes it as clear as crystal," said 
the inspector. 

But Trevelyan and I looked at each other in be- 
wilderment. 

"You must surely remember the great Wor- 
thingdon bank business," said Holmes. "Five 
men were in it — these four and a fifth called 
Cartwright. Tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, 
and the thieves got away with seven thousand 
pounds. This was in 1875. They were all five ar- 
rested, but the evidence against them was by no 
means conclusive. This Blessington or Sutton, who 
was the worst of the gang, turned informer. On 
his evidence Cartwright was hanged and the other 
three got fifteen years apiece. When they got out 
the other day, which was some years before their 


full term, they set themselves, as you perceive, to 
hunt down the traitor and to avenge the death of 
their comrade upon him. Twice they tried to get at 
him and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. 
Is there anything further which I can explain. Dr. 
Trevelyan?" 

"I think you have made it all remarkable clear," 
said the doctor. "No doubt the day on which he 
was perturbed was the day when he had seen of 
their release in the newspapers." 

"Quite so. His talk about a burglary was the 
merest blind." 

"But why could he not tell you this?" 

"Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive 
character of his old associates, he was trying to 
hide his own identity from everybody as long as 
he could. His secret was a shameful one, and he 
could not bring himself to divulge it. However, 
wretch as he was, he was still living under the 
shield of British law, and I have no doubt. Inspec- 
tor, that you will see that, though that shield may 
fail to guard, the sword of justice is still there to 
avenge." 

Such were the singular circumstances in con- 
nection with the Resident Patient and the Brook 
Street Doctor. From that night nothing has been 
seen of the three murderers by the police, and 
it is surmised at Scotland Yard that they were 
among the passengers of the ill-fated steamer No- 
ra/; Creina, which was lost some years ago with all 
hands upon the Portuguese coast, some leagues to 
the north of Oporto. The proceedings against the 
page broke down for want of evidence, and the 
Brook Street Mystery, as it was called, has never 
until now been fully dealt with in any public print. 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


n glancing over my notes of the seventy 
odd cases in which I have during the 
last eight years studied the methods of 
my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many 
tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, 
but none commonplace; for, working as he did 
rather for the love of his art than for the acquire- 
ment of wealth, he refused to associate himself 
with any investigation which did not tend towards 
the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these 
varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which 
presented more singular features than that which 
was associated with the well-known Surrey fam- 
ily of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in 
question occurred in the early days of my associ- 
ation with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms 
as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I 
might have placed them upon record before, but 
a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from 
which I have only been freed during the last month 
by the untimely death of the lady to whom the 
pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the 
facts should now come to light, for I have reasons 
to know that there are widespread rumours as to 
the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to 
make the matter even more terrible than the truth. 

It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke 
one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, 
fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a 
late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the man- 
telpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past 
seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and 
perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself 
regular in my habits. 

"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, 
"but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hud- 
son has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, 
and I on you." 

"What is it, then — a fire?" 

"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has 
arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who 
insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in 
the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander 
about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, 
and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I 
presume that it is something very pressing which 
they have to communicate. Should it prove to be 
an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to 
follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, 
that I should call you and give you the chance." 

"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for any- 
thing." 

I had no keener pleasure than in following 
Holmes in his professional investigations, and in 



admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intu- 
itions, and yet always founded on a logical ba- 
sis with which he unravelled the problems which 
were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my 
clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accom- 
pany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady 
dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been 
sitting in the window, rose as we entered. 

"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheer- 
ily. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my 
intimate friend and associate. Dr. Watson, before 
whom you can speak as freely as before myself. 
Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had 
the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to 
it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I 
observe that you are shivering." 

"It is not cold which makes me shiver," said 
the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as 
requested. 

"What, then?" 

"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised 
her veil as she spoke, and we could see that she 
was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her face 
all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, 
like those of some hunted animal. Her features 
and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her 
hair was shot with premature grey, and her expres- 
sion was weary and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran 
her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive 
glances. 

"You must not fear," said he soothingly, bend- 
ing forward and patting her forearm. "We shall 
soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have 
come in by train this morning, I see." 

"You know me, then?" 

"No, but I observe the second half of a return 
ticket in the palm of your left glove. You must 
have started early, and yet you had a good drive in 
a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached 
the station." 

The lady gave a violent start and stared in be- 
wilderment at my companion. 

"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said 
he, smiling. "The left arm of your jacket is spat- 
tered with mud in no less than seven places. The 
marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save 
a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and 
then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the 
driver." 

"Whatever your reasons may be, you are per- 
fectly correct," said she. "I started from home be- 
fore six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, and 
came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can 


213 




The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it con- 
tinues. I have no one to turn to — none, save only 
one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can 
be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; 
I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom 
you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was 
from her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do 
you not think that you could help me, too, and 
at least throw a little light through the dense dark- 
ness which surrounds me? At present it is out of 
my power to reward you for your services, but in 
a month or six weeks I shall be married, with the 
control of my own income, and then at least you 
shall not find me ungrateful." 

Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, 
drew out a small case-book, which he consulted. 

"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; 
it was concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was 
before your time, Watson. I can only say, madam, 
that I shall be happy to devote the same care to 
your case as I did to that of your friend. As to 
reward, my profession is its own reward; but you 
are at liberty to defray whatever expenses I may 
be put to, at the time which suits you best. And 
now I beg that you will lay before us everything 
that may help us in forming an opinion upon the 
matter." 

"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of 
my situation lies in the fact that my fears are so 
vague, and my suspicions depend so entirely upon 
small points, which might seem trivial to another, 
that even he to whom of all others I have a right to 
look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell 
him about it as the fancies of a nervous woman. 
He does not say so, but I can read it from his sooth- 
ing answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, 
Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the man- 
ifold wickedness of the human heart. You may 
advise me how to walk amid the dangers which 
encompass me." 

"I am all attention, madam." 

"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with 
my stepfather, who is the last survivor of one of 
the oldest Saxon families in England, the Roylotts 
of Stoke Moran, on the western border of Surrey." 

Holmes nodded his head. "The name is famil- 
iar to me," said he. 

"The family was at one time among the richest 
in England, and the estates extended over the bor- 
ders into Berkshire in the north, and Hampshire in 
the west. In the last century, however, four succes- 
sive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposi- 
tion, and the family ruin was eventually completed 


by a gambler in the days of the Regency. Nothing 
was left save a few acres of ground, and the two- 
hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed 
under a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged 
out his existence there, living the horrible life of 
an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, my stepfa- 
ther, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new 
conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, 
which enabled him to take a medical degree and 
went out to Calcutta, where, by his professional 
skill and his force of character, he established a 
large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused by 
some robberies which had been perpetrated in the 
house, he beat his native butler to death and nar- 
rowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suf- 
fered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards 
returned to England a morose and disappointed 
man. 

"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my 
mother, Mrs. Stoner, the young widow of Major- 
General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My sister 
Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years 
old at the time of my mother's re-marriage. She 
had a considerable sum of money — not less than 
£1000 a year — and this she bequeathed to Dr. Roy- 
lott entirely while we resided with him, with a pro- 
vision that a certain annual sum should be allowed 
to each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly 
after our return to England my mother died — she 
was killed eight years ago in a railway accident 
near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his at- 
tempts to establish himself in practice in London 
and took us to live with him in the old ances- 
tral house at Stoke Moran. The money which my 
mother had left was enough for all our wants, and 
there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness. 

"But a terrible change came over our stepfather 
about this time. Instead of making friends and ex- 
changing visits with our neighbours, who had at 
first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran 
back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in 
his house and seldom came out save to indulge in 
ferocious quarrels with whoever might cross his 
path. Violence of temper approaching to mania 
has been hereditary in the men of the family, and 
in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, been in- 
tensified by his long residence in the tropics. A se- 
ries of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which 
ended in the police-court, until at last he became 
the terror of the village, and the folks would fly at 
his approach, for he is a man of immense strength, 
and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger. 

"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over 
a parapet into a stream, and it was only by pay- 


214 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


ing over all the money which I could gather to- 
gether that I was able to avert another public expo- 
sure. He had no friends at all save the wandering 
gypsies, and he would give these vagabonds leave 
to encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered 
land which represent the family estate, and would 
accept in return the hospitality of their tents, wan- 
dering away with them sometimes for weeks on 
end. He has a passion also for Indian animals, 
which are sent over to him by a correspondent, 
and he has at this moment a cheetah and a ba- 
boon, which wander freely over his grounds and 
are feared by the villagers almost as much as their 
master. 

"You can imagine from what I say that my poor 
sister Julia and I had no great pleasure in our lives. 
No servant would stay with us, and for a long time 
we did all the work of the house. She was but 
thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair 
had already begun to whiten, even as mine has." 

"Your sister is dead, then?" 

"She died just two years ago, and it is of her 
death that I wish to speak to you. You can under- 
stand that, living the life which I have described, 
we were little likely to see anyone of our own 
age and position. We had, however, an aunt, my 
mother's maiden sister. Miss Honoria Westphail, 
who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally 
allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house. Ju- 
lia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met 
there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she 
became engaged. My stepfather learned of the en- 
gagement when my sister returned and offered no 
objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of 
the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the 
terrible event occurred which has deprived me of 
my only companion." 

Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his 
chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in 
a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and 
glanced across at his visitor. 

"Pray be precise as to details," said he. 

"It is easy for me to be so, for every event 
of that dreadful time is seared into my memory. 
The manor-house is, as I have already said, very 
old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The 
bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, 
the sitting-rooms being in the central block of the 
buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roy- 
lott's, the second my sister's, and the third my 
own. There is no communication between them, 
but they all open out into the same corridor. Do I 
make myself plain?" 


"Perfectly so." 

"The windows of the three rooms open out 
upon the lawn. That fatal night Dr. Roylott had 
gone to his room early, though we knew that he 
had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled 
by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it 
was his custom to smoke. She left her room, there- 
fore, and came into mine, where she sat for some 
time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At 
eleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused 
at the door and looked back. 

" 'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever 
heard anyone whistle in the dead of the night?' 

" 'Never,' said I. 

" 'I suppose that you could not possibly whis- 
tle, yourself, in your sleep?' 

" 'Certainly not. But why?' 

" 'Because during the last few nights I have 
always, about three in the morning, heard a 
low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it 
has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came 
from — perhaps from the next room, perhaps from 
the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you 
whether you had heard it.' 

" 'No, I have not. It must be those wretched 
gipsies in the plantation.' 

" 'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I 
wonder that you did not hear it also.' 

" 'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.' 

"'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any 
rate.' She smiled back at me, closed my door, and 
a few moments later I heard her key turn in the 
lock." 

"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom 
always to lock yourselves in at night?" 

"Always." 

"And why?" 

"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor 
kept a cheetah and a baboon. We had no feeling of 
security unless our doors were locked." 

"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement." 

"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling 
of impending misfortune impressed me. My sis- 
ter and I, you will recollect, were twins, and you 
know how subtle are the links which bind two 
souls which are so closely allied. It was a wild 
night. The wind was howling outside, and the rain 
was beating and splashing against the windows. 
Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there 
burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. 
I knew that it was my sister's voice. I sprang 
from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and 
rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door 


215 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sis- 
ter described, and a few moments later a clanging 
sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran 
down the passage, my sister 's door was unlocked, 
and revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at 
it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to 
issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp 
I saw my sister appear at the opening, her face 
blanched with terror, her hands groping for help, 
her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a 
drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round 
her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give 
way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as one 
who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were dread- 
fully convulsed. At first I thought that she had 
not recognised me, but as I bent over her she sud- 
denly shrieked out in a voice which I shall never 
forget, 'Oh, my God! Helen! It was the band! The 
speckled band!' There was something else which 
she would fain have said, and she stabbed with 
her finger into the air in the direction of the doc- 
tor's room, but a fresh convulsion seized her and 
choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for 
my stepfather, and I met him hastening from his 
room in his dressing-gown. When he reached my 
sister's side she was unconscious, and though he 
poured brandy down her throat and sent for med- 
ical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, 
for she slowly sank and died without having re- 
covered her consciousness. Such was the dreadful 
end of my beloved sister." 

"One moment," said Holmes, "are you sure 
about this whistle and metallic sound? Could you 
swear to it?" 

"That was what the county coroner asked me 
at the inquiry. It is my strong impression that I 
heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale and 
the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have 
been deceived." 

"Was your sister dressed?" 

"No, she was in her night-dress. In her right 
hand was found the charred stump of a match, and 
in her left a match-box." 

"Showing that she had struck a light and 
looked about her when the alarm took place. That 
is important. And what conclusions did the coro- 
ner come to?" 

"He investigated the case with great care, for 
Dr. Roylott's conduct had long been notorious in 
the county, but he was unable to find any satisfac- 
tory cause of death. My evidence showed that the 
door had been fastened upon the inner side, and 


the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shut- 
ters with broad iron bars, which were secured ev- 
ery night. The walls were carefully sounded, and 
were shown to be quite solid all round, and the 
flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the 
same result. The chimney is wide, but is barred 
up by four large staples. It is certain, therefore, 
that my sister was quite alone when she met her 
end. Besides, there were no marks of any violence 
upon her." 

"How about poison?" 

"The doctors examined her for it, but without 
success." 

"What do you think that this unfortunate lady 
died of, then?" 

"It is my belief that she died of pure fear and 
nervous shock, though what it was that frightened 
her I cannot imagine." 

"Were there gipsies in the plantation at the 
time?" 

"Yes, there are nearly always some there." 

"Ah, and what did you gather from this allu- 
sion to a band — a speckled band?" 

"Sometimes I have thought that it was merely 
the wild talk of delirium, sometimes that it may 
have referred to some band of people, perhaps to 
these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not know 
whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many 
of them wear over their heads might have sug- 
gested the strange adjective which she used." 

Holmes shook his head like a man who is far 
from being satisfied. 

"These are very deep waters," said he; "pray 
go on with your narrative." 

"Two years have passed since then, and my life 
has been until lately lonelier than ever. A month 
ago, however, a dear friend, whom I have known 
for many years, has done me the honour to ask my 
hand in marriage. His name is Armitage — Percy 
Armitage — the second son of Mr. Armitage, of 
Crane Water, near Reading. My stepfather has of- 
fered no opposition to the match, and we are to be 
married in the course of the spring. Two days ago 
some repairs were started in the west wing of the 
building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, 
so that I have had to move into the chamber in 
which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed 
in which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of ter- 
ror when last night, as 1 lay awake, thinking over 
her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence 
of the night the low whistle which had been the 
herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the 


216 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I 
was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so I 
dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I slipped 
down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is 
opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence 
I have come on this morning with the one object of 
seeing you and asking your advice." 

"You have done wisely," said my friend. "But 
have you told me all?" 

"Yes, all." 

"Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening 
your stepfather." 

"Why, what do you mean?" 

For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of 
black lace which fringed the hand that lay upon 
our visitor's knee. Five little livid spots, the marks 
of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon 
the white wrist. 

"You have been cruelly used," said Holmes. 

The lady coloured deeply and covered over her 
injured wrist. "He is a hard man," she said, "and 
perhaps he hardly knows his own strength." 

There was a long silence, during which Holmes 
leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the 
crackling fire. 

"This is a very deep business," he said at last. 
"There are a thousand details which I should de- 
sire to know before I decide upon our course of 
action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we 
were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be 
possible for us to see over these rooms without the 
knowledge of your stepfather?" 

"As it happens, he spoke of coming into town 
to-day upon some most important business. It is 
probable that he will be away all day, and that 
there would be nothing to disturb you. We have 
a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and 
I could easily get her out of the way." 

"Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Wat- 
son?" 

"By no means." 

"Then we shall both come. What are you going 
to do yourself?" 

"I have one or two things which I would wish 
to do now that I am in town. But I shall return by 
the twelve o'clock train, so as to be there in time 
for your coming." 

"And you may expect us early in the afternoon. 
I have myself some small business matters to at- 
tend to. Will you not wait and breakfast?" 


"No, I must go. My heart is lightened already 
since I have confided my trouble to you. I shall 
look forward to seeing you again this afternoon." 
She dropped her thick black veil over her face and 
glided from the room. 

"And what do you think of it all, Watson?" 
asked Sherlock Holmes, leaning back in his chair. 

"It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister 
business." 

"Dark enough and sinister enough." 

"Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the 
flooring and walls are sound, and that the door, 
window, and chimney are impassable, then her sis- 
ter must have been undoubtedly alone when she 
met her mysterious end." 

"What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whis- 
tles, and what of the very peculiar words of the 
dying woman?" 

"I cannot think." 

"When you combine the ideas of whistles at 
night, the presence of a band of gipsies who are 
on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that 
we have every reason to believe that the doctor has 
an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's mar- 
riage, the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the 
fact that Miss Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, 
which might have been caused by one of those 
metal bars that secured the shutters falling back 
into its place, I think that there is good ground to 
think that the mystery may be cleared along those 
lines." 

"But what, then, did the gipsies do?" 

"I cannot imagine." 

"I see many objections to any such theory." 

"And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that 
we are going to Stoke Moran this day. I want to 
see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may 
be explained away. But what in the name of the 
devil!" 

The ejaculation had been drawn from my com- 
panion by the fact that our door had been sud- 
denly dashed open, and that a huge man had 
framed himself in the aperture. His costume was 
a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the 
agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock- 
coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a hunting- 
crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that 
his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the door- 
way, and his breadth seemed to span it across from 
side to side. A large face, seared with a thousand 
wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked 
with every evil passion, was turned from one to 


217 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, 
and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him some- 
what the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey. 

"Which of you is Holmes?" asked this appari- 
tion. 

"My name, sir; but you have the advantage of 
me," said my companion quietly. 

"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran." 

"Indeed, Doctor," said Holmes blandly. "Pray 
take a seat." 

"I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaugh- 
ter has been here. I have traced her. What has she 
been saying to you?" 

"It is a little cold for the time of the year," said 
Holmes. 

"What has she been saying to you?" screamed 
the old man furiously. 

"But I have heard that the crocuses promise 
well," continued my companion imperturbably. 

"Ha! You put me off, do you?" said our new 
visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his 
hunting-crop. "I know you, you scoundrel! I have 
heard of you before. You are Holmes, the med- 
dler." 

My friend smiled. 

"Holmes, the busybody!" 

His smile broadened. 

"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!" 

Holmes chuckled heartily. "Your conversation 
is most entertaining," said he. "When you go out 
close the door, for there is a decided draught." 

"I will go when I have said my say. Don't you 
dare to meddle with my affairs. I know that Miss 
Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a dan- 
gerous man to fall foul of! See here." He stepped 
swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into 
a curve with his huge brown hands. 

"See that you keep yourself out of my grip," 
he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into the 
fireplace he strode out of the room. 

"He seems a very amiable person," said 
Holmes, laughing. "I am not quite so bulky, but 
if he had remained I might have shown him that 
my grip was not much more feeble than his own." 
As he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with 
a sudden effort, straightened it out again. 

"Fancy his having the insolence to confound 
me with the official detective force! This incident 
gives zest to our investigation, however, and I only 
trust that our little friend will not suffer from her 
imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. 


And now, Watson, we shall order breakfast, and af- 
terwards I shall walk down to Doctors' Commons, 
where I hope to get some data which may help us 
in this matter." 

It was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock 
Holmes returned from his excursion. He held in 
his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with 
notes and figures. 

"I have seen the will of the deceased wife," said 
he. "To determine its exact meaning I have been 
obliged to work out the present prices of the in- 
vestments with which it is concerned. The total 
income, which at the time of the wife's death was 
little short of £1100, is now, through the fall in agri- 
cultural prices, not more than £750. Each daughter 
can claim an income of £250, in case of marriage. 
It is evident, therefore, that if both girls had mar- 
ried, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, 
while even one of them would cripple him to a 
very serious extent. My morning's work has not 
been wasted, since it has proved that he has the 
very strongest motives for standing in the way of 
anything of the sort. And now, Watson, this is too 
serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is 
aware that we are interesting ourselves in his af- 
fairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab and 
drive to Waterloo. I should be very much obliged 
if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. 
An Eley's No. 2 is an excellent argument with gen- 
tlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. That 
and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that we need." 

At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a 
train for Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the 
station inn and drove for four or five miles through 
the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with a 
bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. 
The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing 
out their first green shoots, and the air was full of 
the pleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at least 
there was a strange contrast between the sweet 
promise of the spring and this sinister quest upon 
which we were engaged. My companion sat in the 
front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled 
down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his 
breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly, 
however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, 
and pointed over the meadows. 

"Look there!" said he. 

A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gen- 
tle slope, thickening into a grove at the highest 
point. From amid the branches there jutted out 
the grey gables and high roof-tree of a very old 
mansion. 

"Stoke Moran?" said he. 


218 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


"Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby 
Roylott," remarked the driver. 

"There is some building going on there," said 
Holmes; "that is where we are going." 

"There's the village," said the driver, point- 
ing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left; 
"but if you want to get to the house, you'll find 
it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot- 
path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is 
walking." 

"And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner," ob- 
served Holmes, shading his eyes. "Yes, I think we 
had better do as you suggest." 

We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled 
back on its way to Leatherhead. 

"I thought it as well," said Holmes as we 
climbed the stile, "that this fellow should think we 
had come here as architects, or on some definite 
business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, 
Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as 
our word." 

Our client of the morning had hurried forward 
to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. "I have 
been waiting so eagerly for you," she cried, shak- 
ing hands with us warmly. "All has turned out 
splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is 
unlikely that he will be back before evening." 

"We have had the pleasure of making the doc- 
tor's acquaintance," said Holmes, and in a few 
words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss 
Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened. 

"Good heavens!" she cried, "he has followed 
me, then." 

"So it appears." 

"He is so cunning that I never know when I am 
safe from him. What will he say when he returns?" 

"He must guard himself, for he may find that 
there is someone more cunning than himself upon 
his track. You must lock yourself up from him to- 
night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to 
your aunt's at Harrow. Now, we must make the 
best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to 
the rooms which we are to examine." 

The building was of grey, lichen-blotched 
stone, with a high central portion and two curving 
wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each 
side. In one of these wings the windows were bro- 
ken and blocked with wooden boards, while the 
roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. The 
central portion was in little better repair, but the 
right-hand block was comparatively modern, and 
the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke 


curling up from the chimneys, showed that this 
was where the family resided. Some scaffolding 
had been erected against the end wall, and the 
stone-work had been broken into, but there were 
no signs of any workmen at the moment of our 
visit. Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill- 
trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention 
the outsides of the windows. 

"This, I take it, belongs to the room in which 
you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister's, 
and the one next to the main building to Dr. Roy- 
lott's chamber?" 

"Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the mid- 
dle one." 

"Pending the alterations, as I understand. By 
the way, there does not seem to be any very press- 
ing need for repairs at that end wall." 

"There were none. I believe that it was an ex- 
cuse to move me from my room." 

"Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side 
of this narrow wing runs the corridor from which 
these three rooms open. There are windows in it, 
of course?" 

"Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for any- 
one to pass through." 

"As you both locked your doors at night, your 
rooms were unapproachable from that side. Now, 
would you have the kindness to go into your room 
and bar your shutters?" 

Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful 
examination through the open window, endeav- 
oured in every way to force the shutter open, but 
without success. There was no slit through which 
a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then 
with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of 
solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. 
"Hum!" said he, scratching his chin in some per- 
plexity, "my theory certainly presents some diffi- 
culties. No one could pass these shutters if they 
were bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws 
any light upon the matter." 

A small side door led into the whitewashed 
corridor from which the three bedrooms opened. 
Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so 
we passed at once to the second, that in which 
Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her 
sister had met with her fate. It was a homely 
little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fire- 
place, after the fashion of old country-houses. A 
brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a 
narrow white-counterpaned bed in another, and 
a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the win- 
dow. These articles, with two small wicker-work 


219 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save 
for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The 
boards round and the panelling of the walls were 
of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured 
that it may have dated from the original building 
of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into 
a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled 
round and round and up and down, taking in ev- 
ery detail of the apartment. 

"Where does that bell communicate with?" he 
asked at last pointing to a thick bell-rope which 
hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually ly- 
ing upon the pillow. 

"It goes to the housekeeper's room." 

"It looks newer than the other things?" 

"Yes, it was only put there a couple of years 
ago." 

"Your sister asked for it, I suppose?" 

"No, I never heard of her using it. We used 
always to get what we wanted for ourselves." 

"Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice 
a bell-pull there. You will excuse me for a few 
minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor." He 
threw himself down upon his face with his lens in 
his hand and crawled swiftly backward and for- 
ward, examining minutely the cracks between the 
boards. Then he did the same with the wood-work 
with which the chamber was panelled. Finally he 
walked over to the bed and spent some time in 
staring at it and in running his eye up and down 
the wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand 
and gave it a brisk tug. 

"Why, it's a dummy," said he. 

"Won't it ring?" 

"No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is 
very interesting. You can see now that it is fas- 
tened to a hook just above where the little opening 
for the ventilator is." 

"How very absurd! I never noticed that be- 
fore." 

"Very strange!" muttered Holmes, pulling at 
the rope. "There are one or two very singular 
points about this room. For example, what a fool 
a builder must be to open a ventilator into another 
room, when, with the same trouble, he might have 
communicated with the outside air!" 

"That is also quite modern," said the lady. 

"Done about the same time as the bell-rope?" 
remarked Holmes. 

"Yes, there were several little changes carried 
out about that time." 


"They seem to have been of a most interest- 
ing character — dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators 
which do not ventilate. With your permission. 
Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into 
the inner apartment." 

Dr. Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger 
than that of his step-daughter, but was as plainly 
furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full 
of books, mostly of a technical character, an arm- 
chair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against 
the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe were 
the principal things which met the eye. Holmes 
walked slowly round and examined each and all 
of them with the keenest interest. 

"What's in here?" he asked, tapping the safe. 

"My stepfather's business papers." 

"Oh! you have seen inside, then?" 

"Only once, some years ago. I remember that 
it was full of papers." 

"There isn't a cat in it, for example?" 

"No. What a strange idea!" 

"Well, look at this!" He took up a small saucer 
of milk which stood on the top of it. 

"No; we don't keep a cat. But there is a cheetah 
and a baboon." 

"Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big 
cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in 
satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is one point 
which I should wish to determine." He squatted 
down in front of the wooden chair and examined 
the seat of it with the greatest attention. 

"Thank you. That is quite settled," said he, ris- 
ing and putting his lens in his pocket. "Hullo! 
Here is something interesting!" 

The object which had caught his eye was a 
small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed. The 
lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so 
as to make a loop of whipcord. 

"What do you make of that, Watson?" 

"It's a common enough lash. But I don't know 
why it should be tied." 

"That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it's 
a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his 
brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think that I 
have seen enough now. Miss Stoner, and with your 
permission we shall walk out upon the lawn." 

I had never seen my friend's face so grim or his 
brow so dark as it was when we turned from the 
scene of this investigation. We had walked several 
times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner 
nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts 
before he roused himself from his reverie. 


220 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


"It is very essential. Miss Stoner," said he, "that 
you should absolutely follow my advice in every 
respect." 

"I shall most certainly do so." 

"The matter is too serious for any hesitation. 
Your life may depend upon your compliance." 

"I assure you that I am in your hands." 

"In the first place, both my friend and I must 
spend the night in your room." 

Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in aston- 
ishment. 

"Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe 
that that is the village inn over there?" 

"Yes, that is the Crown." 

"Very good. Your windows would be visible 
from there?" 

"Certainly." 

"You must confine yourself to your room, on 
pretence of a headache, when your stepfather 
comes back. Then when you hear him retire for 
the night, you must open the shutters of your win- 
dow, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a sig- 
nal to us, and then withdraw quietly with every- 
thing which you are likely to want into the room 
which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, 
in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for 
one night." 

"Oh, yes, easily." 

"The rest you will leave in our hands." 

"But what will you do?" 

"We shall spend the night in your room, and 
we shall investigate the cause of this noise which 
has disturbed you." 

"I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already 
made up your mind," said Miss Stoner, laying her 
hand upon my companion's sleeve. 

"Perhaps I have." 

"Then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the 
cause of my sister's death." 

"I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I 
speak." 

"You can at least tell me whether my own 
thought is correct, and if she died from some sud- 
den fright." 

"No, I do not think so. I think that there was 
probably some more tangible cause. And now. 
Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if Dr. Roylott 
returned and saw us our journey would be in vain. 
Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I 


have told you, you may rest assured that we shall 
soon drive away the dangers that threaten you." 

Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in en- 
gaging a bedroom and sitting-room at the Crown 
Inn. They were on the upper floor, and from our 
window we could command a view of the avenue 
gate, and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran 
Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roy- 
lott drive past, his huge form looming up beside 
the little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy 
had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy 
iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the 
doctor's voice and saw the fury with which he 
shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove 
on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light 
spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in 
one of the sitting-rooms. 

"Do you know, Watson," said Holmes as we sat 
together in the gathering darkness, "I have really 
some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is a 
distinct element of danger." 

"Can I be of assistance?" 

"Your presence might be invaluable." 

"Then I shall certainly come." 

"It is very kind of you." 

"You speak of danger. You have evidently seen 
more in these rooms than was visible to me." 

"No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a lit- 
tle more. I imagine that you saw all that I did." 

"I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, 
and what purpose that could answer I confess is 
more than I can imagine." 

"You saw the ventilator, too?" 

"Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very un- 
usual thing to have a small opening between two 
rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardly pass 
through." 

"I knew that we should find a ventilator before 
ever we came to Stoke Moran." 

"My dear Holmes!" 

"Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement 
she said that her sister could smell Dr. Roylott's 
cigar. Now, of course that suggested at once that 
there must be a communication between the two 
rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would 
have been remarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. 
I deduced a ventilator." 

"But what harm can there be in that?" 

"Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of 
dates. A ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and 
a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does not that 
strike you?" 

"I cannot as yet see any connection." 


221 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


"Did you observe anything very peculiar about 
that bed?" 

"No." 

"It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see 
a bed fastened like that before?" 

"I cannot say that I have." 

"The lady could not move her bed. It must al- 
ways be in the same relative position to the venti- 
lator and to the rope — or so we may call it, since it 
was clearly never meant for a bell-pull." 

"Holmes," I cried, "I seem to see dimly what 
you are hinting at. We are only just in time to pre- 
vent some subtle and horrible crime." 

"Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a 
doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals. 
He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and 
Pritchard were among the heads of their profes- 
sion. This man strikes even deeper, but I think, 
Watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. 
But we shall have horrors enough before the night 
is over; for goodness' sake let us have a quiet pipe 
and turn our minds for a few hours to something 
more cheerful." 

About nine o'clock the light among the trees 
was extinguished, and all was dark in the direc- 
tion of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowly 
away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of 
eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front 
of us. 

"That is our signal," said Holmes, springing to 
his feet; "it comes from the middle window." 

As we passed out he exchanged a few words 
with the landlord, explaining that we were going 
on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was 
possible that we might spend the night there. A 
moment later we were out on the dark road, a 
chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow 
light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to 
guide us on our sombre errand. 

There was little difficulty in entering the 
grounds, for unrepaired breaches gaped in the old 
park wall. Making our way among the trees, we 
reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to 
enter through the window when out from a clump 
of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a 
hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon 
the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly 
across the lawn into the darkness. 

"My God!" I whispered; "did you see it?" 

Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. 
His hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his 


agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and put 
his lips to my ear. 

"It is a nice household," he murmured. "That 
is the baboon." 

I had forgotten the strange pets which the doc- 
tor affected. There was a cheetah, too; perhaps 
we might find it upon our shoulders at any mo- 
ment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when, 
after following Holmes' example and slipping off 
my shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom. My 
companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved 
the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes round 
the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. 
Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of 
his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gen- 
tly that it was all that I could do to distinguish the 
words: 

"The least sound would be fatal to our plans." 

I nodded to show that I had heard. 

"We must sit without light. He would see it 
through the ventilator." 

I nodded again. 

"Do not go asleep; your very life may depend 
upon it. Have your pistol ready in case we should 
need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in 
that chair." 

I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner 
of the table. 

Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and 
this he placed upon the bed beside him. By it he 
laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle. 
Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left 
in darkness. 

How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I 
could not hear a sound, not even the drawing of 
a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat 
open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same 
state of nervous tension in which I was myself. 
The shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we 
waited in absolute darkness. 

From outside came the occasional cry of a 
night-bird, and once at our very window a long 
drawn catlike whine, which told us that the chee- 
tah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear 
the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed 
out every quarter of an hour. How long they 
seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and one 
and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently 
for whatever might befall. 

Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a 
light up in the direction of the ventilator, which 
vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a 


222 



The Adventure of the Speckled Band 


strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. 
Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. 
I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then 
all was silent once more, though the smell grew 
stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears. 
Then suddenly another sound became audible — a 
very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet 
of steam escaping continually from a kettle. The 
instant that we heard it. Holmes sprang from the 
bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his 
cane at the bell-pull. 

"You see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see it?" 

But I saw nothing. At the moment when 
Holmes struck the light I heard a low, clear whis- 
tle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary 
eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was 
at which my friend lashed so savagely. I could, 
however, see that his face was deadly pale and 
filled with horror and loathing. He had ceased to 
strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when 
suddenly there broke from the silence of the night 
the most horrible cry to which I have ever listened. 
It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of 
pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one 
dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the 
village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry 
raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold 
to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and 
he at me, until the last echoes of it had died away 
into the silence from which it rose. 

"What can it mean?" I gasped. 

"It means that it is all over," Holmes answered. 
"And perhaps, after all, it is for the best. Take your 
pistol, and we will enter Dr. Roylott's room." 

With a grave face he lit the lamp and led 
the way down the corridor. Twice he struck at 
the chamber door without any reply from within. 
Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his 
heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand. 

It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On 
the table stood a dark-lantern with the shutter half 
open, throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the 
iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this 
table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roy- 
lott clad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare 
ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into 
red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the 
short stock with the long lash which we had no- 
ticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward 
and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at 
the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had 
a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, 
which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. 
As we entered he made neither sound nor motion. 


"The band! the speckled band!" whispered 
Holmes. 

I took a step forward. In an instant his strange 
headgear began to move, and there reared itself 
from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped 
head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent. 

"It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the 
deadliest snake in India. He has died within ten 
seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth, 
recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into 
the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust 
this creature back into its den, and we can then re- 
move Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and let 
the county police know what has happened." 

As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly 
from the dead man's lap, and throwing the noose 
round the reptile's neck he drew it from its horrid 
perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it into 
the iron safe, which he closed upon it. 

Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. 
Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran. It is not nec- 
essary that I should prolong a narrative which has 
already run to too great a length by telling how 
we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how 
we conveyed her by the morning train to the care 
of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow pro- 
cess of official inquiry came to the conclusion that 
the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing 
with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to 
learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes 
as we travelled back next day. 

"I had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous 
conclusion which shows, my dear Watson, how 
dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient 
data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of 
the word 'band,' which was used by the poor girl, 
no doubt, to explain the appearance which she had 
caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of her 
match, were sufficient to put me upon an entirely 
wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I in- 
stantly reconsidered my position when, however, 
it became clear to me that whatever danger threat- 
ened an occupant of the room could not come ei- 
ther from the window or the door. My attention 
was speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to 
you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which 
hung down to the bed. The discovery that this was 
a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the 
floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the 
rope was there as a bridge for something passing 
through the hole and coming to the bed. The idea 
of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when I 
coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was 
furnished with a supply of creatures from India, I 
felt that I was probably on the right track. The idea 


223 



of using a form of poison which could not possi- 
bly be discovered by any chemical test was just 
such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless 
man who had had an Eastern training. The ra- 
pidity with which such a poison would take effect 
would also, from his point of view, be an advan- 
tage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, 
who could distinguish the two little dark punc- 
tures which would show where the poison fangs 
had done their work. Then I thought of the whis- 
tle. Of course he must recall the snake before the 
morning light revealed it to the victim. He had 
trained it, probably by the use of the milk which 
we saw, to return to him when summoned. He 
would put it through this ventilator at the hour 
that he thought best, with the certainty that it 
would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It 
might or might not bite the occupant, perhaps she 
might escape every night for a week, but sooner or 
later she must fall a victim. 

"I had come to these conclusions before ever I 
had entered his room. An inspection of his chair 
showed me that he had been in the habit of stand- 


ing on it, which of course would be necessary in 
order that he should reach the ventilator. The 
sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop 
of whipcord were enough to finally dispel any 
doubts which may have remained. The metallic 
clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused 
by her stepfather hastily closing the door of his 
safe upon its terrible occupant. Having once made 
up my mind, you know the steps which I took in 
order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the 
creature hiss as I have no doubt that you did also, 
and I instantly lit the light and attacked it." 

"With the result of driving it through the ven- 
tilator." 

"And also with the result of causing it to turn 
upon its master at the other side. Some of the 
blows of my cane came home and roused its snak- 
ish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it 
saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsi- 
ble for Dr. Grimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot 
say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my 
conscience." 



ACT II 


Two years have elapsed between Acts I and 11 

SCENE I 

DR. RYLOTT’S study at Stoke Place. 

The door at one side, a pair of French windows on the other. 

It is two years later. 

Enter MRS. STAUNTON, showing in ARMITAGE. 

MRS. STAUNTON: 1 can’t tell how long the Doctor may be. It’s not long since he went out. 

ARMITAGE: Well, I’ll wait for him, however long it is. 

MRS. STAUNTON: It’s nothing I could do for you, I suppose. 

ARMITAGE: No, it is not. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Well, you need not be so short. Perhaps, after you’ve seen the Doctor, you may be 
sorry. 

ARMITAGE: There’s the law of England watching over me, Mrs. Staunton. I advise you not to forget it — 
nor your master either. I fear no man so long as I am doing my duty. 

{Enter ENID.) 

Ah, Miss Stonor, I am very glad to see you. 

ENID ( bewildered ): Good-day, Mr. Armitage. What brings you up here? 

ARMITAGE: I had a little business with the Doctor. But I should be very glad to have a chat with you 
also. 

MRS. STAUNTON: I don’t think the Doctor would like it, Miss Enid. 

ARMITAGE: A pretty state of things. Isn’t this young lady able to speak with whoever she likes? Do you 
call this a prison, or a private asylum, or what? These are fine doings in a free country. 

MRS. STAUNTON: I am sure the Doctor would not like it. 

ARMITAGE: Look here, Mrs. Staunton, two is company and three is none. If I’m not afraid of your 
master, I’m not afraid of YOU. You’re a bit beyond your station, you are. Get to the other side of that door 
and leave us alone, or else — 

MRS. STAUNTON: Or what, Mr. Armitage? 



ARMITAGE: As sure as my father was a Methodist I’ll go down to the J.P. and swear out an information 
that this young lady is under constraint. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Oh — well, you need not be so hot about it. It’s nothing to me what you say to Miss 
Enid. But the Doctor won’t like it. 

(i She goes out ) 

ARMITAGE (looking at the door): You haven’t such a thing as a hatpin? (Crossing over to door) 

ENID: No. 

ARMITAGE: If I were to jab it through that keyhole — 

ENID: Mr. Armitage please don’t. 

ARMITAGE: You’d hear Sister Jane’s top note. But we’ll speak low for I don’t mean she shall hear. First 
of all Miss Enid are they using you? Are you all right? 

ENID: Mr. Armitage I know you mean it all for kindness but I cannot discuss my personal affairs with 
you. I hardly know you. 

ARMITAGE: Only the village grocer. I know all about that. But I’ve taken an interest in you Miss Stonor 
and I’m not the kind of man that can’t leave go his hold. I came here not to see you, but your stepfather. 

ENID: Oh, Mr. Armitage, I beg you to go away at once. You have no idea how violent he is if any one 
thwarts him Please, please go at once. 

ARMITAGE: Well Miss Stonor your only chance of getting to go is to answer my questions. When my 
conscience is clear, I’ll go and not before. My conscience tells me that it is my duty to stay here till I have 
some satisfaction. 

ENID ( crossing to settee and sitting ): What is it, Mr. Armitage. Let’s sit down. 

ARMITAGE ( bringing chair over to settee ): Well I’ll tell you. I make it my business to know what is 
going on in this house. It may be that I like you or it may be that I dislike your stepfather. Or it may be that 
it is just my nature but so it is I’ve got my own ways of finding out, and I find out. 

ENID: What have you found out? 

ARMITAGE: Now look here, Miss. Cast your mind back to that inquest two years ago. 

ENID: Oh! ( Turning away.) 

ARMITAGE: I’m sorry if it hurts you, but I must speak plain. When did your sister meet her death? It was 
shortly after her engagement was it not? 

ENID: Yes, it was. 

ARMITAGE: Well, you’re engaged now, are you not? 

ENID: Yes, I am 



ARMITAGE: Point number one. Well, now, have there not been repairs lately, and are you not forced to 
sleep in the very room your sister died in? 

ENID: Only for a few nights. 

ARMITAGE: Point number two. In your evidence you said you heard music in the house at night. Have 
you never heard music of late? 

ENID: Good God! only last night I thought 1 heard it; and then persuaded myself that it was a dream. But 
how do you know these things, Mr. Armitage, and what do they mean? 

ARMITAGE: Well, I won’t tell you how I know them, and I can’t tell you what they mean. But it’s 
devilish, Miss Stonor, devilish! (Rising.) Now I’ve come up to see your stepfather and to tell him, as man 
to man, that I’ve got my eye on him, and that if anything happens to you it will be a bad day’s work for 
him. 

ENID (rising): Oh, Mr. Armitage, he would beat you within an inch of your life. Mr. Armitage, you cannot 
think what he is like when the fury is on him He is terrible. 

ARMITAGE: The law will look after me. 

ENID: It might avenge you, Mr. Armitage, but it could not protect you. Besides, there is no possible 
danger. You know of my engagement to Lieutenant Curtis? 

ARMITAGE: I hear he leaves to-morrow. 

ENID: That is true. But the next day I am going on a visit to his mother, at Fenton. Indeed, there is no 
danger. 

ARMITAGE: Well, I won’t deny that I am consoled by what you say, but there’s just one condition on 
which I would leave this house. 

ENID: What is that? 

ARMITAGE: Well, I remember your friend, Dr. Watson, at the inquest — and we’ve heard of his 
connection with Mr. Sherlock HOLMES. If you’ll promise me that you’ll slip away to London to-morrow, 
see those two gentlemen, and get their advice, I’ll wash my hands of it. I should feel that some one 
stronger than me Was looking after you. 

ENID: Oh, Mr. Armitage, I couldn’t. 

ARMITAGE (folding his arms): Then I stay here. 

ENID: It is Lieutenant Curtis’s last day in England. 

ARMITAGE: When does he leave? 

ENID: In the evening. 

ARMITAGE: Well if you go in the morning you’d be back in time. 

ENID: But how can I get away? 



ARMITAGE: Who’s to stop you? Have you money? 

ENID: Yes, I have enough. 

ARMITAGE: Then go. 

ENID: It is really impossible. 

ARMITAGE {sitting): Very good. Then I’ll have it out with Doctor. 

ENID {crossing to him): There, there! I’ll promise. I’ll go. I won’t have you hurt I’ll write and arrange it 
all somehow. 

ARMITAGE: Word of honour? 

ENID: Yes, yes I’ll write to Dr Watson. Oh do go. This way. (Goes to the French window) If you keep 
among the laurels you can get to the high road and no one will meet you. 

ARMITAGE {going up to the windows. Pause. Returning): That dog about? 

ENID: It is with the Doctor. Oh do go! and thank you — Thank you with all my heart. 

ARMITAGE: My wife and I can always take you in. Don’t you forget it. 

(ARMITAGE goes out ENID stands looking after him. As she does so Mrs Staunton enters the room) 
MRS STAUNTON: I saw Mr. Armitage going off through the shrubbery {Looks out of window). 

ENID: Yes he has gone. 

MRS. STAUNTON: But why did he not wait to see the Doctor. 

ENID: He’s changed his mind. 

MRS STAUNTON: He is the most impertinent busybody in the whole village. Fancy the insolence of him 
coming up here without a with-your-leave or by-your-leave. What was it he wanted, Miss Enid? 

ENID: It is not your place, Mrs. Staunton, to ask such questions. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Oh, indeed! For that matter, Miss Enid, I should not have thought it was your place to 
have secrets with the village grocer. The Doctor will want to know all about it. 

ENID: What my stepfather may do is another matter. I beg, Mrs. Staunton, that you will attend to your own 
affairs and leave me alone. 

MRS. STAUNTON (putting her arms akimbo): High and mighty, indeed! I’m to do all the work of the 
house, but the grocer can come in and turn me out of the room If you think I am nobody you may find 
yourself mistaken some of these days. 

ENID: How dare you — (She makes for the door, as RYLOTT enters.) 

RYLOTT: Why, ENID, what’s the matter? Any one been upsetting you? What’s all this, Mrs. Staunton? 



ENID: Mrs. Staunton has been rude to me. 


RYLOTT: Dear, dear! Here’s a storm in a teacup. Well, now, come and tell me all about it. No one shall 
bother my little Enid. What would her sailor boy say? 

MRS. STAUNTON: Mr. Armitage has been here. He would speak with Miss ENID alone. I didn’t think it 
right. That is why Miss Enid is offended. 

RYLOTT: Where is the fellow? 

MRS. STAUNTON: He is gone. He went off through the shrubbery. 

RYLOTT: Upon my word, he seems to make himself at home. What did he want, ENID? 

ENID: He wanted to know how I was. 

RYLOTT: This is too funny! You have made a conquest, Enid. You have a rustic admirer. 

ENID: I believe he is a true friend who means well to me. 

RYLOTT: Astounding! Perhaps it is as well for him that he did not prolong his visit. But now, my dear 
girl, go to your room until I send for you. I am very sorry that you have been upset, and I will see that such 
a thing does not happen again. Tut, tut! my little girl shall not be worried. Leave it to me. ( Goes up to 
door with ENID.) 

(ENID goes out.) 

Well, what is it, then? Why have you upset her? 

MRS. STAUNTON: Why has she upset me? Why should I be always the last to be considered? 

RYLOTT: Why should you be considered at all? 

MRS. STAUNTON: You dare to say that to me — you that promised me marriage only a year ago. If I was 
what I should be, then there would be no talk as to who is the mistress of this house. I’ll put up with no 
more of her tantrums, talking to me as if I were the kitchen-maid. {Turning from him.) 

RYLOTT : You forget yourself. 

MRS STAUNTON: I forget nothing. I don t forget your promise and it will be a bad day for you if you 
don’t keep it. 

RYLOTT: I’ll put you out on the roadside if you dare speak so to me. 

MRS STAUNTON: You will, will you? Try it and see. I saved you once. Maybe I could do the other thing 
if I tried. 

RYLOTT: Saved me? 

MRS STAUNTON: Yes saved you. If it hadn’t been for my evidence at that inquest that fellow Armitage 
would have taken the Jury with him Yes he would. I’ve had it from them since. 

RYLOTT: Well you only spoke the truth. 



MRS STAUNTON: The truth! Do you think I don’t know? 

RYLOTT : What do you know? 

{She is silent and looks hard at him ) 

What do you know? 

{She is still silent ) 

Don’t look at me like that woman. What do you know? 

MRS STAUNTON: 1 know enough 
{Pause) 

RYLOTT : Tell me then — how did she die? 

MRS STAUNTON: Only you know that. 1 may not know how she died but 1 know very well — 

RYLOTT ( interrupting ): You were always fanciful Kate but 1 know very well that you have only my own 
interests at heart. Put it out of your head if 1 have said anything unkind. Don’t quarrel with this little fool, 
or you may interfere with my plans. Just wait a little longer and things will come straight with us. You 
know that I have a hasty temper but it is soon over. 

MRS. STAUNTON: You can always talk me round, and you know it. Now, listen to me, for 1 am the only 
friend you’ve got. Don’t try it again. You’ve got clear once. But a second would be too dangerous. 

RYLOTT: They would make no more of the second than of the first. No one in the world can tell. It’s 
impossible, I tell you. If she marries, half my income is gone. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Yes, I know. Couldn’t she sign it to you? 

RYLOTT: She can be strong enough when she likes. She would never sign it to me. I hinted at it once, and 
she talked of a lawyer. {Pause.) But if anything should happen to her — well, there’s an end to all our 
trouble. 

MRS. STAUNTON: They must suspect. 

RYLOTT : Let them suspect. But they can prove nothing. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Not yet. 

RYLOTT: On Wednesday she goes a- visiting, and who knows when she may return? No, it’s to-morrow 
or never. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Then let it be never. 

RYLOTT: And lose half my income without a struggle? No, Kate, it’s all or nothing with me now. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Well, look out for Armitage. 

RYLOTT : What about him? 



MRS. STAUNTON: He must have known something before he dared to come here. 

RYLOTT: What can he know of our affairs? 

MRS. STAUNTON: There’s Rodgers. You think he’s half-witted. So he is. But he may know more and say 
more than we think. He talks and Armitage talks. Maybe Armitage gets hold of him. 

RYLOTT: We’ll soon settle that. ( Crossing to bell-pull .) I’ll twist the old rogue’s neck if he has dared to 
play me false. There’s one thing — he can’t hold anything in if I want it to come out. Did you ever see a 
snake and a white mouse? You just watch. 

C Enter RODGERS.) 

Come here, Rodgers. 

RODGERS: Yes, sir. 

RYLOTT: Stand here, where the light falls on your face, Rodgers. 1 shall know then if you are telling me 
the truth. 

RODGERS: The truth, sir. Surely 1 would tell that. 

RYLOTT ( takes chair from behind settee ): Sit there! Don’t move! Now look at me. That’s right. You 
can’t lie to me now. You’ve been down to see Mr. Armitage. 

RODGERS: Sir — 1 hope — there was no harm in that. 

RYLOTT: How often? 

RODGERS: Two or three times. 

RYLOTT: How often? 

RODGERS: Two or three — 

RYLOTT: How often? 

RODGERS: When I go to the village 1 always see him. 

MRS STAUNTON: That’s nearly every day. 

RYLOTT : What have you told him about me? 

RODGERS: Oh, sir, nothing. 

RYLOTT : What have you told him? 

RODGERS: Just the news of the house sir. 

RYLOTT: What news? 

RODGERS: Well, about Miss Enid’s engagement, and Siva biting the gardener and the cook giving notice 
and the like. 



RYLOTT: Nothing more than this? 

RODGERS: No sir. 

RYLOTT: Nothing more about Miss Enid? 

RODGERS: No sir. 

RYLOTT You swear it? 

RODGERS: No, sir, no. I said nothing more. 

RYLOTT (; springing up catching him by the neck shaking him): You doddering old rascal how came you 
to say anything at all? 1 kept you here out of charity and you dare to gossip about my affairs. Eve had 
enough of you — ( Throwing him off): I’ll go to London tomorrow and get a younger man. You pack up 
your things and go. Do you hear? 

RODGERS: Won’t you look it over sir? Em an old man sir. 1 have no place to go to. Where am I to go? 

RYLOTT: You can go to the devil for all 1 care, or to your friend Armitage the grocer. There is no place 
for you here. Get out of the room. 

RODGERS: Yes sir. You won’t reconsider it? 

RYLOTT: Get out. And tell Miss Enid 1 want her. 

RODGERS: Yes, sir. 

(RODGERS goes out) 

MRS. STAUNTON: You have done wisely. He was not safe. 

RYLOTT: The old devil suited me too in a way. A younger man may give more trouble. 

MRS STAUNTON: You’ll soon break him in. 

RYLOTT: Yes, 1 expect I will. ( Crossing to her.) Now, make it right with ENID for my sake. You must 
play the game to the end. 

MRS. STAUNTON: It’s all right. Em ready for her. 

{Enter ENID.) 

RYLOTT: My dear, Mrs. Staunton is very sorry if she has given you any annoyance. I hope you will 
accept her apology in the same spirit that it is offered. 

MRS. STAUNTON: I meant no harm. Miss Enid, and I was only thinking of the master’s interests. I hope 
you’ll forgive me. 

ENID: Certainly, I forgive you, Mrs. Staunton. 

RYLOTT: There’s a good little girl. Now, Mrs. Staunton, you had better leave us. 



(MRS. STAUNTON goes out.) 


Now, my dear, you must not be vexed with poor Mrs. Staunton, for she is a very hard-working woman and 
devoted to her duty, though, of course, her manners are often wanting in polish. Come now, dear, say that 
it is All right. 

(ENID sits on settee.) 

ENID: I have said that I forgive her. 

RYLOTT: You must tell me anything I can do, to make you happier. Of course, you have some one else 
now, but I would not like you to forget your old stepfather altogether. Until the day when you have to leave 
me, I wish to do the very best for you. 

ENID: You are very kind. 

RYLOTT: Can you suggest anything that I can do? 

ENID: No, no, there is nothing. 

RYLOTT: I was a little too rough last week. I am sorry for that. I should wish your future husband to like 
me. You will tell him, when you see him, that I have done what I could to make you happy? 

ENID: Yes, yes. 

RYLOTT : You see him to-morrow? 

ENID: Yes. 

RYLOTT: And he leaves us to-morrow evening? (, Sitting beside her on settee.) 

ENID: Yes. 

RYLOTT: You have all my sympathy, dear. But he will soon back again, and then, of course, you will part 
no more. You will be sorry to hear that old Rodgers has been behaving badly, and that I must get rid of 
him. 

ENID (rising): Rodgers! What has he done? 

RYLOTT: He grows more foolish and incompetent every day. I propose to go to London myself tomorrow 
to get a new butler. Would you send a line in my name to the agents to say that I shall call about two o 
clock? 

ENID: I will do so. 

RYLOTT: There’s a good little girl (Pause. Crossing to her and placing his hand on her shoulder) 
There’s nothing on your mind, is there? 

ENID: Oh no. 

RYLOTT: Well then run away and get your letter written. I dare bet you have another of your own to 
write. One a day — or two a day? — what is his Allowance? Well, well, we have All done it at some 
time. 



{Enter ALI with milk jug glass and saucer on a tray ) 

ALI: I beg pardon Sahib, I go. 

RYLOTT: Come in! Come in! Put my milk down on the table. 

(ALI does so) 

Now my dear please don’t forget to write the letter to the agents. 

(ENID goes out) 

You fool! Why did you not make sure I was alone? 

ALI: I thought no one here but Sahib. 

RYLOTT: Well as it happens there’s no harm done ( Goes to door and locks it. Pulls down blind oj 
window) 

{While he does so ALI opens a cupboard and takes out a square wicker work basket. RYLOTT pours 
milk into saucer and puts it before basket. Then he cracks his fingers and whistles while I\L\ plays on 
an Eastern flute) 

CURTAIN 



SCENE II 


MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES’ room in Baker Street. 

Enter BILLY, showing in DR. WATSON. 

WATSON: I particularly want to see Mr. Holmes. 

BILLY: Well, sir, I expect he will be back almost immediately. 

WATSON: Is he very busy just now? 

BILLY: Yes, sir, we are very busy. We don’t get much time to ourselves these days. 

WATSON: Any particular case? 

BILLY: Quite a number of cases, sir. Two German princes and the Duchess of Lerrers yesterday. The 
Pope’s been bothering us again. Wants us to go to Rome over the cameo robbery. We are very 
overworked. 

WATSON: Well, I’ll wait for Mr. Holmes. 

BILLY: Very good, sir. Here is The Times. There’s four for him in the waiting-room now. 

WATSON: Any lady among them? 

BILLY: Not what I would call a lady, sir. 

WATSON: All right, I’ll wait. ( Lights a cigarette and looks around him.) Just the same as ever. There 
are the old chemicals! Heavens! what have I not endured from those chemicals in the old days? Pistol 
practice on the wall. Quite so. I wonder if he still keeps tobacco in that Persian slipper? Yes, here it is. 
And his pipes in the coal-scuttle — black clays. Pull of them — the same as ever. ( Takes one out and 
smells it.) Laugh! Bottle of cocaine — Billy, Billy! 

BILLY : I’ve done my best to break him of it, sir. 

WATSON: All right, Billy, you can go. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

There’s the old violin — the same old violin, with one string left. ( Sits on settee.) 

{Enter SHERLOCK HOLMES, disguised as a workman, with tools.) 

HOLMES: You sent for me, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. 

WATSON: I am not Mr. Holmes. 

HOLMES: Beg pardon, sir, it was to mend the gas-bracket. 

WATSON: What’s wrong with it? 



HOLMES: Leaking sir. 

WATSON: Well go on with your work. 

HOLMES: Yes, sir. ( Goes to the bracket.) Hope I won’t disturb you sir? 

WATSON ( taking up The Times): That’s all right Don’t mind me. 

HOLMES: Very untidy man Mr. Holmes sir. 

WATSON: What do you mean by that? 

HOLMES: Well, sir, you can’t help noticing it. It’s all over the room. I’ve ‘eard say he was as tidy as any 
when he started, but he learned bad ‘abits from a cove what lived with him. Watson was his name. 

(Slips into bedroom) 

WATSON (rising): You impertinent fellow! How dare you talk in such a fashion? What do you want? 
(Looks round.) Why! wha’ deuce has become of him? 

(The workman emerges as SHERLOCK HOLMES, in dressing-gown with hands in pockets) 

Good Heavens Holmes! I should never have recognized you. 

HOLMES: My dear Watson when you begin to recognize me it will indeed be the beginning of the end. 
When your eagle eye penetrates my disguise I shall retire to an eligible poultry farm. 

WATSON: But why — ? 

HOLMES: A case my dear Watson a case! One of those small conundrums which a trustful public 
occasionally confides to my investigation. To the British workman, Watson, all doors are open. His 
costume is unostentatious and his habits are sociable. A tool bag is an excellent passport and a tawny 
moustache will secure the co-operation of the maids. It may interest you to know that my humble double is 
courting a cook at Battersea. (Strikes match and lights pipe) 

WATSON: My dear Holmes! is it fair to the girl? 

HOLMES: Chivalrous old Watson! It’s a game of life and death, and every card must be played! But in 
this case I have a hated rival — the constable on the adjoining beat — so when I disappear, all will 
readjust itself. We walk out on Saturday evenings. Oh! those walks! But the honour of a Duchess is at 
stake. A mad world, my masters. (Turns to survey Watson.) Well, Watson, what is your news? 

WATSON (smiling): Well, Holmes, I came here to tell you what I am sure will please you. 

HOLMES: Engaged, Watson, engaged! Your coat, your hat, your gloves, your buttonhole, your smile, your 
blush! The successful suitor shines from you all over. What I had heard of you or perhaps what I had not 
heard of you, had already excited my worst suspicions. (Looks fixedly at Watson.) But this is better and 
better, for I begin to perceive that it is a young lady whom I know and respect. 

WATSON: But, Holmes, this is marvellous. The lady is Miss Morstan, whom you have indeed met and 
admired. But how could you tell — 



HOLMES: By the same observation, my dear Watson, which assures me that you have seen the lady this 
morning. {Picks a hair off WATSON’ Sbreast, wraps it round his finger, and glances at it with his lens.) 
Charming, my dear fellow, charming. There is no mistaking the Titian tint. You lucky fellow! I envy you. 

WATSON: Thank you, Holmes. Some of these days 1 may find myself congratulating you. 

HOLMES: No marriage without love, Watson. 

WATSON: Then why not love? {Placing his hand on HOLMES’ ^shoulders.) 

HOLMES: Absurd, Watson, absurd! 1 am not for love, nor love for me. It would disturb my reason, 
unbalance my faculties. Love is like a flaw in the crystal, sand in the clockwork, iron near the magnet. No, 
no, I have other work in the world. 

WATSON: You have, indeed. Billy says you are very busy just now. 

HOLMES: There are one or two small matters. 

WATSON: Have you room to consider one other — the case of Miss Enid Stonor? 

HOLMES: My dear fellow, if you have any personal interest in it. {Sitting on divan.) 

WATSON: Yes, I feel keenly about it. 

HOLMES {taking out note-book): Let us see how 1 stand. There is the Baxter Square murder — I have 
put the police on the track. The Clerkenwell Jewel Robbery — that is now clearing. The case of the 
Duchess of Ferrers — I have my material. The Pope’s cameos. His Holiness must wait. The Princess who 
is about to run from home — let her run. I must see one or two who are waiting for me — {rings bell) — 
then I am entirely at your disposal. 

{Enter BILLY.) 

BILLY: Yes, Mr. Holmes. 

HOLMES: How many are waiting? 

BILLY: Three, sir. 

HOLMES: A light morning. Show them in now. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

WATSON: Well, I’ll look in later. 

HOLMES {striking match and lighting pipe): No, no, my dear fellow! I have always looked on you as a 
partner in the Firm — Holmes, Watson, Billy & Co. That’s our brass plate when we raise one. If you’ll sit 
there I shall soon be free. 

{Enter BILLY, with a card on tray. .MR HOLT LOAMING follows, a rich, dissipated-looking, middle- 
aged man in an astrakhan-collared coat. BILLY goes out.) 

{Reading.) Mr. Holt Loaming. I remember the name. A racing man, I believe? 



LOAMING: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES: Pray take a seat. 

(LOAMING draws up near the table.) 

What can I do for you? 

LOAMING: Time’s money, Mr. Holmes, both yours and mine. I’m pretty quick off the mark, and you 
won’t mind that. I’m not here on the advice gratis line. Don’t you think it. I’ve my Cheque book here — 
{takes it out) — and there’s plenty behind it. I won’t grudge you your fee, Mr. Holmes. I promise you that. 

HOLMES: Well, Mr. Loaming, let us hear the business. 

LOAMING: My wife, Mr. Holmes — damn her! — she’s given me the slip. Got back to her own people 
and they’ve hid her. There’s the law, of course, but she’d get out all kinds of lies about ill-treatment. She’s 
mine, and I’ll just take her when I know where to lay my hands on her. 

HOLMES: How would you take her? 

LOAMING: I just have to walk up to her and beckon. She’s one of those wincing kind of nervous fillies 
that kick about in the paddock but give in when once the bridle’s on them and they feel the whip. You 
show me where she is, and I’ll do the rest. 

HOLMES: She is with her own people, you say? 

LOAMING: Well, there’s no man in the case, if that’s what you’re driving at. Lord! if you knew how 
straight she is, and how she carries on when I have a fling. She’s got a cluster of aunts, and she’s lyin’ low 
somewhere among them It’s for you to put her up. 

HOLMES: I fancy not, Mr. Loaming. 

LOAMING: Eh? What’s that? 

HOLMES: I rather like to think of her among that cluster of aunts. 

LOAMING: But, damn it, sir, she’s my wife. 

HOLMES: That’s why! 

LOAMING {getting up): Well, it’s a rum start, this. Look here, you don’t know what you’re missing. I’d 
have gone to five hundred. Here’s the cheque. 

HOLMES: The case does not attract me. {Rings bell.) 

{Enter BILLY.) 

Show Mr. Loaming out, Billy. 

LOAMING: It’s the last you’ll see of me, Mr. Holmes. 

HOLMES: Life is full of little consolations. 


LOAMING: Damn! 



(He takes his hat and goes out with BILLY.) 

HOLMES: I’m afraid I shall never be a rich man, Watson. 

(Re-enter BILLY.) 

Well? 

BILLY: Mr. James B. Montague, sir. 

(Enter MONTAGUE, as BILLY goes out.) 

HOLMES: Good morning, Mr. Montague. Pray take a chair. 

(MONTAGUE sits.) 

What can I do? 

MONTAGUE (a furtive-looking man with slimy ways): Anything fresh about the sudden death of my 
brother, sir? The police said it was murder, and you said it was murder; but we don’t get any further, do 
we? (Placing hat on floor.) 

HOLMES: I have not lost sight of it. 

MONTAGUE: That man Henderson was a bad man. Holmes, an evil liver and a corruption. Yes, sir, a 
corruption a danger. Who knows what passed between them? I’ve suspicions — I’ve always had my 
suspicions. 

HOLMES: So you said. 

MONTAGUE: Have you worked any further on that line, sir? Because, if you tell me from time to time 
how it is shaping, I may be able to give you a word in season. 

HOLMES: I have my eye on him — a very cunning rascal, as you say. We have not enough to arrest him 
on, but we work away in the hope. 

MONTAGUE: Good, Mr. Holmes, good! Watch him; you’ll get him, as safe as Judgment. 

HOLMES: I’ll let you know if anything comes of it. (Rings.) 

MONTAGUE (rising): That’s right, sir. Watch ‘im. I’m his brother, sir. It’s me that should know. It’s never 
out of my mind. 

(Enter BILLY.) 

HOLMES: Very good, Mr. Montague. Good-morning. 

(MONTAGUE and BILLY go out.) 

Curious little murder, Watson; done for most inadequate motive. That was the murderer. 

WATSON: Good Heavens! 



HOLMES: My case is almost complete. Meanwhile 1 amuse him and myself by the pretended pursuit of 
the wrong man — an ancient device, Watson. 

{Re-enter BILLY.) 

Well, any more? 

BILLY: Mr. Milverton is here, Mr. Holmes. 

HOLMES: Show him in when I ring. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

I am sorry to delay the business upon which you wished to consult me; but this, I hope, will be the last. 
You remember Milverton? 

WATSON: No. 

HOLMES: Ah! it was after your time. The most crawling reptile in London — the King of the 
Blackmailers — a cunning, ruthless devil. I have traced seventeen suicides to that man’s influence. It is he 
who is after the Duchess of Lerrers. 

WATSON: The beautiful Duchess, whose re-marriage is announced? 

HOLMES: Exactly. He has a letter which he thinks would break off the wedding. (Rings.) It is my task to 
regain it. 

(Enter MILVERTON.) 

Well, Mr. Milverton. Pray take a seat. 

MILVERTON: Who is this? 

HOLMES: My friend, Dr. Watson. Do you mind? 

MILVERTON (sitting)-. Oh! I have no object in secrecy It is your client’s reputation, not mine, which is at 
stake. 

HOLMES: Your reputation! Good Heavens! (Crossing to fireplace and filling pipe from slipper.) 

MILVERTON: Not much to lose there, is there, Mr. Holmes? I can’t be hurt. But she can. Hardly a fair 
fight, is it? 

HOLMES: What are the terms now? (Filling pipe.) 

MILVERTON: Steady at seven thousand. No money — no marriage. 

HOLMES: Suppose she tells the whole story to the Marquis? Then your letter is not worth sixpence. He 
would condone all. Come, now, what harm is in the letter? 

MILVERTON: Sprightly — very sprightly. However, it is purely a matter of business. If you think it is in 
the best interests of your client that the Marquis should see the letter — why, you would be very foolish to 
pay a large sum to regain it. 



HOLMES: The lady has no great resources. 

MILVERTON: But her marriage is a most suitable time for her friends and relations to make some little 
effort. I can assure you that this envelope would give more joy than all the tiaras and bracelets in Regent 
Street. 

HOLMES: No, it is impossible! 

MILVERTON: Dear me! Dear me! How unfortunate. 

HOLMES: It can profit you in no way to push matters to an end. 

MILVERTON: There you mistake. I have other cases maturing. If it were known that I had been severe on 
the Duchess the others would be more open to reason. 

HOLMES: Well, well, you give us till noon to-morrow? (Rings.) 

MILVERTON: But not an hour longer. 

(Enter BILLY.) 

HOLMES: We are at your mercy. Surely you won’t treat us too harshly? 

MILVERTON: Not a minute longer. (Putting on hat.) 

(BILLY and MILVERTON go out.) 

Terrible! Terrible! Affirm gator would be useful, eh, Watson — Pah! 

WATSON: What can you do? 

HOLMES: My dear Watson — what have I done? It is this gentleman’s cook who has honoured me. In the 
intervals of philandering, I have made an acquaintance with the lock on the safe. Mr. Milverton spent last 
night at his club; when he returns home he will find there has been a little burglary at The Battersea, and 
his precious letter is missing. (Rings.) 

WATSON: Holmes, you are splendid! 

(Enter BILLY.) 

HOLMES: Tut, tut! (To BILLY.) Well, anymore? 

BILLY: One lady, sir — just come — Miss Enid Stonor, of Stoke Moran. 

WATSON: Ah! this is the case. (Rising.) 

HOLMES: I’ll ring, Billy. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

Now, Watson! Stonor! Stonor! Surely I associate the name with something? 

WATSON: I told you of the case at the time. Sudden mysterious death of a girl at an old house in Stoke 



Moran, some two years ago. 


HOLMES: My dear fellow! it all comes back to me. An inquest was it not, with a string of most stupid 
and ineffectual witnesses. 

WATSON: I was one of them. 

HOLMES: Of course — so you were, so you were. 1 docketed the evidence. It introduced to my notice a 
gentleman of singular and most interesting personality. 1 have a few notes. ( Takes down a scrapbook from 
a row.) Let’s see — it’s R — Ranter — Roma — Rylott! That’s our man. Fifty-five years of age, killed 
his khitmutgar in India; once in a madhouse, married money — wife died — distinguished surgeon. Well, 
Watson, what has the distinguished surgeon been up to now? ( Throwing scrapbook on divan.) 

WATSON: Devilry, I fear. 

HOLMES: I have the case very clear in my mind. 

WATSON: Then you may remember that the death of the lady followed close upon her engagement? 
HOLMES: Exactly. 

WATSON: Miss Enid Stonor in turn became engaged, about a month ago, to a neighbour, Lieutenant 
Curtis. 

HOLMES: Ah! 

WATSON: Unhappily, the young man leaves for the Mediterranean to-day. She will henceforward be 
alone at Stoke Moran. 

HOLMES: I see. 

WATSON: And some circumstances have excited her alarm. 

HOLMES: f gather that the amiable stepfather stands to lose in case of a marriage. 

WATSON: That is so. Of course, supposing that Rylott did the other girl to death, it seems unlikely, on the 
face of it, that he would try it on again, as two sudden deaths in the house could hardly pass the coroner 


HOLMES: No, no, Watson! you are making the mistake of putting your normal brain into Rylott’s 
abnormal being. The born criminal is often a monstrous egotist. His mind is unhinged from the beginning. 
What he wants he must have. Because he thinks a thing, it is right. Because he does a thing, it will escape 
detection. You can’t say a priori that he will take this view or that one. Perhaps we had best have the 
young lady in. ( Rings bell.) My dear fellow, you’ll get into trouble if you go about righting the wrongs of 
distressed damsels. It won’t do, Watson, it really won’t. 

{Enter ENID. WATSON gets up and meets her.) 

WATSON: How do you do, Miss Enid? This is my friend, Mr. Holmes, of whom I spoke. 

(HOLMES shakes hands with ENID.) 

HOLMES: How do you do, Miss Stonor? Dear me! you must find a dog-cart a cold conveyance in this 



weather. 


ENID: A dog-cart, Mr. Holmes? 

HOLMES: One can hardly fail to observe the tell-tale splashes on the left sleeve. A white horse and clay 
soil are indicated. But what is this? You are trembling. Do sit down. 

ENID ( looking round and sitting on settee ): Tell me, Mr. Holmes, my stepfather has not been here? 
HOLMES: No. 

ENID: He saw me in the street. I dashed past him in a cab. he saw me; our eyes met, and he waved me to 
stop. 

HOLMES: Why is your stepfather in London? 

ENID: He came up on business. 

HOLMES: It would be interesting to know what the business was. 

ENID: It was to get a new butler. Rodgers, our old one, leave us, and a new butler is to come at once. I 
doubt if any servant would come to such a place. 

HOLMES: He may certainly find some difficulty. He would, no doubt, apply to an agent. 

ENID: At two o’clock, to Patterson and Green, of Cavendish Street. 

HOLMES: Exactly. I know them But this is a digression, is it not? We get back to the fact that he saw you 
in the street? 

ENID: Yes, it was in Pall Mall. I fancy he followed me. 

HOLMES: Would he imagine you would come here? 

ENID: No, he would think I was going to Dr. Watson’s. He knows that Dr. Watson is my only friend in 
London. 

HOLMES: What has been Dr. Ryolott’s attitude towards you your engagement? 

ENID: He has been much kinder, because he knows I have one to protect me. But even so, there are 
moments — ( Raises her arm.) 

HOLMES: Good Heavens! 

ENID: He does not realise his own strength. When he is angry he is like a fierce wild beast. Only last 
week he thrashed the blacksmith. 

HOLMES: He is welcome to the blacksmith, but not to my clients. This must not occur again. Does your 
fiance know of this? 

ENID: I would not dare to tell him. He would do something dreadful. Besides, as I say, my stepfather has, 
on the whole, been kinder. But there is a look in his eyes, when I turn on him suddenly, that chills me to 
the bone. His kindness is from his head, not from his heart. I feel as if he were waiting — waiting — 



HOLMES: Waiting for what? 

ENID: Waiting for my fiance to leave. Waiting till he has me at his mercy. That room freezes my blood. 
Often 1 cannot sleep for horror. 

WATSON: What? He has changed your room? {Rising from armchair.) 

ENID: My old room is under repair. 

WATSON: You sleep, then, in the room where your sister died? 

ENID: In the same room. And other things have happened. The music has come again. 

HOLMES: The music? Tell me about this music. 

ENID: It came before my sister’s death. She spoke of it, and then I heard it myself the night she died. But 
it has come again. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I am terrified. 

HOLMES: There, there! you’ve had enough to break any one’s nerve. This — music — does it seem to be 
inside the house or outside? 

ENID: Indeed, I could not say. 

HOLMES: What is it like? 

ENID: A sort of soft, droning sound. 

HOLMES: Like a flute or pipe? 

ENID: Yes. It reminds me of my childhood in India. 

HOLMES: Ah — India? 

ENID: And there’s one other thing that puzzles me — my sister’s dying words — as she lay in my arms 
she gasped out two words. 

HOLMES: What were they? 

ENID: “Band” and “Speckled.” 

HOLMES: Band — speckled — and Indian music. You sleep with your door and window fastened? 

ENID: Yes, but so did poor Violet. It did not save her, and it may not save me. 

HOLMES: Could there be anything in the nature of secret doors or panels? 

ENID: No. I have searched again and again. There is nothing. 

HOLMES: And nothing peculiar in the room? 

ENID: No, I cannot say there is. 

HOLMES: I must really drop in and have a look at this most 



interesting apartment. Suggestive — very suggestive. {Pause) When did you hear this music last? 

ENID: Last night. 

HOLMES: And your fiance leaves to-day? 

ENID: He leaves to-day. What shall I do? 

HOLMES: Well, Miss Stonor, I take up your case. It presents features which commend it to me. You must 
put yourself into my hands. 

ENID: 1 do — unreservedly. {Rising, and crossing to him.) 

HOLMES {to Watson): It is a question whether we are justified in letting her return at All to Stoke Moran. 

ENID: I must return. At five o’clock my fiance leaves, and I shall not see him again for months. 

HOLMES: Ah! that is a complication. Where is the A.B.C.? {Finds it in umbrella stand.) Stonehouse — 
Stowell — Stoke — 

ENID: I know my train, Mr. Holmes. 

HOLMES: I was looking for mine. 

ENID: You are coming down? 

HOLMES: I shall not be content until I have seen this room of yours. Yes, that will do. I could get up to 
you between eleven and twelve, to-night. Would you have the goodness to leave your shutter open? The 
room is, I understand, upon the ground floor? 

ENID: Oh! Mr. Holmes, it is not safe. You cannot think of the danger. 

HOLMES: I have taken up your case, Miss Stonor, and this is part of it. Have you any friends in Stoke 
Moran? 

ENID: Mr. Armitage and his wife. 

HOLMES: That is most fortunate. Now, listen to me, Miss Stonor. When you have returned home certain 
circumstances may arise which will ensure your safety. In that case you will at Stoke Place until I come in 
the evening. On the other hand, things may miscarry, and you may not be safe. In that case I will so manage 
that a warning will reach you. You will then break from home and take refuge with the Armitages. Is that 
clear? 

ENID: Who will bring me the warning? 

HOLMES: I cannot say. But you have my assurance that it will come. 

ENID: Then, until it does, I will stay at Stoke Place. 

HOLMES: And should any new development occur you could always send me a telegram, could you not? 
ENID: Yes, I could do that. 



HOLMES: Then it is not goodbye, but au revoir. 

{Enter BILLY.) 

What is it? 

BILLY: Please, Mr. Holmes, a gentleman to see you, at once. 

HOLMES: Who is he? 

BILLY : A very impatient gentleman, sir. It was all I could do to get him to stay in the waiting-room. 

ENID: Is he tall, dark, with a black beard, and a long white scar on his cheek? 

BILLY: That’s him. Miss. 

ENID: Oh, Mr. Holmes, what shall I do? He has followed me. 

WATSON: If he went to my rooms, my landlady had instructions to send any one on here. 

HOLMES: Exactly. 

ENID: Oh! I dare not meet him, I dare not. Can’t I slip out somehow? 

HOLMES: I see no reason why you should stay. Billy, show the lady out by the side passage. 

BILLY: Don’t be alarmed, Miss, I’ll see you through. 

(BILLY and ENID go out.) 

WATSON: This fellow is dangerous, Holmes. You may need a weapon. 

HOLMES: There’s something of the kind in that drawer at your right. 

{Enter BILLY.) 

BILLY: Shall I stay when I show him in, Mr. Holmes? 

HOLMES: Why so? 

BILLY: An ugly customer, Mr.. Holmes. 

HOLMES: Tut, tut! show him up. 

(BILLY goes out.) 

Well, Watson I must thank you for a most interesting morning. You are certainly the stormy petrel of crime. 
{Enter DR RYLOTT) 

RYLOTT: This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes I believe. 

HOLMES: Your belief is justified. 

RYLOTT: I have reason to think that you have taken unsolicited interest in my affairs. 



HOLMES: Your name being — ? 

RYLOTT: My name, sir, is Grimesby Rylott — Doctor Grimesby Rylott, of Stoke Moran. ( Throws down 
card.) 

HOLMES: A pretty place, 1 hear! And obviously good for the lungs. 

RYLOTT: Sir, you are trifling with me. 1 have come here to ask whether you have had a visit from my 
stepdaughter, Miss Enid Stonor — 

HOLMES: The first law in my profession. Doctor, is never to answer questions. 

RYLOTT: Sir, you shall answer me. 

HOLMES: We could do with warmer weather. 

RYLOTT: 1 insist upon an answer. 

HOLMES: But 1 hear the crocuses are coming on. 

RYLOTT: Curse your crocuses! Eve heard of you, you meddling busybody. And you, Dr. Watson — 1 
expected to find you here. What do you mean by interfering with my lawful affairs? 

WATSON: So long as they are lawful, Dr. Rylott, no one is likely to interfere with them 

RYLOTT: Now look here, Mr. Holmes, perhaps 1 may seem to you a little hot-headed — 

HOLMES: Dear me, Dr. Rylott, what put that idea into your head? 

RYLOTT: 1 apologize if I have seemed rude — ( Sitting ) 

HOLMES: Robust — a little robust — nothing more. 

RYLOTT: 1 wish to put the matter to you as man to man. You know what girls are, how sudden and 
unreasonable their prejudices may be. Imagine, sir, how hurt I should feel to be distrusted by one whom I 
have loved. 

HOLMES: You have my deep sympathy, Dr. Rylott. 

RYLOTT {pleased ): Ah! 

HOLMES: You are a most unfortunate man. There was that tragedy two years ago — 

RYLOTT: Yes, indeed! 

HOLMES: I think I could help you in that matter. 

RYLOTT: How so? 

HOLMES: As a friend, and without a fee. 

RYLOTT: You are very good. 



HOLMES: I am very busy, but your case seems so hard that I will put everything aside to assist you. 
RYLOTT: In what way, sir? 

HOLMES: I will come down at once, examine the room in which the tragedy occurred, and see if such 
small faculties as I possess can throw any light upon the matter. 

RYLOTT: Sir, this is an intolerable liberty. (Rising.) 

HOLMES: What! you don’t want help? 

RYLOTT: It is intolerable, I say. What I ask you to do — what I order you to do is to leave my affairs 
alone. Alone, sir — do you hear me? 

HOLMES: You are perfectly audible. 

RYLOTT: I’ll have no interference — none! Don’t dare to meddle with me. D’you hear, the pair of you? 
You — Holmes, I’m warning you. 

HOLMES ( looking at his watch): I fear I must end this interview. Time flies when one is chatting. Life 
has its duties as well as its pleasures, Doctor. 

RYLOTT: Insolent rascal! I’ll — I’ll — (Turns to the grate and picks up the poker.) 

(WATSON jumps up.) 

HOLMES: No, Watson, no! It does need poking, but perhaps you would put on a few coals first. 

RYLOTT: You laugh at me? You don’t know the man you are dealing with. You think that my strength fails 
because my hair is turned. I was the strongest man in India once. See that! (Bends the poker and throws it 
down at HOLMES’ feet.) I am not a safe man to play with, Mr. Holmes. 

HOLMES: Nor am I a safe man to play with, Dr. Rylott. Let me see — what were we talking about before 
the Sandow performance? 

RYLOTT: You shall not overcrow me with your insolence! I tell you now, and you, too, Dr. Watson, that 
you interfere with my affairs to your own danger. You have your warning. 

HOLMES: I’ll make a note of it. 

RYLOTT: And you refuse to tell me if Miss Stonor has been here? 

HOLMES: Don’t we seem to be travelling just a little in a circle? 

RYLOTT (picking up hat from table): Well, you can’t prevent me from finding out from her. 

HOLMES: Ah! there I must talk a little seriously to you Grimesby Rylott. You have mentioned this young 
lady, and 1 know something of her circumstances. I hold you responsible. My eye is on you sir and the 
Lord help you — the Lord help you if any harm befall her. Now leave this room, and take my warning 
with you. 

RYLOTT: You cursed fool! I may teach you both not to meddle with what does not concern you. Keep 
clear of Stoke Moran! 



(RYLOTT goes out slamming the door) 

HOLMES: 1 had a presentiment he would slam the door. 

(WATSON rises) 

Stoke Moran must be less dull than many country villages. Quite a breezy old gentleman Watson. Well 1 
must thank you for a pretty problem What the exact danger may be which destroyed one sister and now 
threatens the other may be suspected, but cannot yet be defined. That is why 1 must visit the room. 

WATSON: I will come with you Holmes. 

HOLMES: My dear fellow you are no longer an unattached knight-errant. Dangerous quests are forbidden. 
What would Morstan say? 

WATSON: She would say that the man who would desert his friend would never make a good husband. 
HOLMES: Well, my dear Watson, it may be our last adventure together, so 1 welcome your co-operation. 
WATSON: Well, I’ll be off. 

HOLMES: You will leave Victoria to night at eleven fifteen, for Stoke Moran. 

WATSON: Good bye — I’ll see you at the station. 

HOLMES: Perhaps you will. 

(WATSON goes) 

Perhaps you will! (Rings.) Perhaps you won’t! (Stands near fire.) 

(Enter BILLY) 

BILLY: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES: Ever been in love Billy? 

BILLY: Not of late years, sir. 

HOLMES: Too busy, eh? 

BILLY: Yes, Mr. Holmes. 

HOLMES: Same here. Got my bag there, Billy? 

BILLY: Yes, sir. (Puts it on table.) 

HOLMES: Put in that revolver. 

BILLY: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES: And the pipe and pouch. 

BILLY (takes it from table): Yes, sir. 



HOLMES: Got the dark lantern? 


BILLY: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES: The lens and the tape? 

BILLY: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES: Plaster of Paris, for prints? 

BILLY: Yes, sir. 

HOLMES: Oh, and the cocaine. ( Hands it.) 

BILLY: Yes, sir. ( Throws it down.) 

HOLMES: You young villain! you’ve broken it. ( Takes his ear and turns his head round.) You’re a 
clever boy, Billy. 

BILLY: Yes, Mr. Holmes. 

CURTAIN. 



ACT III 


SCENE 1 

The Hall of Stoke Place 

MRS STAUNTON is discovered at the back reading a telegram 
MRS STAUNTON: Are you there Rodgers? 

(j Enter RODGERS) 

RODGERS: Well, Mrs. Staunton. 

MRS STAUNTON: Eve had a telegram from the master. He will be here presently. He is bringing the new 
butler with him so you can hand over to night. 

RODGERS: To night, Mrs Staunton. It all seems very sudden. 

MRS STAUNTON: Peters will need your room. That’s his name, Peters. He brings a young girl with him, 
his daughter. The attic will do for her. That will do Rodgers. 

(RODGERS goes into the morning room) 

{Enter ENID from the entrance hall) 

ENID: Oh, Mrs Staunton. 

MRS STAUNTON: Yes, Miss. 

ENID: Has any message come in my absence? 

MRS STAUNTON: No, Miss. 

ENID: Let me know at once if any comes. 

(ENID goes into the bedroom wing) 

MRS STAUNTON: Yes Miss. A message! A message! 

{Enter ALI hurriedly) 

{To him) Well? 

ALI: Has she come back? 

MRS STAUNTON: Yes, she is in her room. 

ALI: I see her meet Curtis Sahib. Then I lose her. 



MRS. STAUNTON: Well, she has come back. I have heard from the master. She is not to go out any more. 
He will come soon. Until he does, we must hold her. She asked if there was a message for her. Who can 
she expect a message from? Ah — stand back, Ali, she’s coming. 

(ALI stands at door to servants ’ hall.) 

{Re-enter ENID, still dressed for walking.) 

MRS. STAUNTON: I beg pardon. Miss, but what are you going to do? 

ENID: I am going down to the village. ( Crosses towards entrance hall.) 

MRS. STAUNTON: What for? 

ENID: How dare you ask me such a question? What do you mean by it? 

MRS. STAUNTON: I thought it was something we could do for you. 

ENID: It was not. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Then I am sorry, Miss, but it can’t be done. The Doctor didn’t like you going to 
London to-day. His orders are that you should not go out again. 

ENID: How dare you? I am going out now. 

MRS. STAUNTON: Get to the door, Ali! It’s no use, Miss, we must obey our orders. You don’t budge 
from here. 

ENID: What is the meaning of this? 

MRS. STAUNTON: It is not for the likes of us to ask the meaning. The Doctor is a good master, but his 
servants have to obey him 

ENID: I will go out. {Tries to rush past.) 

MRS. STAUNTON: Lock the door, Ali. 

(ALI locks the door to the entrance hall.) 

The other locks are locked as well. You needn’t try the windows, for Siva is loose. All right, Ali, give me 
the key — you can go ! 

(ALI goes into the servants’ hall.) 

Now, Miss, do what the Doctor wishes. That’s my advice to you. 

{She exits into the servants’ hall.) 

(ENID waits until she has gone; then she rushes across to the writing-table and scribbles a telegram.) 
(RODGERS enters from the morning-roomi) 

ENID: Oh, Rodgers — 



RODGERS: Yes, Miss. 

ENID: Come here, Rodgers! 

(RODGERS comes down.) 

I want to speak to you. I hear that you are leaving us. I wanted say how sorry I am 

RODGERS: God bless you, Miss Enid. My heart is sore to part with you. All the kindness Eve ever had 
in this house has from poor Miss Violet and you. 

ENID: Rodgers, if ever I have done anything for you, you can repay it now a hundredfold. 

RODGERS: Nothing against the master, Miss Enid! Don’t ask to do anything against the master. 

ENID: How can you love him? 

RODGERS: Love him! No, no, I don’t love him. Miss Enid. But I fear him — oh! I fear him One glance 
of his eyes seems to cut me — to pierce me like a sword. I wouldn’t even listen to anything against him, 
for I feel it would come round to him, and then — then — ! 

ENID: What can he do to you? 

RODGERS: Oh, I couldn’t, Miss Enid — don’t ask me. What a man! what a man! Has he a child in his 
room. Miss Enid? 

ENID: A child? 

RODGERS: Yes — the milk — who drinks the milk? He drinks no milk. Every morning I take up the jug 
of milk. And the music, who is it he plays the music to? 

ENID: Music! You have heard it, too. I’m so frightened. I’m in danger. I know I’m in danger. (Rising.) 
RODGERS: In danger, Miss Enid? 

ENID: And you can save me. 

RODGERS: Oh, Miss Enid, I couldn’t — I couldn’t — I have no nerve. I couldn’t. 

ENID: All I want you to do is to take a telegram 
RODGERS: A telegram. Miss Enid? 

ENID: They won’t let me out, and yet I must send it. 

RODGERS: Perhaps they won’t let me out. 

ENID: You could wait a little, and then slip away to the office. 

RODGERS: What is the telegram. Miss Enid? Say it slowly. My poor old head is not as clear as it used to 
be. 


ENID: Give it to the clerk. 



RODGERS: No, no, I must be sure it is nothing against the master. 

ENID: It is my business — only mine. Your master’s name is not even mentioned. See — it is to Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes — he is a friend of mine — Baker Street, London. “Come to me as soon as you can. 
Please hurry.” That is All. Dear Rodgers, it means so much to me — please — please take it for me. 

RODGERS: I can’t understand things like I used. 

ENID: Oh! do take it, Rodgers! You said yourself that I had always been kind to you. You will take it, 
won’t you? ( Holds out telegram foRODGERS.) 

RODGERS: Yes, yes, I will take it, Miss Enid. ( Takes telegram and puts it in his pocket .) 

ENID: Oh! you don’t know what a service you are doing. It may save me — it may save my going all the 
way to town. 

RODGERS: Well, well, of course I will take it. What’s that? 

( Wheels heard outside .) 

C Enter MRS. STAUNTON and ALI.) 

MRS. STAUNTON: Quick, Ali! get the door unlocked. He won’t like to be kept waiting. Rodgers, be 
ready to receive your master. 

ENID {to RODGERS): Don’t forget — as soon as you can. 

{She goes into the bedroom wing, followed by MRS. STAUNTON.) 

{Wheels stop.) 

(ALI throws open the hall door and salaams. Enter RYLOTT, followed by HOLMES, disguised as 
Peters, the new butler, who is followed by BILLY, disguised as a young girl, with a big hat-box.) 

RYLOTT: {taking off things and handing them to ALI): Where is Miss Enid? Did she return? 

ALI: Yes, sir, she is in her room 

RYLOTT: Ah! {To RODGERS.) What! still here. 

RODGERS: I had some hopes, sir — 

RYLOTT: Get away! Lay the supper! I’ll deal with you presently. 

(RODGERS goes into the servants’ hall.) 

Ali, you can go also. Show this young girl to the kitchen. (ToHOLMES.) What is her name? 

HOLMES: Amelia — the same as her mother’s. 

RYLOTT: Go to the kitchen, child, and make yourself useful. 

(ALI goes out, followed by BILLY.) 



(To HOLMES.) Now, my man, we may as well understand each other first as last. Em a man who stands 
no nonsense in my own house. 1 give good pay, but I exact good service. Do you understand? 

HOLMES: Yes, sir. 

RYLOTT: Eve had a man for some time, but he is old and useless. I want a younger man to keep the place 
in order. Rodgers will show you the cellar and the other things you should know. You take over from to- 
morrow morning. 

HOLMES: Very good, sir. Em sure, sir, it was very good of you to take me with such an encumbrance as 
my poor little orphaned Amelia. 

RYLOTT: Eve taken you not only with a useless encumbrance but without references and without a 
character. Why have I done that? Because 1 expect 1 shall get better service out of you. Where are you to 
find a place if you lose this one? Don’t you forget it. 

HOLMES: I won’t forget, sir. I’ll do all 1 can. If I can speak to your late butler, sir, I have no doubt he 
will soon show me my duties. 

RYLOTT: Very good. (Rings bell.) 

(Enter MRS. STAUNTON from the bedroom wing.) 

Mrs. Staunton, tell Rodgers I want him By the way, where is Siva? 

MRS. STAUNTON: Loose in the park, sir. 

(She goes into the servants’ hall.) 

RYLOTT: By the way, I had best warn you, Peters, not to go out till my boar-hound comes to know you. 
She’s not safe with strangers — not very safe with any one but myself. 

HOLMES: I’ll remember, sir. 

RYLOTT: Warn that girl of yours. 

(Enter RODGERS.) 

HOLMES: Yes, I will. 

RYLOTT: Ah, Rodgers, you will hand your keys over to Peters. When you have done so, come to me in 
the study. 

RODGERS: Yes, sir. 

(RYLOTT goes into his study.) 

HOLMES (after looking round): Well, Em not so sure that I think so much of this place. Maybe you are 
the lucky one after all. I hope I am not doing you out of your job. Ed chuck it for two pins. If it wasn’t for 
Amelia Ed chuck it now. 

RODGERS: If it wasn’t you it would be some one else. Old Rodgers is finished — used up. But he said 
he wanted to see me in the study. What do you think he wants with me in the study? 



HOLMES: Maybe to thank you for your service; maybe to make you a parting present. 

RODGERS: His eyes were hard as steel. What can he want with me? I get nervous these days, Mr. Peters. 
What was it he told me to do? 

HOLMES: To hand over the keys. ( Taking his overcoat off) 

RODGERS: Yes, yes, the keys. ( Taking out keys.) They are here, Mr. Peters. That’s the cellar key, Mr. 
Peters. Be careful about the cellar. That was the first time he struck me — when 1 mistook the claret for 
the Burgundy. He’s often hasty, but he always kept his hands off till then. 

HOLMES: But the more I see of this place the less I fancy it. I’d be off to-night, but it’s not so easy these 
days to get a place if your papers ain’t in order. See here, Mr. Rodgers, I’d like to know a little more 
about my duties. The study is there, ain’t it? 

RODGERS: Yes, he is there now, waiting — waiting for me. 

HOLMES: Where is his room? 

RODGERS: You see the passage yonder. Well, the first room you come to is the master’s bedroom; the 
next is Miss Enid’s — 

HOLMES: I see. Well, now, could you take me along to the master’s room and show me any duties 1 have 
there? 

RODGERS: The master’s room? No one ever goes into the master’s room. All the time I’ve been here 
I’ve never put my head inside the door. 

HOLMES {surprised): What? no one at all? 

RODGERS: Ali goes. Ali is the Indian valet. But no one else. 

HOLMES: I wonder you never mistook the door and just walked in. 

RODGERS: You couldn’t do that for the door is locked. 

HOLMES: Oh! he locks his door does he? Dear me! None of the keys here any use, I suppose? 

RODGERS: Don’t think of such a thing. What are you saying? Why should you wish to enter the master’s 
room? 

HOLMES: I don’t want to enter it. The fewer rooms the less work. Why do you suppose he locks the 
door? 

RODGERS: It is not for me nor for you to ask why the master does things. He chooses to do so. That is 
enough for us. 

HOLMES: Well Mr. Rodgers if you’ll excuse my saying so, this old ‘ouse ‘as taken some of the spirit out 
of you. I’m sure I don’t wonder. I don’t see myself staying here very long. Wasn’t there some one died 
here not so long ago? 


RODGERS: I’d rather not talk of it, Mr. Peters. 



HOLMES: A woman died in the room next the doctor ’s. The cabman was telling me as we drove up. 

RODGERS: Don’t listen to them, Mr. Peters. The master would not like it. Here is Miss Enid and the 
Doctor wants me. 

{Enter ENID from the bedroom wing) 

ENID: Rodgers can I have a word with you? 

RODGERS: Very sorry Miss Enid, the master wants me. 

(RODGERS goes into the study) 

ENID {to HOLMES): Are you — ? 

HOLMES: I am Peters, Miss, the new butler 
ENID: Oh! {Sits down beside table and writes) 

(HOLMES crosses and stands behind the table. Pause) 

Why do you stand there? Are you a spy set to watch me? Am I never to have one moment of privacy? 
HOLMES: I beg pardon. Miss. 

ENID: Em sorry if I have spoken bitterly. I have had enough to make me bitter. 

HOLMES: Em very sorry. Miss. Em new to the place and don’t quite know where I am yet. May I ask 
Miss if your name is Stonor? 

ENID: Yes. Why do you ask? 

HOLMES: There was a lad at the station with a message for you. 

ENID {rising): A message for me! Oh! it is what I want of All things on earth! Why did you not take it? 
HOLMES: I did take it, Miss, it is here. {Hands her a note.) 

ENID {tears it open, reads): “Fear nothing, and stay where you are. All will be right. Holmes.” Oh! it is 
a ray of sunshine in the darkness — such darkness. Tell me, Peters, who was this boy? 

HOLMES: I don’t know, Miss — just a very ordinary nipper. The Doctor had gone on to the cab, and the 
boy touched my sleeve and asked me to give you this note in your own hand. 

ENID: You said nothing to the Doctor. 

HOLMES: Well, Miss, it seemed to be your business, not his. I just took it, and there it is. 

ENID: God bless you for it. {She conceals the note in her bosom.) 

HOLMES: Em only a servant, Miss, but if I can be of any help to you, you must let me know. 

(HOLMES goes into the bedroom wing.) 



(ENID takes the note out of her bosom, reads it again, then hurriedly replaces it as RYLOTT and 
RODGERS re-enter ) 

RYLOTT: Very good. You can go and pack your box. 

RODGERS (cringing): Yes, sir. You won’t — 

RYLOTT: That’s enough. Get away! 

(RODGERS goes into the servants’ hall.) 

(ENID sits at the tea-table.) 

(Comes over to ENID.) There you are! I want a word or two with you. What the devil do you mean by 
slipping off to London the moment my back was turned? And what did you do when you got there? 

ENID: I went there on my own business. 

RYLOTT: Oh! on your own business, was it? Perhaps what you call your own business may prove to be 
my business also. Who did you see? Come, woman, tell me! 

ENID: It was my own business. I am of age. You have no claim to control me. 

RYLOTT: I know exactly where you went. You went to the rooms of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, where you 
met Dr. Watson, who had advised you to go there. Was it not so? 

ENID: I will answer no questions. If I did as you say, I was within my rights. 

RYLOTT: What have you been saying about me? What did you go to consult Mr. Holmes about? 

(ENID remains silent) 

D’you hear? What did you go about? By God, I’ll find a way to make you speak! (Seizes her by the arm) 
Come! 

(Enter HOLMES) 

HOLMES: Yes, sir? 

RYLOTT : I did not ring for you. 

HOLMES: I thought you called. 

RYLOTT: Get out of this! What do you mean? 

HOLMES: I beg your pardon, sir. 

(He goes into the servants hall) 

(RYLOTT goes to the door of the servants hall, looks through, then returns) 

RYLOTT: Look here Enid, let us be sensible. I was too hot now. But you must realise the situation. Your 
wisest and safest course is complete submission. If you do what I tell you, there be no friction between us. 



ENID: What do you wish me to do? 

RYLOTT: Your marriage will complicate the arrangement which was come to at your mother’s death. I 
want you of own free will to bind yourself to respect it. Come Enid, you would not wish that your 
happiness should cause loss and even penury to me. I am an elderly man. I have had losses too, which 
make it the more necessary that I should preserve what is left. If you will sign a little deed it will be best 
for both of us. 

ENID: I have promised to sign nothing until a lawyer has seen it. 

RYLOTT: Promised? Promised whom? 

ENID: I promised my fiancee. 

RYLOTT: Oh! you did, did you? But why should lawyers come between you and me, Enid? I beg you — I 
urge you to do what I ask ( Opening out papers before her ) 

ENID: No, no. I cannot. I will not. 

RYLOTT: Very good! Tell me the truth, Enid. I won’t be angry. What are your suspicions of me? 

ENID: I have no suspicions. 

RYLOTT : Did I not receive your fiance with civility? 

ENID: Yes, you did. 

RYLOTT: Have I not, on the whole, been kind to you all this winter? 

ENID: Yes, you have. 

RYLOTT: Then, tell me, child, why do you suspect me? 

ENID: I don’t suspect you. 

RYLOTT: Why do you send out messages to get help against me? 

ENID: I don’t understand you. 

RYLOTT: Don’t you send out for help? Tell me the truth, child. 

ENID: No. 

RYLOTT ( with a yell): You damned little liar! ( Bangs the telegram down before her.) What was this 
telegram that you gave to Rodgers? 

(ENID sinks back, half fainting.) 

Ah! you infernal young hypocrite. Shall I read it to you? “Come to me as soon as you can. Please hurry.” 
What did you mean by that? What did you mean, I say? (Clutching her arm) None of your lies — out with 
it. 

ENID: Keep your hands off me, you coward! 



RYLOTT : Answer me — answer me, then! 

ENID: I will answer you! I believe that you murdered my mother by your neglect. I believe that in some 
way you drove my sister to her grave. Now, I am certain that you mean to do the same to me. You’re a 
murderer — a murderer! We were left to your care — helpless girls. You have ill-used us — you have 
tortured us — now you have murdered one of us, and you would do the same to me. You are a coward, a 
monster, a man fit only for the gallows ! 

RYLOTT: You’ll pay for this, you little devil! Get to your room 
ENID: I will. I’m not without friends, as you may find. 

RYLOTT: You’ve got some plot against me. What have you been arranging in London? What is it? 
(i Clutches her.) 

ENID: Let me go! 

RYLOTT: What did you tell them? By God, I’ll twist your head off your shoulders if you cross me! 
(Seizes her by the neck.) 

ENID: Help! Help! 

(Enter HOLMES.) 

HOLMES: Hands off, Dr. Rylott. 

(RYLOTT releases ENID.) 

You had best go to your room, young lady. I’ll see that you are not molested. Go at once, I tell you, go. 
RYLOTT: You infernal villain. I’ll soon settle you. 

(After ENID goes out, he runs to a rack at the side, gets a whip, opens the hall door, stands near it with 
his whip.) 

Now, then, out you go! By George, you’ll remember Stoke Moran. 

HOLMES: Excuse me, sir, but is that a whip? 

RYLOTT: You’ll soon see what it is. 

HOLMES: I am afraid I must ask you to put it down. 

RYLOTT: Oh, indeed! must you? (Comes forward to him.) 

HOLMES (taking out a revolver ): Yes, sir! You’ll please put down that whip. 

RYLOTT (falling back ): You villain! 

HOLMES: Stand right back, sir. I’ll take no risks with a man like you. Right back, I say! Thank you, sir. 
RYLOTT : Rodgers ! Ali ! My gun! 



(He runs into his study.) 

HOLMES: Hurry up, Billy! No time to lose. 

(Enter BILLY, as Amelia, from the servants ’ hall.) 

BILLY: Yes, Mr. Holmes. 

(HOLMES and BILLY go out through the entrance hall.) 

(Several shots are heard outside. RYLOTT rushes in from his study with his gun.) 

(Enter AL1 — running in from outside.) 

ALI: Stop, Sahib, stop! 

RYLOTT: What were those shots? 

ALI: The new butler, sir. He shoot Siva! 

RYLOTT: Shot my dog! By God, I’ll teach him! (Rushes toward door.) 

ALI: No, no, Sahib. He gone in darkness. What do you do? People come. Police come. 

RYLOTT: You’re right. (Puts gun down.) We have another game; Ali, you will watch outside Miss Enid’ 
window to-night. 

ALI: Yes, Sahib, shall I watch all night? 

RYLOTT: All night? No, not all night! You will learn when you may cease your watch. 

CURTAIN 



SCENE 2 


ENID’S Bedroom, Stoke Place 


ENID is discovered seated near the lamp at a small table near a window. A knock is heard at the door 
ENID: Who is there? 

RYLOTT (off) It is I. 

ENID: What do you want? 

RYLOTT: Why is your light still burning? 

ENID: I have been reading. 

RYLOTT : You are not in bed then? 

ENID: Not yet. 

RYLOTT : Then I desire to come in. 

ENID: But it is so late. 

RYLOTT: ( rattles door) Come, come, let me in this instant. 

ENID: No, no I cannot! 

RYLOTT : Must I break the door in? 

ENID: I will open it. I will open it. (Opens door) Why do persecute me so? 

(RYLOTT enters in his dressing gown ) 

RYLOTT: Why are you so childish and so suspicious? Your mind has brooded upon your poor sister’s 
death until you have built up these fantastic suspicions against me. Tell me now Enid — I’m not such a 
bad sort you know, if you only deal frankly with me. Tell me, have you any idea of your own about how 
your sister died? Was that what you went to Mr. Holmes about this morning? Couldn’t you take me into 
your confidence as well as him? Is it not natural that I should feel hurt when I see you turn to a stranger for 
advice? 

ENID: How my poor sister met her death only your own wicked heart can know. I am as sure that it came 
to her through you as if I had seen you strike her down. You may kill me if you like, but I will tell you 
what I think. 

RYLOTT: My dear child, you are overwrought and hysterical. What can have put such wild ideas into 
your head? After all, I may have a hasty temper — I have often deplored it to you — but what excuse have 
I ever given you for such monstrous suspicions? 



ENID: You think that by a few smooth words you can make me forget all your past looks, your acts. You 
cannot deceive me, I know the danger and I face it. 

RYLOTT: What, then, is the danger? 

ENID: It is near me to-night, whatever it is. 

RYLOTT : Why do you think so? 

ENID: Why is that Indian watching in the darkness? I opened my window just now, and there he was. Why 
is he there? 

RYLOTT: To prevent your making a public fool of yourself. You are capable of getting loose and making 
a scandal. 

ENID: He is there to keep me in my room until you come to murder me. 

RYLOTT: Upon my word, I think your brain is unhinged. Now, look here, Enid, be reasonable for a 
moment. 

ENID: What’s that? 

RYLOTT: What is it, then? 

ENID: I thought I heard a cry. 

RYLOTT: It’s the howling of the wind. Listen to me. If there is friction between us — and I don’t for a 
moment deny that there is — why is it? You think I mean to hurt you. I could only have one possible 
motive for hurting you. Why not remove that motive? Then you could no longer work yourself into these 
terrors. Here is that legal paper I spoke of. Mrs. Staunton could witness it. All I want is your signature. 

ENID: No, never. 

RYLOTT: Never! 

ENID: Unless my lawyer advises it. 

RYLOTT: Is that final? 

ENID (, springing up): Yes, it is. I will never sign it. 

RYLOTT: Well, I have done my best for you. It was your last chance. 

ENID: Ah! then you do mean murder. 

RYLOTT: The last chance of regaining my favour. You — {Pause.) Get to your bed and may you wake in 
a more rational mood to-morrow. You will not be permitted to make a scandal. Ali will be at his post 
outside, and I shall sit in the hall; so you may reconcile yourself to being quiet. Nothing more to say to 
me? 

{He goes out.) 

{When he has gone, ENID listens to his departing footsteps. Then she locks the door once again, and 



looks round her ) 

ENID: What is that tapping? Surely I heard tapping! Perhaps it is the pulse within my own brain? 

( Tapping .) 

Yes! there it is again! Where was it? Is it the signal of death? ( Looks wildly round the walls.) Ah! it 
grows louder. It is the window. ( Goes towards window.) A man! a man crouching in the darkness. Still 
tapping. It’s not Ali! The face was white. Ah! 

{The window opens and HOLMES enters.) 

HOLMES: My dear young lady, I trust that I don’t intrude. 

ENID: Oh, Mr. Holmes, Em so glad to see you! Save me! save me! Mr. Holmes, they mean to murder me. 
HOLMES: Tut, tut! we mean that they shall do nothing of sort. 

ENID: I had given up All hope of your coming. 

HOLMES: These old-fashioned window-catches are most inefficient. 

ENID: How did you pass the Indian and the dog? 

HOLMES: Well, as to the Indian, we chloroformed him. Watson is busy tying him up in the arbour at the 
present moment. The dog I was compelled to shoot at an earlier stage of the proceeding. 

ENID: You shot Siva! 

HOLMES: I might have been forced to shoot her master also. It was after I sent you to your room He 
threatened me with a whip. 

ENID: You were — you were Peters, the butler. 

HOLMES {feeling the walls): I wanted to be near you. So this is the famous room, is it? Dear me! very 
much as I had pictured it. You will excuse me for not discovering myself to you, but any cry or agitation 
upon your part would have betrayed me. 

ENID: But your daughter Amelia? 

HOLMES: Ah, yes, I take Billy when I can. Billy as messenger is invaluable. 

ENID: Then you intended to watch over me till night? 

HOLMES: Exactly. But the man’s brutality caused me to show my hand too soon. However, I have never 
been far from your window. I gather the matter is pressing. 

ENID: He means to murder me to-night. 

HOLMES: He is certainly in an ugly humour. He is not in his room at present. 

ENID: No, he is in the hall. 

HOLMES: So we can talk with safety. What has become of the excellent Watson? {Approaches window.) 



Come in, Watson, come in! 

{Enter WATSON from window.) 

How is our Indian friend? 

WATSON: He is coming out of the chloroform; but he can neither move nor speak. Good evening, Miss 
Stonor, what a night it is. 

ENID: How can I thank you for coming? 

HOLMES: You’ll find Dr. Watson a useful companion on such an occasion. He has a natural turn for 
violence — some survival of his surgical training. The wind is good. Its howling will cover all sounds. 
Just sit in the window, Watson, and see that our retreat is safe. With your leave, I will inspect the room a 
little more closely. Now, my dear young lady, 1 can see that you are frightened to death, and no wonder. 
Your courage, so far, has been admirable. Sit over here by the fire. 

ENID: If he should come — ! 

HOLMES: In that case answer him Say that you have gone to bed. {Takes lamp from table.) A most 
interesting old room — very quaint indeed! Old-fashioned comfort without modern luxury. The passage 
is, as I understand, immediately outside? 

ENID: Yes. 

HOLMES: Mr. Peters made two attempts to explore the ground, but without avail. By the way, I gather 
that you tried to send me a message, and that old Rodgers gave it to your stepfather. 

ENID: Yes, he did. 

HOLMES: He is not to be blamed. His master controls him He had to betray you. {Placing lamp down.) 
ENID: It was my fault. 

HOLMES: Well, well, it was an indiscretion, but it didn’t matter. Let me see now, on this side is the room 
under repair. Quite so. Only one door. This leads into the passage? 

ENID: Yes. 

HOLMES: And that passage to the hall? 

ENID: Yes. 

HOLMES: Here is where the genial old gentleman sleeps when he is so innocently employed. Where is 
his door? 

ENID: Down the passage. 

HOLMES: Surely I heard him — {A step is heard in the passage.) 

ENID: Yes, it’s his step. 

(HOLMES holds his hat over the light. There is a knock at the door.) 



RYLOTT ( outside door): Enid! 

ENID: What is it? 

RYLOTT : Are you in bed? 

ENID: Yes. 

RYLOTT : Are you still of the same mind? 

ENID: Yes, I am 
{Pause. They all listen.) 

HOLMES {whispering): Has he gone into his room? 

ENID {crossing to door, listening): No, he’s gone down the passage again to the hall. 

HOLMES: Then we must make the most of the time. Might I trouble you, Watson, for the gimlet and the 
yard measure? Thank you! The lantern also. Thank you! You can turn up the lamp. I am interested in this 
partition wall. (Standing on the bed.) No little surprise, I suppose? No trap-doors and sliding panels? 
Funny folk, our ancestors, with a quaint taste in practical joking. {Gets on bed and fingers the wall.) No, 
it seems solid enough. Dear me! and yet you say your sister fastened both door and window. Remarkable. 
My lens, Watson. A perfectly respectable wall — in fact, a commonplace wall. Trap-door in the floor? 
{Kneels at one side of the bed, then the other.) No, nothing suspicious in that direction. Ancient 
carpeting — {crossing round bed) — oak wainscot — nothing more. Hullo! {Pulling at bed-post.) 

WATSON: Why, what is it? 

HOLMES: Why is your bed clamped to the floor? 

ENID: I really don’t know. 

HOLMES: Was the bed in your other room clamped? 

ENID: No, I don’t think it was. 

HOLMES: Very interesting. Most interesting and instructive. And this bell-pull — where does it 
communicate with? 

ENID: It does not work. 

HOLMES: But if you want to ring? 

ENID: There is another over here. 

HOLMES: Then why this one? 

ENID: I don’t know. There were some changes after we came here. 

HOLMES: Quite a burst of activity, apparently. It took some strange shapes. {Standing on the bed.) You 
may be interested to know that the bell-rope ends in a brass hook. No wire attachment; it is a dummy. 
Dear me! how very singular. I see a small screen above it, which covers a ventilator, I suppose? 



ENID: Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is a ventilator. 

HOLMES: Curious fad to ventilate one room into another when one could as well get the open air. Most 
original man, the architect. Very singular indeed. There is no means of opening the flap from here; it must 
open on the other side. 

WATSON: What do you make of it, Holmes? 

HOLMES: Suggestive, my dear Watson, very suggestive. Might I trouble you for your knife? With your 
permission. Miss Stonor, I will make a slight alteration. (* Stands on bed-head and cuts the bell-pull.) 

WATSON: Why do you do that, Holmes? 

HOLMES: Dangerous, Watson, dangerous. Bear in mind that this opening, concealed by a flap of wood, 
leads into the room of our cheery Anglo-Indian neighbour. I repeat the adjective, Watson — Anglo-Indian. 

WATSON: Well, Holmes? 

HOLMES: The bed is clamped so that it cannot be shifted. He has a dummy bell-pull which leads to the 
bed. He has a hole above it which opens on his room He is an Anglo-Indian doctor. Do you make nothing 
of all this? The music, too? The music. What is the music? 

WATSON: A signal, Holmes. 

HOLMES: A signal! A signal to whom? 

WATSON: An accomplice. 

HOLMES: Exactly. An accomplice who could enter a room with locked doors — an accomplice who 
could give a sure death which leaves no trace. An accomplice who can only be attracted back by music. 

ENID: Hush! he is gone to his room. 

(A door is heard to close outside .) 

Listen! The door is shut. 

HOLMES (as Watson is about to take up lamp): Keep the lamp covered, so that if the ventilator is 
opened no light will show. He must think the girl is asleep. Keep the dark lantern handy. We must wait in 
the dark. I fancy we shall not have long to wait. 

ENID: I am so frightened. 

HOLMES: It is too much for you. 

WATSON: Can I do anything, Holmes? 

HOLMES: You can hand me my hunting-crop. Hush! What’s that? 

(Flute music is heard.) 

My stick, Watson — quick, be quick! Now take the lantern. Have you got it? When I cry, “Now!” turn it 
full blaze upon the top of the bell-rope. Do you understand? 



WATSON: Yes. 


HOLMES: Down that bell-rope comes the messenger of death. It guides to the girl’s pillow. Hush! the 
flap! 

{The flap opens, disclosing a small square of light. This light is obscured. Music a good deal louder.) 
{Cries sharply .) Now! 

(WATSON turns the lantern full on to the bell-rope. A snake is half through the hole. HOLMES lashes 
at it with his stick. It disappears backwards.) 

{The flute music stops.) 

WATSON: It has gone. 

HOLMES: Yes, it has gone, but we know the truth. 

{A loud cry is heard.) 

WATSON: What is that? 

HOLMES: 1 believe the devil has turned on its master. 

{Another cry.) 

It is in the passage. {Throws open the door.) 

{In the doorway is seen DR. RYLOTT in shirt and trousers, the snake round his head and neck.) 
RYLOTT: Save me! save me! 

(RYLOTT rushes in and falls on the floor. WATSON strikes at the snake as it writhes across the room.) 
WATSON {looking at the snake): The brute is dead. 

HOLMES {looking at RYLOTT): So is the other. 

( They both run to support the fainting lady.) Miss Stonor, there is no more danger for you under this 
roof. 


CURTAIN 



THE 2 WOMEN 

I see from my notebook that it was late in September, 1886, shortly before my departure to Dartmoor with Sir Henry Baskerville, that my attention was first drawn to 
that curious affair, since termed "The Blackmailing Case," which threatened to involve one of the most revered names in England. Even at this late date, Sherlock 
Holmes has urged me to spare no pains to conceal the real identity of the personage concerned and, in my recital of the events, I shall certainly do my best to observe 
his wishes in this matter. Indeed, I am as sensitive as he is to the fact that, owing to the many cases in which we have been concerned over the years, we have been 
of necessity the depositaries of many strange confidences and secrets which, should they become known to the world, could only arouse scandal and 
amazement. Our honour is therefore deeply involved and I shall make very sure that no inadvertent word of mine shall point the finger of accusation at any one of 
those men and women, in high life or in low, who have poured out their troubles to us in our modest Baker Street chambers. 

I recall that it was on a late September morning when I was first introduced to the adventure which forms the subject of this narrative. It was a grey, depressing day 
with a hint of early fog in the air and, having been summoned to a patient in Seaton Place, I was walking back to our lodgings when I became aware of a small street 
urchin slinking along at my heels. As he drew level I recognized the lad as one of the Baker Street irregulars, as Holmes termed the group of grubby little boys 
whom he employed on odd occasions to act as his eyes and ears amid the purlieus of the London streets. 

"Hullo, Billy," I said. 

The lad returned no sign of recognition. 

"Got a match, Guv'nor?" he demanded, exhibiting a frayed cigarette-end. I gave him a box and, on handing it back to me, he raised his eyes for an instant to 
my face. "For God's sake, Doctor," he whispered swiftly, "tell Mr. Holmes to watch out for Footman Boyce." Then, with a surly nod, he slouched on his way. 

I was not displeased to be the bearer of this cryptic message to my friend, for it had been apparent to me for some days past from his alternating moods of energy and 
absorption and his deplorable consumption of tobacco that Holmes was engaged upon a case. Contrary to his usual practice, however, he had not invited me to 
share his confidences, and I must confess that my sudden precipitation into the affair, irrespective of Holmes's wishes, caused me no small satisfaction. 

On entering our sitting-room, I found him lounging in his arm-chair before the fireplace, still clad in his purple dressing-gown, his grey, heavy-lidded eyes staring 
thoughtfully at the ceiling through a haze of tobacco smoke while one long, thin arm, dangling a letter between its finger-tips, hung down the side of his chair. An 
envelope, embossed, I noticed, with a coronet, lay on the floor. 

"Ah, Watson," he said petulantly. "You are back earlier than I expected." 

"Perhaps it is as well for you, Holmes," I replied, a trifle nettled at his tone, and proceeded to give the message with which I had been entrusted. Holmes raised his 
eyebrows. 

"This is most curious," said he. "What can Footman Boyce have to do with the matter?" 

"As I know nothing about it, I am hardly in a position to answer your question," I remarked. 

"Upon my soul, a distinct touch, Watson!" he replied, with a dry chuckle. "If I have not taken you already into my confidence, my dear fellow, it was not for any lack of 
faith in you. The affair is, however, of a most delicate nature and I preferred to feel my way a little before inviting your invaluable assistance." 

"There is no need for you to explain further," I began warmly. 

"Tut, Watson, I have reached a complete impasse. Possibly, it may prove one of those instances where an active mind may overreach, while a merely reflective one, 
functioning largely on the obvious—" he lapsed into a brooding silence for a moment, then springing to his feet, he strode over to the window. 

"I am faced with one of the most dangerous cases of blackmail in all my experience," he cried. "I take it that you are familiar with the name of the Duke of Carringford?" 
"You mean the late Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs?" 

"Precisely." 

"But he died some three years ago," I observed. 

"Doubtless it will surprise you to learn, Watson, that I am aware of that fact," replied Holmes testily. "But to continue. A few days past I received a note from the 
duchess, his widow, couched in such urgent terms that I was constrained to comply with her request to call upon her at her house in Portland Place. I found her a 
woman of more than ordinary intelligence and what you would term beauty, but overwhelmed by the fearsome blow which, striking literally overnight, now threatens 
her with the complete social and financial destruction of herself and her daughter. And the irony of the situation is the more terrible because her destruction comes 
from no fault of her own." 

"One moment," I interposed, picking up a newspaper from the couch. "There is a reference to the duchess in today's Telegraph, announcing the engagement of her 
daughter, Lady Mary Gladsdale, to Sir James Fortesque, the cabinet minister." 

"Quite so. There lies the beautifully tempered point in this sword of Damocles." Holmes drew two sheets of paper, pinned together, from the pocket of his 
dressing-gown and tossed them across to me. "What do you make of those, Watson?" he said. 

"One is a copy of a marriage certificate between Henry Corwyn Gladsdale, bachelor, and Frangoise Pelletan, spinster, dated June 12th, 1848 and issued at 
Valence in France," I observed, glancing through the documents. "The other would appear to be the entry of the same marriage in the Valence church registry. Who 
was this Henry Gladsdale?" 

"He became Duke of Carringford upon the death of his uncle in 1854," said Holmes grimly, "and five years later took to wife the Lady Constance Ellington, at 
present Duchess of Carringford." 

"Then he was a widower." 

To my surprise, Holmes drove his fist violently into the palm of his hand. "There is the diabolical cruelty of it, Watson," he cried. "We do not know! Indeed, the 
duchess is now told for the first time of this secret marriage made in her husband's youth when he was staying on the Continent. She is informed that his first wife 
is alive and ready if necessary to come forward, that her own marriage is bigamous, her position spurious, and the status of her child illegitimate." 

"What, after thirty-eight years! This is monstrous, Holmes!" 

"Add to that, Watson, that ignorance is not innocence in the eyes of society or the law. As to the lapse of time, it is claimed that the French wife, after her husband's 
sudden disappearance, did not associate Mr. Henry Gladsdale with the Duke of Carringford. Nevertheless, it is unlikely that I would engage in an affair of this nature 
were it not for the introduction of a more sinister element." 

"I noticed that in speaking of the first wife coming forward you used the term 'if necessary.' So it is blackmail and doubtless for a large sum of money." 

"We are moving in deeper waters, Watson. No money is demanded. The price of silence lies in the duchess' delivery of certain copies of state papers now lying in 
a sealed box in the strong-room of Lloyds Bank in Oxford Street." 

"Preposterous, Holmes!" 

"Not so preposterous. Remember that the late duke was Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs and that it is not unknown for great servants of the Crown to 
preserve copies of papers and memoranda when the originals themselves are safely lodged in the custody of the State. There are many reasons why a man in the 
duke's position might keep copies of certain documents which, innocent enough at the time, may become under the changing circumstances of later years matters of utmost 
gravity if viewed by a foreign, and perhaps unfriendly, government. This unhappy lady is faced with the choice of an act of treason to her country as a price for this marriage 
certificate or a public exposure followed by the ruination of one of the most revered names in England and the destruction of two innocent women, one of them 
on the eve of her marriage. And the devil of it is, Watson, that I am powerless to help them." 

"Have you seen the originals of these Valence documents?" 

"The duchess has seen them and they appear to be perfectly genuine, nor can she doubt her husband's signature." 

"It might be a forgery." 



"True, but I have already ascertained from Valence that there was a woman of that name living there in 1848, that she married an Englishman and later moved to 
some other locality." 

"But surely, Holmes, a provincial Frenchwoman, if driven to blackmail by the desertion of her husband, would demand money," I protested. "What possible use 
could she have for copies of state papers?" 

"Ah! There you put your finger on it, Watson, and hence my presence in the case. Have you ever heard of Edith von Lammerain?" 

"I cannot recall the name." 

"She is a remarkable woman," he continued musingly. "Her father was some sort of petty officer in the Russian Black Sea Fleet and her mother kept a tavern in 
Odessa. By the time that she was twenty, she had fled her home and established herself in Budapest where, overnight, she gained notoriety as the cause of a sabre 
duel in which both combatants were slain. Later, she married an elderly Prussian Junker who, having borne away his bride to his country estate, upped and died most 
conveniently within three months from eating a surfeit of turtle-doves stuffed with chestnuts. They must have been interesting, those chestnuts! 

"You will take my word for it," he went on, "that for the past year or so the most brilliant functions of the Season, be it London, Paris or Berlin, would be 
considered incomplete without her presence. If ever a woman was made by Nature for the profession of her choice, then that woman is Edith von Lammerain." 

"You mean that she is a spy?" 

"Tut, she is as much above a spy as I above the ordinary police-detective. I would put it that I have long suspected her of moving in the highest circles of political 
intrigue. This, then, is the woman, as clever as she is ambitious and merciless, who, armed with the papers of this secret marriage, now threatens to ruin the 
Duchess of Carringford and her daughter unless she consents to an act of treason, the results of which may be incalculable in their damage to England." Holmes 
paused to knock out his pipe into the nearest tea-cup. "And I remain here useless, Watson, useless and helpless to shield an innocent woman who in her agony has 
turned to me for guidance and protection," he ended savagely. 

"It is indeed a most infamous business," I said. "But, if Billy's message refers to it, then there is a footman involved." 

"Well, I confess that I am deeply puzzled by that message," Holmes replied, staring down thoughtfully at the stream of hansoms and carriages passing beneath out 
window. "Incidentally, the gentleman known as Footman Boyce is not a lackey, my dear Watson, though he takes his nickname, I believe, from the circumstance that he 
commenced his career as a man-servant. He is in fact the leader of the second most dangerous gang of slashers and racing-touts in London. I doubt that he 
bears me much goodwill, for it was largely owing to my efforts that he received two years on that Rockmorton horse-doping affair. But blackmail is out of his line 
and I cannot see—" Holmes broke off sharply and craning his neck peered down into the street. "By Jove, it is the man himself!" he ejaculated. "And coming here, unless I 
am much mistaken. Perhaps it would be as well, Watson, if you concealed yourself behind the bedroom door," he added with a chuckle as, crossing to the fireplace, he 
threw himself into his chair. "Mr. Footman Boyce is not among those whose conversational eloquence is encouraged by the presence of a witness." 

There came a jangle from the bell below and as I slipped into the bedroom I caught the creak of heavy steps upon the stairs followed by a knock and Holmes's 
summons to enter. 

Through the crack in the door I had a glimpse of a stout man with a red, good-natured face and bushy whiskers, clad in a check overcoat and sporting a brown 
bowler hat, gloves and a heavy malacca cane. I had expected a type far different from this vulgar, comfortable person whose appearance was more in keeping with a 

country yeoman until, as he stared at Holmes from the threshold of our sitting-room, I had a good view of his eyes. They were round as two glittering beads, very bright 

and hard, with that dreadful suggestion of stillness that belongs to the eyes of venomous reptiles. 

"We must have a word, Mr. Holmes," he said in a shrill voice curiously at variance with that portly body. "Really, we must have a word. May I take a seat?" 

"I would prefer that we both stand," came my friend's stern reply. 

"Well, well." The man turned his great red face slowly round the room. "You're very snug here, very comfortable and snug and lacking nothing, I'll be bound, in the way 
of home cooking by that respectable woman who opened the door to me. Why deprive her of a good lodger, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" 

"I am not contemplating a change of address." 

"Ah, but there are others who might contemplate it for you. 'Let be, 1 says I, ’Mr. Holmes is a nice-looking gent.’ 'Maybe 1 says others, 'if his nose wasn't a little too long for 
the rest of his features, so that it is forever sticking itself into affairs that are no concern of his.' " 

"You interest me profoundly. By the way, Boyce, you must have received pressing orders to have brought you up from Brighton at a moment's notice." 

The cherubic smile faded from the ruffian's face. "How the devil do you know where I've come from!" he shrilled. 

"Tut, man, today's Southern Cup racing-programme is peeping out of your pocket. However, as I am a trifle fastidious in my choice of company, kindly come to the 
point and put a close to this interview." 

Boyce's lips curled back suddenly like the grin of some ill-conditioned dog. 

"I'll put a close to something more than that, you nosey-parking busybody, if you get up to anymore of your flash tricks," he snarled. "Keep out of Madame's business or—" 
he paused significantly, his beady little eyes fixed immovably upon my friend's face— "or you'll be sorry you were ever born, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he concluded softly. 
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. 

"This is really most satisfactory," said he. "So you come from Madame von Lammerain?" 

"Dear me, what indiscretion!" cried Boyce, his left hand sliding stealthily to his malacca cane. "I had hoped that you would take a word of warning, but instead you 
make free with the names of other folk. And so—" in an instant he had whipped off the hollow body of the stick, leaving in his other hand the grip and the long, evil 
razor-blade that was attached to it "—and so, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I must make good my words." 

"To which I trust, Watson, that you have paid the attention they deserve," remarked Holmes. 

"Certainly!" I replied loudly. 

Footman Boyce stopped in his tracks and then, as I emerged from the bedroom armed with a heavy brass candlestick, he leapt for the sitting-room door. On the 
threshold, he turned for a moment toward us, his little eyes flaming evilly in his great crimson face while a flood of foul imprecations poured from his lips. 

"That will do!" interrupted Holmes sternly. "Incidentally, Boyce, I have wondered more than once how you murdered Madgern, the trainer. No razor was found on 
you at the time. Now, I know. 

The ruddiness faded slowly from the man's features leaving them the colour of dirty putty. 

"My God, Mr. Holmes, surely you don't think— only a little joke, sir, among old friends—!" Then, springing through the door, he slammed it behind him and went 
clattering wildly down the stairs. 

My friend laughed heartily. "Well, well. We are hardly likely to be bothered any further by Mr. Footman Boyce," said he. "Nevertheless, the fellow's visit has done me a 
good turn." 

"In what way?" 

"It is the first ray of light in my darkness, Watson. What have they to fear from my investigations unless there is something to be discovered? But get your hat and 
coat and we will call together on this unhappy Duchess of Carringford." 

Our visit was a brief one and yet I will long recall the memory of that courageous and still beautiful woman who, through no fault of her own, now stood face to face with the 
most terrible calamity that fate could have devised. The widow of a great statesman, the bearer of a name revered throughout the country, the mother of a young 
and lovely girl on the eve of her wedding to a public man and then, overnight, this dreadful discovery of a secret, the publication of which must destroy 
irrevocably the very fabric of her life and being. Here was enough to justify the extremes of human emotion. Instead, when my friend and I were ushered into the 
drawing-room of Carringford House in Portland Place, the lady who rose to meet us was as distinguished for the grace of her manner as for the beauty of her 
complexion and her delicate, serene features. It was only in the dark stains beneath her eyelids and the too brilliant lustre of her hazel-tinted eyes that one sensed the 
dreadful tensity that was eating its way through her heart. 



"You have news for me, Mr. Holmes?" she said calmly enough, but I noticed that one of her long, slim hands flew to her bosom. "The truth cannot be worse than this 
suspense, so I beg that you will be frank with me." 

Holmes bowed. "I have no news as yet, Your Grace," he said gently. "I am here to ask you one question and to make one request." 

The duchess sank into a chair and, picking up a fan, fixed her fevered brilliant eyes upon my friend's face. "And these are?" 

"The question is one which can be forgiven from a stranger only under the stress of the present circumstances," said Holmes. "You were married for thirty 
years to the late duke. Was he a man of honourable conduct in his sense of private responsibility as distinct from his moral code? I will ask Your Grace to be very 
frank with me in your reply." 

"Mr. Holmes, during the years of our marriage, we had our quarrels and our disagreements, but never once did I know my husband to stoop to an unworthy 
action or lower the standard which he had set himself in life. His career in politics was not made the more easy by a sense of honour that would not descend to 
the artifices of compromise. He was a man whose character was nobler than his position." 

"You have told me all that I wished to know," answered Holmes. "Though I do not indulge in emotions of the heart, I am not among those who consider 
that love makes blind. With a mind of any intelligence, the effect should be the exact opposite, for it must promote the most privileged knowledge of the 
other's character. Your Grace, we are face to face with necessity and time is not on our side." Holmes leaned forward earnestly. "I must see the original 
documents of this alleged marriage in Valence." 

"It is hopeless, Mr. Holmes!" cried the duchess. "This dreadful woman will never let them out of her hands, save at her own infamous price." 

"Then we must summon craft to our aid. You must send her a carefully worded letter, now, conveying the impression that you will be driven to comply with her demands 
if once you are convinced that the marriage documents are really genuine. Implore her to receive you privately at her house in St. James's Square at eleven o'clock 
tonight. Will you do this?" 

"Anything, save what she asks." 

"Good! Then one final point. It is essential that you find some pretext at exactly twenty minutes past eleven to draw her from the library containing the safe in which 
she keeps these documents." 

"But she will take them with her." 

"That is of no importance." 

"How can you be sure that the safe is in the library?" 

"I have a plan of the house, thanks to a small service once rendered to the firm who rented the property to Madame von Lammerain. Furthermore, I have 
seen it." 

"You have seen it!" 

"A window was broken mysteriously yesterday morning" smiled Holmes, "and the agents very promptly supplied a glazier. It had occurred to me that there might be 
advantages." 

The Duchess leaned forward, her hand to her heaving breast. "What do you propose to do?" she demanded almost fiercely. 

"That is a question in which I must use my own judgement, Your Grace," replied Holmes, springing to his feet. "If I fail, I will do so in a good cause." 

We were making our adieux when the duchess laid her hand on my friend's arm. 

"If you examine these terrible documents and convince yourself that they are genuine, will you remove them?" she asked. 

There was a hint of concern under Holmes's austere manner as he looked at her. "No," he said quietly. 

"You are right!" she cried. "I would not have them taken. A hideous wrong must be righted, whatever the cost to myself. It is only when I think of my daughter 
that all the courage goes from my heart." 

"It is because I recognize that courage," said Holmes very gently, "that I warn you to prepare for the worst." 

During the remainder of the day, my friend was in his most restless mood. He smoked incessantly until the atmosphere of our sitting-room was hardly bearable and, 
having exhausted all the daily newspapers, he threw the lot of them into the coal-scuttle and set himself to pacing up and down with his hands clasped behind his back 
and his thin, eager face thrust out before him. Then he came to the fireplace and, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, looked down at me as I lounged in my chair. 

"Are you game to commit a serious breach of the law, Watson?" he asked. 

"Most certainly, Holmes, in an honourable cause." 

"It is hardly fair on you, my dear fellow," he cried, "for it will go hard with us if we are caught on that woman's premises." 

"But what is the use?" I demurred. "We cannot conceal the truth." 

"Admittedly. If this is the truth. I must see those original documents." 

"Then there would appear to be no alternative," I observed. 

"None that I can see," said he, thrusting his fingers into the Persian slipper and drawing out a handful of black shag which he proceeded to stuff untidily into his 
pipe. "Well, Watson, a lengthy sojourn in jail will enable me at least to catch up in my studies of Oriental plant poisons in the organic blood-stream and for you to bring 
yourself up to date on these inoculation theories of Louis Pasteur." 

And there we left it, while the dusk deepened into night and Mrs. Hudson bustled in to poke the fire and light the gas jets. 

It was at Holmes's suggestion that we dined out. "The corner table at Fratti's, I think," he chuckled, "and a bottle of Montrachet '67. If this should prove to be 
our last evening of respectability, at least let us be comfortable." 

My watch showed me that it was after eleven o'clock when our hansom deposited us at the corner of Charles II Street. It was a moist, chill night with a hint of fog in 
the air that hung round the street-lamps in dim yellow haloes and glistened on the cape of the policeman who slowly passed us by, switching his bull's-eye lantern into 
the porticoes of the dark silent houses. 

Entering St. James's Square, we had followed the pavement around to the western side when Holmes laid his hand upon my arm and pointed to a lighted window in 
the fagade of the great house that reared above us. 

"It is the light of the drawing-room," he murmured. "We have not a moment to lose." 

With a swift glance along the empty pavement, he sprang for the top of the wall abutting the mansion and, pulling himself up by his hands, he dropped out of sight 
while I followed quickly at his heels. As far as I could judge through the darkness, we were standing in one of those dreary plots of grass and grimy struggling laurels 
that form the garden of the average "town house" and in consequence stood already on the wrong side of the law. Reminding myself that our purpose was, at least, an 
honourable one, I followed Holmes's figure along the flank of the house until he halted beneath a line of three tall windows. Then, in answer to his whisper, I lent 
him a back and in an instant he was crouching on the sill with his pale face outlined against the dark glass and his hands busy with the catch. A moment later, the window 
swung silently open, I had caught his outstretched fingers and, with a heave, I found myself in the room beside him. 

"The library," Holmes breathed in my ear. "Keep behind the window-curtains." 

Though we were enveloped in a darkness smelling faintly of calfskin and old leather, I was conscious of a sense of space about me. The silence was profound, 
save for the measured ticking of a grandfather clock in the depth of the room. Perhaps five minutes had dragged by when there came a sound from somewhere 
within the house followed by steps and a soft murmur of voices. A line of light gleamed for an instant beneath the edge of a door, vanished and, after a pause of 
some moments; slowly reappeared. I caught the sound of swift footfalls, the line of light grew brighter. Then the door was flung open and a woman, carrying a lamp 
in her hand, entered the room. 

Though time tends to erase the sharp outline of past events, I recall as though it were but yesterday my first view of Edith von Lammerain. 



Above the rays of an oil-lamp, I beheld an ivory-tinted face with dark, sombre eyes and a beautiful, scarlet, remorseless mouth. Her hair, piled high upon her head 
and of a raven blackness, was set with a spray of osprey plumes clasped with rubies and beneath her bare neck and shoulders a magnificent gown of black 
sequins flashed and shimmered against the darkness. 

For a moment she stood as though listening and then, closing the door behind her, she swept down the great room, her tall, slim shadow trailing behind her and the 
lamp in her hand casting a dim, spectral glow along the book-lined walls. 

I do not know whether it was the rustle of the curtain that reached her ears but, as Holmes stepped out into the room, she was round in an instant and, holding 
the lamp above her head so that the rays fell in our direction, she stood quite still and looked at us. There was not a trace of fear upon her ivory face, but only fury 
and venom in the dark eyes that glared at us across that great, silent chamber. 

"Who are you?" she hissed. "What do you want?" 

"Five minutes of your time, Madame von Lammerain," rejoined Holmes softly. 

"So! You know my name. If you are not burglars, then what is it you seek? It would amuse me to hear before I raise the house." 

Holmes pointed to her left hand. "I am here to examine those papers," said he, "and I warn you that I mean to do so. I beg that you will not make it necessary to 
prevent an outcry." 

She thrust her hand behind her, her eyes blazing in her face. 

"You ruffian!" she cried. "Now I understand! You are Her saintly Grace's hired burglar." Then, with a swift movement, she craned forward, the lamp out-held 
before her and, as she looked intently at my friend, I saw her expression of fury change into one of incredulity. A smile, as exultant as it was menacing, dawned 
slowly in her eyes. 

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she breathed. 

There was a touch of mortification in Holmes's manner as he turned away and lit the candles on an ormolu side-table. 

"The possibility of recognition had already occurred to me, madame," said he. 

"This will earn you five years," she cried, with a flash of of her white teeth. 

"Perhaps. In that case, I must have my money's worth. The documents!" 

"Do you imagine that you will accomplish anything by stealing them? I have copies and a dozen witnesses to their contents," she laughed throatily. "I had imagined 
you to be a clever man," she went on. "Instead, I find a fool, a bungler, a common thief!" 

"We shall see." He held out his hand and, with a sneer and a shrug, she resigned the documents to him. "I rely on you, Watson," my friend remarked quietly, stepping 
across to the side-table, "to prevent any collusion between Madame von Lammerain and the bell-rope." 

Beneath the glow of the candles, he read through the documents and then, holding them up against the light, he studied them intently, his lean, cadaverous profile 
cut in black silhouette against the luminous yellow parchment. Then he looked at me and my heart sank at the chagrin in his face. 

"The watermark is English, Watson," he stated quietly. "But as paper of this make and quality was imported into France on a large scale fifty years ago, this 
does not help us. Alas, I fear the worst." 

And I knew that he was thinking not of his own unenviable position but of the anxious, courageous woman in whose cause he had risked his own liberty. 

Madame von Lammerain indulged in a little peal of laughter. 

"Too much success has gone to your head, Mr. Holmes," she jeered. "But this time you have blundered, as you will find to your cost." 

My friend had spread the papers immediately below the candle-flames and was bending over them again when I saw that a sudden change had taken place in his 
expression. The chagrin and annoyance that had clouded his face had gone, and in their place was a look of intense concentration. His long nose seemed almost to 
smell the paper as he stooped over it. When he straightened himself at last, I caught a gleam of excitement from his deep-set eyes. 

"What do you make of this, Watson?" said he, as I hastened to his side. He pointed to the writing that inscribed the details on both documents. 

"It is a very legible hand," I said. 

"The ink, man, the ink!" he cried impatiently. 

"Well, it is black ink," I remarked, leaning over his shoulder. "But I fear that there is little to help us in that. I can show you a dozen old letters from my father written in a 
similar medium." 

Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands together. "Excellent, 'Watson, excellent!" he cried. "Now, kindly examine the name and the signature of Henry Corwyn Gladsdale 
on the marriage certificate. And now, look at the entry of his name in the page from the Valence register." 

"They appear to be perfectly in order, and the signature is the same in both cases." 

"Quite so. But the ink?" 

"There is a shade of blue in it. Yes, certainly it is ordinary blue-black indigo ink. What then?" 

"Every word in both documents is written in black ink, with the exception of the bridegroom's name and signature. Does not this strike you as curious?" 

"Curious, perhaps, but by no means inexplicable. Gladsdale was probably in the habit of using his own waistcoat-inkpot." 

Holmes rushed to a writing-desk in the window and, after rummaging for an instant, returned with a quill and inkstand in his hand. 

"Would you say that this is the same colour?" he asked, dipping the quill and making a mark or two on the edge of the document. 

"It is identical," I confirmed. 

"Quite so. And the ink in this pot is blue-black indigo." 

Madame von Lammerain, who had been standing ha the background darted suddenly for the bell-rope but, before she had time to pull it, Holmes's voice rang through 
the room. 

"You have my word for it that if you touch that bell, you are ruined," he said sternly. 

She paused with her hand upon the rope. 

"What mockery is this!" she sneered. "Are you suggesting that Henry Gladsdale signed his marriage documents at my desk? Why, you fool, everybody uses ink of 
that description." 

"Largely true. But these documents are dated June 12th, 1848." 

"Well, what of that!" 

"I fear that you have been guilty of a small error, Madame von Lammerain. The black ink that contains indigo was not invented until 1856." 

There was something terrible in the beautiful face that glared at us across the circle of candlelight. 

"You lie!" she hissed. 

Holmes shrugged. "The veriest amateur chemist can prove it," said he, as he picked up the papers and placed them carefully in his cape pocket. "These are, of 
course, the perfectly genuine marriage documents of Frangoise Pelletan," he continued. "But the real name of the bridegroom has been erased both in the certificate 
and in the page from the Valence church register and the name of Henry Corwyn Gladsdale substituted in its place. I have no doubt that, should the need arise, 
an examination under the microscope would show traces of the erasure. 

"The ink itself is, however, conclusive proof and represents but another example that it is on the small, easily committed error, rather than on any basic flaw in 
the conception, that most intricate plans crash to their ruin as the mighty vessel on the small but fatal point of rock. As for you, madame, when I consider 
the full implications of your scheme against a defenceless woman, I am hard put to it to recall a more cold-blooded ruthlessness." 

"What are you to insult a woman!" 



"In scheming to destroy another should she refuse you her husband's secret papers, you have surrendered the prerogatives of a woman," he replied 
bitterly. 

She looked at us with an evil smile on her waxen face. "At least, you shall pay for it," she promised. "You have broken the law." 

"True, and by all means pull the bell," said Sherlock Holmes. "My poor defence will be the provocation of forgery, attempted blackmail and— mark the word- 
espionage. Indeed, as a measure of tribute to your gifts, I shall allow you exactly one week in which to leave this country. After then, the authorities will be 
warned against you." 

There was a moment of tense stillness, and then without a word Edith von Lammerain raised her white, shapely arm and pointed silently towards the door. 

It was past eleven o'clock next morning and the breakfast things had not yet been cleared from the table. Sherlock Holmes, who had returned from an early 
excursion, had discarded his frock-coat for an old smoking-jacket, and now lounged in front of the fire cleaning the stems of his pipes with a long, thin 
bodkin that had originally come into his possession under circumstances with which I do not propose to harrow my readers. 

"You have seen the duchess?" I enquired. 

"I have, and put her in possession of all the facts. Purely as a precautionary measure, she is lodging the documents inscribed with her husband's forged 
signature, together with my statement of the case, in the hands of the family lawyers. But she has nothing more to fear from Edith von Lammerain." 

"Owing to you, my dear fellow," I cried warmly. 

"Well, well, Watson. The case was simple enough and the work its own reward." 

I glanced at him keenly. 

"You look a bit fine-drawn, Holmes," I remarked. "You should get away into the country for a few days." 

"Later on, perhaps. But I cannot leave town until Madame has departed from these shores, for she is a person of singular address." 

"That is a very fine pearl which you are wearing in your cravat. I do not remember seeing it before." 

My friend picked up two letters from the mantelpiece and tossed them across to me. "They arrived while you were absent on your round," said he. 

The one, which bore the address of Carringford House, ran thus: 

"To your chivalry, to your courage, a woman owes her all, and such a debt is beyond reward. Let this pearl, the ancient symbol of Faith, be the token of the life 
thatyou have given back to me. I shall not forget." 

The other, which had neither address nor signature, ran: 

"We shall meet again, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I shall not forget." 

"It is all in the point of view," chuckled Holmes, "and I have yet to meet the two women who look from the same angle." 

Then, throwing himself into his chair, he reached out lazily for his most obnoxious pipe. 



THE ABBAS RUBY 

On glancing through my notes, I find it recorded that the night of November 10th saw the first heavy blizzard of the winter of 1886. The day had been dark and cold 
with a bitter, searching wind that moaned against the windows and, as the early dusk deepened into night, the street-lamps glimmering through the gloom of Baker 
Street disclosed the first flurries of snow and sleet swirling along the empty, glistening pavements. 

Scarcely three weeks had passed since my friend Sherlock Holmes and I had returned from Dartmoor on the conclusion of that singular case, the details of which I 
have recorded elsewhere under the name of The Hound of the Baskervilles and, though several enquiries had been brought to my friend's notice since that 
time, none was of a nature to appeal to his love of the bizarre or to challenge that unique combination of logic and deduction which depended for its inspiration upon the 
intricacies of the problem which lay before it. 

A merry fire was crackling in the grate and as I leaned back in my chair and let my eyes wander about the untidy cosiness of our sitting-room, I had to admit that the 
wildness of the night and the rattle of the sleet upon the window-panes served merely to increase my own sense of contentment. On the far side of the fire-place, 
Sherlock Holmes was curled up in his arm-chair, languidly turning over the pages of a black index-book marked "B" in which he had just completed certain entries 
under "Baskerville" and giving vent to occasional chuckles and ejaculations as his eyes wandered over the names and notes covering every page of the volume. I had 
flung down The Lancet with some idea of encouraging my friend to touch upon one or two of the names which were strange to me when, beneath the sobbing of the 
wind, my ears caught the faint sound of the door-bell. 

''You have a visitor," I said. 

"Surely a client, Watson," Holmes replied, laying aside his book. "And on urgent business," he added, with a glance at the rattling window-panes. "These inclement 
nights are invariably the herald of—" His words were interrupted by a rush of feet on the staircase, the door was burst open, and our visitor stumbled into the room. 

He was a short, stout man, wrapped up in a dripping mackintosh cape and wearing a bowler hat tied under his chin by a woollen muffler. Holmes had tilted the lamp- 
shade, so that the light shone towards the door and, for a moment, the man remained motionless, staring at us across the room while the moisture from his 
sodden garment dripped in dark stains upon the carpet. He would have been a comical figure, with his tubbiness and his fat face framed in its encircling muffler, 
were it not for the impression of helpless misery in the man's brown eyes and in the shaking hands with which he plucked at the absurd bow beneath his chin. 

"Take off your coat and come to the fire," said Holmes kindly. 

"I must indeed apologize, gentlemen, for my untoward intrusion," he began. "But I fear that circumstances have arisen which threaten— threaten— " 

"Quick, Watson!" 

But I was too late. There was a thud and a groan and there lay our visitor senseless upon the carpet. 

Seizing some brandy from the sideboard, I ran to force it between his lips while Holmes, who had loosened the man's muffler, craned over my shoulder. 

"What do you make of him, Watson?" he asked. 

"He has had a severe shock," I replied. "From his appearance, he seems a comfortable, respectable person of the grocer class, and doubtless we will find out 
more ' about him when he has recovered." 

"Tut, I think that we might venture a little further," my friend said thoughtfully. "When the butler from some wealthy household rushes on the spur of the 
moment through a snow-storm in order to fall senseless on my humble carpet, I am tempted to visualize some affair of greater moment than a broken till." 

"My dear Holmes!" 

"I would stake a guinea that there is a livery beneath that overcoat. Ah, did I not say so!" 

"Even so, I do not see how you surmised it nor the wealthy household." 

Holmes picked up the limp hands. "You will observe that the pads of both thumbs are darkened, Watson. In a man of sedentary type, I know of only one 
occupation that will account for this equality of discolouration. The man polishes silver with his thumbs." 

"Surely, Holmes, a leather would be more usual," I protested. 

"On ordinary silver, yes. Very fine silver is finished, however, with the thumbs, and hence my conjecture of a well-to-do household. As for his sudden 
departure, the man has rushed into the night in patent-leather pumps despite that it has been snowing since six o'clock. There, now, you are feeling better," 
he added kindly, as our visitor opened his eyes. "Dr. Watson and I will help you into this chair and after you have rested awhile doubtless you will tell us your 
troubles." 

The man clapped his hands to his head. 

"Rested awhile!" he cried wildly. "My God, sir, they must be after me already!" 

"Who must be after you?" 

"The police, Sir John, all of them! The Abbas Ruby has been stolen!" The words rose almost to a shriek. My friend leaned forward and placed his long, 
thin fingers on the other's wrist. On previous occasions I have noted Holmes's almost magnetic power for asserting a sense of peace and comfort over the 
minds of those in distress. 

It was so in this case, and the wild, panic-stricken gleam faded slowly in the man's eyes. 

"Come, now, give me the facts," Sherlock Holmes enjoined after a moment. 

"My name is Andrew Joliffe," began our visitor more calmly, "and for the past two years I have been employed as butler to Sir John and Lady Doverton at 
Manchester Square." 

"Sir John Doverton, the horticulturist?" 

"Yes, sir. Indeed, there's them that say that his flowers, and especially his famous red camellias, mean more to Sir John than even the Abbas Ruby and all 
his other family treasures. I take it you know about the ruby, sir?" 

"I know of its existence. But tell me in your own words." 

"Well, it makes one frightened just to look at it. Like a big drop of blood it is, with a touch of devil's fire smouldering in its heart. In two years I had seen it 
only once, for Sir John keeps it in the safe in his bedroom, locked up like some deadly poisonous creature that shouldn't even know the light of day. 
Tonight, however, I saw it for the second time. It was just after dinner, when one of our guests, Captain Masterman, suggested to Sir John that he should 
show them the Abbas Ruby—" 

"Their names," interposed Holmes languidly. 

"Names, sir? Ah, you mean the guests. Well, there were Captain Masterman, who is her ladyship's brother, Lord and Lady Brackminster, Mrs. Dunbar, the 
Rt. Hon. William Radford, our Member of Parliament, and Mrs. Fitzsimmons-Leming." 

Holmes scribbled a word on his cuff. "Pray continue," said he. 

"I was serving coffee in the library when the captain made his suggestion and all the ladies began to clamour to see the gem. 'I would prefer to show you 
the red camellias in the conservatory,’ says Sir John. 'The specimen that my wife is wearing in her gown is surely more beautiful than anything to be found in a 
jewel-box, as you can judge for yourselves.' 

" 'Then, let us judge for ourselves!' smiled Mr. Dunbar, and Sir John went upstairs and brought down the jewel-case. As he opened it on the table and they all 
crowded round, her ladyship told me to light the lamps in the conservatory as they would be coming shortly to see the red camellias. But there were no red camellias." 

"I fail to understand." 

"They'd gone, sir! Gone, every single one of them," cried our visitor hoarsely. "When I entered the conservatory, I just stood there holding the lamp above my 
head and wondering if I was stark mad. There was the famous shrub, all right, but of the dozen great blossoms which I had admired on it this very afternoon there 
remained not so much as a petal." 



Sherlock Holmes stretched out a long arm for his pipe. 

"Dear, dear," said he. "This is most gratifying. But pray continue your interesting narrative." 

"I ran back to the library to tell them. 'But it is impossible!' cried her ladyship. 'I saw the flowers myself when I plucked one for my dress just before dinner.' 'The man's 
been at the port!' said Sir John, and then, thrusting the jewel-case into the table drawer, he rushed for the conservatory with all the rest of them at his heels. But the 
camellias had gone." 

"One moment," interrupted Holmes. "When were they seen last?" 

"I saw them at four and as her ladyship picked one shortly before dinner, they were there about eight o'clock. But the flowers are of no matter, Mr. Holmes. It's the 
ruby!" 

"Ah!" 

Our visitor leaned forward in his chair. 

"The library was empty for only a few minutes," he continued almost in a whisper. "But when Sir John, fair demented over the mystery of his flowers, returned 
and opened the drawer, the Abbas Ruby, together with its jewel-case, had vanished as completely as the red camellias." 

For a moment we sat in silence broken only by the tinkle of burning embers falling in the grate. 

"Joliffe," mused Holmes dreamily. "Andrew Joliffe. The Catterton diamond robbery, was it not?" 

The man buried his face in his hands. 

"I'm glad you know, sir," he muttered at last. "But as God is my judge I've kept straight since I came out three years ago. Captain Masterman was very good to me and 
got me this job with his brother-in-law, and from that day to this I've never let him down. I've been content to keep my wages, hoping that eventually I might 
save enough to buy my own cigar shop." 

"Go on with your story." 

"Well, sir, I was in the hall, having sent the stableboy for the police, when I caught Captain Masterman's voice through the half-opened door of the library. 'Damn it, 
John, I wanted to give a lame dog a chance,' said he, 'but I blame myself now that I did not tell you his past history. He must have slipped in here while 
everyone was in the conservatory and— 1 1 waited for no more, sir, but telling Rogers, the footman, that if anybody wanted me then they would find me with Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes, I ran here through the snow, believing from all I've heard that you will not think it beneath you to save from injustice one who has already paid his 
debt to society. You are my only hope, sir, and— My God, I knew it!" 

The door had flown open and a tall, fair-haired man, wrapped to the ears in a snow-powdered cape, strode into the room. 

"Ah, Gregson, we were expecting you." 

"No doubt, Mr. Holmes," replied Inspector Gregson drily. "Well, this is our man, and so well be getting along." 

Our wretched client leaped to his feet. "But I'm innocent! I never touched it!" he wailed. 

The police-agent smiled sourly and, drawing from his pocket a flat box, he shook it under his prisoner's nose. 

"God save us, it's the jewel-case!" gasped Joliffe. 

"There, he admits it! Where was it found, you say? It was found where you put it, my man, under your mattress." 

Joliffe's face had turned the colour of ashes. "But I never touched it," he repeated dully. 

"One moment, Gregson," interposed Holmes. "Am I to understand that you have the Abbas Ruby?" 

"No," he replied, "the case was empty. But it cannot be far, and Sir John is offering a reward of five thousand pounds." 

"May I see the case? Thank you. Dear me, what a sorry sight. The lock unbroken but the hinges smashed. Flesh-coloured velvet. But surely — " 

Whipping out his lens, Holmes laid the jewel-case beneath the reading lamp and examined it closely. "Most interesting," he said at length. "By the way, Joliffe, was the 
ruby mounted?" 

"It was set in a carved gold locket and chain. But, oh, Mr. Holmes—" 

"Rest assured I will do my best for you. Well, Gregson, we will detain you no longer." 

The Scotland Yard man snapped a pair of handcuffs on our unhappy visitor and a moment later the door had closed behind them. 

For a while, Holmes smoked thoughtfully. He had pulled up his chair to the blaze and, with his chin cupped in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees, he 
stared broodingly into the fire while the ruddy light waxed and waned on his keen finely drawn features. 

"Have you ever heard of the Nonpareil Club, Watson?" he asked suddenly. 

"The name is unfamiliar to me," I confessed. 

"It is the most exclusive gambling club in London," he continued. "The Members' List, which is privately printed, reads like Debrett with a spicing of the Almanach 
de Gotha. I have had my eye upon it for sometime past." 

"Good heavens, Holmes, why?" 

"Where there is wealth follows crime, Watson. It is the one fixed principle that has governed man's wickedness through all his history." 

"But what has this club to do with the Abbas Ruby?" I asked. 

"Perhaps, nothing. Or again, everything. Kindly hand me down the Biographical Index marked 'M' from the shelf above the pipe-rack. Dear me, it is remarkable that 
one letter of the alphabet can embrace so many notorious names. You would find it profitable to study this list, Watson. But here is our man, I think. Mappins; Marston, 
the poisoner; Masterman. Captain the Honourable Bruce Mastennan, born 1856, educated at— h'm! ha!— suspected of implication in the Hilliers Dearbon inheritance forgery; 
secretary of Nonpareil Club; member of— quite so." My friend flung the book on the couch. "Well, Watson, are you game for a nocturnal excursion?" 

"By all means, Holmes. But where?" 

'We will be guided by circumstances." 

The wind had fallen and as we emerged into the white, silent streets, the distant chimes of Big Ben struck the hour of ten. Though we were well muffled, it was so 
bitterly cold that I welcomed the need of our brisk walk to Marylebone Road before we could hail a hansom. 

"It will do no harm to call at Manchester Square," remarked Holmes, as we tucked the rug about us and jingled away through the snow-covered streets. A short 
drive brought us to our destination, and as we alighted before the portico of an imposing Georgian house, Holmes pointed to the ground. 

"The guests have gone already," said he, "for you will observe that these wheel-marks were made after the snow ceased to fall." 

The footman who had opened the door to us took our cards, and a moment later we were ushered across the hall into a handsome library where a tall, thin man with 
greying hair and a most melancholy countenance was warming his coat-tails before a blazing fire. As we entered, a woman, who was reclining on a chaise lounge, 
rose to her feet and turned to look at us. 

Though the leading artist of our day has immortalized Lady Doverton, I venture to think that no portrait will ever do full justice to this imperious and beautiful woman 
as we saw her then, in a gown of white satin with a single scarlet flower flaming at her bodice and the golden glow of the candles shining on her pale, perfectly 
chiselled face and drawing sparkles of fire from the diamonds that crowned her rich auburn hair. Her companion advanced on us eagerly. 

"Really, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, this is most gratifying!" he cried. "That you should face the inclemency of the night in order to fasten upon the perpetrator of this out- 
rage speaks highly for your public spirit, sir! Most highly!" 

Holmes bowed. "The Abbas Ruby is a famous stone, Sir John." 

"Ah, the ruby. Yes, yes, of course," replied Sir John Doverton. "Most lamentable. Fortunately, there are buds. Your knowledge of flowers will tell you—" He broke off as 
his wife laid her fingers on his arm. 

"As the matter is already in the hands of the police," she said haughtily, "I do not understand why we should be honoured by this visit from Mr. Sherlock Holmes." 



"I shall take up very little of your time, Lady Doverton," replied my friend. "A few minutes in your conservatory should suffice." 

"With what object, sir? What possible connection can there be between my husband's conservatory and the missing jewel?" 

"It is that I wish to determine." 

Lady Doverton smiled coldly. "In the meantime, the police will have arrested the thief." 

"I think not." 

"Absurd! The man who fled was a convicted jewel-robber. It is obvious." 

"Perhaps too obvious, madam! Does it not strike you as somewhat singular that an ex-convict, though aware that his record was known already to your 
brother, should steal a famous stone from his own employer and then conveniently condemn himself by secreting the jewel-box under his mattress, where even 
Scotland Yard could be relied upon to search?" 

Lady Doverton put a hand to her bosom. "I had not considered the matter in that light," she said. 

"Naturally. But, dear me, what a beautiful blossom! I take it that this is the red camellia which you plucked this afternoon?" 

"This evening, sir, just before dinner." 

"Spes ultima gentis!" observed Sir John gloomily. "At least, until the next crop." 

"Just so. It would interest me to see your conservatory." 

We followed our guide along a short passage which, opening from the library, terminated in the glass door of a hothouse. While the famous horticulturist and I waited 
at the entrance, Holmes commenced a slow tour through the warm, stifling darkness, the lighted candle which he bore in his hand appearing and disappearing like 
some great glow-worm amid the weird shapes of cacti and curious tropical shrubs. Holding the light close to the camellia bush, he spent some time peering 
through his lens. 

"The victims of a vandal's knife," groaned Sir John. 

"No, they were snipped with a small pair of curved nail-scissors," Holmes remarked. "You will observe that there is no shredding on the stalks such as a knife would cause, 
and furthermore, the small cut on this leaf shows that the scissor-points overreached the stem of the flower. Well, I think that there is nothing more to be 
learned here." 

We were retracing our steps when Holmes paused at a small window in the passage and, opening the catch, struck a match and craned over the sill. 

"It overlooks a path used by the tradesmen," volunteered Sir John. 

I leaned over my friend's shoulder. Below, the snow lay in a long, smooth drift from the house wall to the edge of a narrow pathway. Holmes said nothing but, 
as he turned away, I noticed that there was something of surprise, almost of chagrin, in his expression. 

Lady Doverton was awaiting us in the library. 

"I fear that your reputation is overrated, Mr. Holmes," she said, with a gleam of amusement in her fine blue eyes. "I expected you to return with all the missing flowers and 
perhaps even the Abbas Ruby itself!" 

"At least, I have every hope of returning you the latter, madam," said Holmes coldly. 

"A dangerous boast, Mr. Holmes." 

"Others will tell you that boasting is not among my habits. And now, as Dr. Watson and I are already somewhat overdue at the Nonpareil Club— dear me, Lady 
Doverton, I fear that you have broken your fan— it only remains for me to express our regret for this intrusion and to wish you a very good night." 

We had driven as far as Oxford Street when Holmes, who had sat in complete silence with his chin upon his breast, suddenly sprang to his feet, pushed up the trap 
and shouted an order to our driver. 

"What a fool!" he cried, clapping a hand to his forehead, as our hansom turned in its tracks. "What mental abberation!" 

"What then?" 

'Watson, if I ever show signs of self-satisfaction, kindly whisper the word 'camellias' in my ear." 

A few minutes later, we had alighted again before the portico of Sir John Doverton's mansion. "There is no need to disturb the household," muttered Holmes. "I 
imagine that this is the gate into the tradesmen's entrance." 

My friend led the way swiftly along the path skirting the wall of the house until we found ourselves under a window which I recognized as the one opening 
from the passage. Then, throwing himself on his knees he commenced carefully to scoop away the snow with his bare hands. After a few moments, he straightened 
himself and I saw that he had cleared a large dark patch. 

"Let us risk a match, Watson," he chuckled. 

I lit one and there, on the black earth exposed by Holmes's burrowings in the snow-drift, lay a little reddish-brown heap of frozen flowers. 

"The camellias!" I exclaimed. "My dear fellow, what does this mean?" 

My friend's face was very stern as he rose to his feet. 

"Villainy, Watson!" said he. "Clever, calculated villainy." 

He picked up one of the dead flowers and stood for a while silently contemplating the dark, withered petals in the palm of his hand. 

"It is as well for Andrew Joliffe that he reached Baker Street before Gregson reached him," he observed thoughtfully. 

"Shall I raise the house?" I asked. 

"Ever the man of action, Watson," he replied, with a dry chuckle. "No, my dear fellow, I think that we would be better employed in making our way quietly back to 
our hansom and then on to the purlieus of St. James's." 

In the events of the evening, I had lost all sense of time, and it came as something of a shock when, as we wheeled from Piccadilly into St. James's Street and 
stopped before the door of an elegant, well-lighted house, I saw from the clock above Palace Yard that it was not far short of midnight. 

"When its neighbours of clubland go to bed the Nonpareil Club comes into its own," remarked Holmes, ringing the bell. He scribbled a note on his calling-card and, 
handing it to the manservant at the door, he led the way into the hall. 

As we followed the servant up a marble staircase to the floor above, I caught a glimpse of lofty and luxurious rooms in which small groups of men, clad in evening 
dress, were sitting about and reading papers or gathered round rosewood card-tables. 

Our guide knocked at a door and a moment later we found ourselves in a small, comfortably furnished room hung with sporting prints and smelling strongly of cigar 
smoke. A tall, soldierly-looking man with a close-cropped moustache and thick auburn hair, who was lounging in a chair before the fireplace, made no attempt to 
rise at our entrance but, whirling Holmes's card between his fingers, surveyed us coldly through a pair of blue eyes that reminded me forcibly of Lady Doverton. 

"You choose strange times to call, gentlemen," he said, with a trace of hostility in his voice. "It's cursed late." 

"And getting later," my friend observed. "No, Captain Masterman, a chair is unnecessary. I prefer to stand." 

"Stand, then. What do you want?" 

"The Abbas Ruby," said Sherlock Holmes quietly. 

I started and gripped my stick. There was a moment of silence while Masterman stared up at Holmes from the depth of his chair. Then throwing back his 
head, he laughed heartily. 

"My dear sir, you must really excuse me!" he cried at length, his handsome face all a-grin. "But your demand is a little excessive. The Nonpareil Club does not 
number absconding servants among its members. You must seek elsewhere for Joliffe." 

"I have already spoken with Joliffe." 

"Ah, I see," he sneered. "Then you represent the interests of the butler?" 



"No, I represent the interests of justice," replied Holmes sternly. 

"Dear me, how very imposing. Well, Mr. Holmes, your demand was so worded that it is lucky for you that I have no witnesses or it would go hard with you in a court of 
law. A cool five thousand guineas' worth of slander, I should say. You'll find the door behind you." 

Holmes strolled across to the fireplace and, drawing his watch from his pocket, compared it with the clock on the mantelpiece. 

"It is now five minutes after midnight," he remarked. "You have until nine o'clock in the morning to return the jewel to me at Baker Street." 

Masterman bounded from his chair. 

"Now look here, damn you—" he snarled. 

"It won't do, Captain Masterman, really it won't do. However, that you may realize that I am not bluffing, I will run over a few points for your edification. You knew 
Joliffe’s past record and you got him the post with Sir John as a possible sinecure for the future." 

"Prove it, you cursed busybody!" 

"Later you needed money," continued Holmes imperturbably, "a great deal of money, to judge from the value of the Abbas Ruby. I have no doubt that an examination 
of your card losses would give us the figure. Thereupon you contrived, I regret to add with your sister's help, a scheme that was as cunning in its conception as it was 
merciless in its execution. 

"From Lady Doverton you obtained precise details of the jewel-case containing the stone, and you caused a duplicate of this case to be constructed. The difficulty 
was to know when Sir John would withdraw the ruby from the safe, which he did but rarely. The coming dinner party at which you were to be one of the guests 
suggested a very simple solution. Relying on the wholehearted support of the ladies, you would ask your brother-in-law to bring down the jewel. But how to ensure 
that he and the others would leave the room while the jewel was there? I fear that, here, we come upon the subtle traces of the feminine mind. There could be no 
surer way than to play upon Sir John's pride in his famous red camellias. It worked out exactly as you foresaw. 

"When Joliffe returned with the news that the bush had been stripped, Sir John instantly thrust the jewel-case into the nearest receptacle and, followed by his guests, 
rushed to the conservatory. You slipped back, pocketed the case and, on the robbery being discovered, volunteered the perfectly true information that his wretched butler 
was a convicted jewel-thief. However, though cleverly planned and boldly executed, you made two cardinal errors. 

"The first was that the duplicate jewel-case, which had been rather amateurishly smashed and then planted under the mattress of Joliffe's bed, probably some hours in 
advance, was lined in a pale velvet. My lens disclosed that this delicate surface contained not the slightest trace of rubbing such as invariably occurs from the 
mounting of a pendant jewel. 

"The second error was fatal. Your sister stated that she had plucked the blossom in her gown immediately prior to dinner and, such being the case, the flowers 
must have been there at eight o'clock. I asked myself what I should do if I wished to dispose of a dozen blossoms as swiftly as possible. The answer was the nearest 
window, In this instance, the one in the passage. 

"But the snow which lay in a deep drift below disclosed no traces whatever. This, I confess, caused me some perplexity until, as Dr. Watson can testify, the obvious solu- 
tion dawned on me. I rushed back and proceeding very carefully to remove the snow-drift under the window, I came upon the remains of the missing camellias lying 
on the frozen earth. As they were too light to sink through the snow, they must have been flung there before the snow-fall commenced at six o'clock. Lady 
Doverton's story was therefore a fabrication and, in those withered flowers, lay the answer to the whole problem." 

During my friend's exposition, I had watched the angry flush on Captain Masterman's face fade into an ugly pallor and now, as Holmes ceased, he crossed 
swiftly to a desk in the corner, an ominous glint in his eyes. 

"I wouldn't," said Holmes pleasantly. 

Masterman paused with his hand on the drawer. 

"What are you going to do?" he rasped. 

"Providing that the Abbas Ruby is returned to me before nine o'clock, I shall make no public exposure and doubtless Sir John Doverton will forbear further en- 
quiries at my request. I am protecting his wife's name. Were it otherwise, you would feel the full weight of my hand upon you, Captain Masterman, for when I consider 
your inveiglement of your sister and your foul plot to ensnare an innocent man, I am hard put to it to recall a more blackguardly villain." 

"But the scandal, curse you!" cried Masterman. "What of the scandal in the Nonpareil Club? I'm over my ears in card debts and if I give up the ruby—" he paused 
and shot us a swift furtive glance. "Look here, Holmes, what about a sporting proposition—?" 

My friend turned towards the door. 

"You have until nine o'clock," he said coldly. "Come, Watson." 

The snow had begun to fall again as we waited in St. James's Street while the porter whistled for a cab. 

"My dear fellow, I'm afraid that you must be very tired," Holmes remarked. 

"On the contrary, I am always invigorated by your company," I answered. 

"Well, you have deserved a few hours' rest. Our adventures are over for tonight" 

But my friend spoke too soon. A belated hansom carried us to Baker Street, and I was in the act of opening the front door with my latch-key when our 
attention was arrested by the lamps of a carriage approaching swiftly from the direction of Marlebone Road. The vehicle, a closed four-wheeler, came to a 
halt a few yards down the street and, an instant later, the muffled figure of a woman hurried towards us. Though her features were hidden under a heavy veil, 
there was something vaguely familiar in her tall, graceful form and the queenly poise of her head as she stood face to face with us on the snow-covered 
pavement. 

"I wish to speak with you, Mr. Holmes," she cried imperiously. 

My friend raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps you would go ahead, Watson, and light the gas," he said quietly. 

In the years of my association with the cases of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have seen many beautiful women cross our threshold. But I cannot recall one 
whose beauty surpassed that of the woman who now, with a deep rustle of skirts, entered our modest sitting-room. 

She had thrown back her veil and the gas-light illumined with a pale radiance her perfect face and the brilliance of her long-lashed blue eyes which met and 
challenged Holmes's stern and uncompromising glance. 

"I had not expected this late visit, Lady Doverton," he said austerely. 

"I thought that you were omniscient, Mr. Holmes," she replied, with a faint mockery ringing in her voice. "But, perhaps you know nothing about women." 

"I fail to see—" 

"Must I remind you of your boast? The loss of the Abbas Ruby is a disaster, and I could not rest in my anxiety to know whether or not you have fulfilled 
your promise. Come, sir, admit that you have failed." 

"On the contrary, I have succeeded." 

Our visitor rose from her chair, her eyes glittering. 

"This is an ill jest, Mr. Holmes," she cried haughtily. 

I have remarked elsewhere that, despite his profound distrust of the opposite sex, it was my friend's nature to be chivalrous to women. But now, for the 
first time, as he faced Lady Doverton, I saw his face harden ominously in the presence of a woman. 

"The hour is a trifle late for tiresome pretences, madam," said he. "I have visited the Nonpareil Club and taken some pains to explain to your brother 
both the manner in which he acquired the Abbas Ruby and the part which you—" 

"My God!" 

"—which you, I say, played in the matter. I beg that you will spare me my delusion that you played that part unwillingly." 



For an instant the beautiful, imperious creature faced Holmes in the circle of lamplight, then, with a low moaning cry, she fell on her knees, her hands clutching 
at his coat. Holmes stooped and raised her swiftly. 

"Kneel to your husband, Lady Doverton, and not to me," he said quietly. "Indeed, you have much to answer for." 

"I swear to you—" 

"Hush, I know all. Not a word shall pass my lips." 

"You mean that you will not tell him?" she gasped. 

"I see nothing to be gained thereby. Joliffe will be released in the morning, of course, and the affair of the Abbas Ruby brought to a close." 

"God reward you for your mercy," she whispered brokenly. "I will do my best to make amends. But my unfortunate brother— his losses at cards—" 

"Ah, yes, Captain Masterman. I do not think, Lady Doverton, that you have cause to worry too deeply over that gentleman. Captain Masterman's 
bankruptcy and the resultant scandal in the Nonpareil Club may have the result of starting him upon a more honourable path than that which he has 
pursued up to now. Indeed, once the scandal has become a thing of the past, Sir John might be persuaded to arrange a commission for him in some 
overseas military service. From what I have seen of that young man's enterprise and address, I have no doubt that he would do very well on the North-West 
frontier of India." 

Evidently, I was more fatigued than I had supposed by the events of the night, and I did not awake until nearly ten o'clock. When I entered our sitting- 
room, I found that Sherlock Holmes had already finished his breakfast and was lounging in front of the fire in his old red dressing-gown, his feet stretched out to the 
blaze and the air rancid with the smoke of his after-breakfast pipe composed of the previous day's dottles. I rang for Mrs. Hudson and ordered a pot of coffee and 
some rashers and eggs. 

"I'm glad that you're in time, Watson," he said, shooting an amused glance at me from beneath his drooping lids. 

"Mrs. Hudson's capability to produce breakfast at any hour is not least among her virtues," I replied. 

"Quite so. But I was not referring to your breakfast. I am expecting Sir John Doverton." 

"In that case, Holmes, as it is a delicate affair, it would be better perhaps that I leave you alone." 

Holmes waved me back to my seat. "My dear fellow, I shall be glad of your presence. And here, I think, is our visitors few minutes before his time." 

There came a knock on the door and the tall, stooping figure of the well-known horticulturist entered the room. "You have news for me, Mr. Holmes!" he cried im- 
petuously. "Speak out, sir, speak out! I am all attention." 

"Yes, I have news for you," Holmes replied with a slight smile. 

Sir John darted forward. "Then the camellias—" he began. 

"Well, well. Perhaps we would be wise to forget the red camellias. I noticed a goodly crop of buds on the bush." 

"I thank God that is true," said our visitor devoutly, "and I am glad to perceive, Mr. Holmes, that you place a higher value on the ascetic rarities of Nature than on 
the intrinsic treasures of man's handiwork. Nevertheless, there still remains the dreadful loss of the Abbas Ruby. Have you any hope of recovering the jewel?" 

"There is every hope. But, before we discuss the matter any further, I beg that you will join me in a glass of port." Sir John raised his eyebrows. "At this 
hour, Mr. Holmes?" he exclaimed. "Really, sir, I hardly think— " 

"Come now," smiled Sherlock Holmes, filling three glasses at the sideboard and handing one to our visitor. "It is a chill morning and I can heartily 
recommend the rarity of this vintage." 

With a slight frown of disapproval, Sir John Doverton lifted the glass to his lips. There was a moment of silence broken by a sudden startled cry. Our visitor, his 
face as white as the piece of linen which he had put to his mouth, stared wildly from Holmes to the flaming, flashing crystal which had fallen from his lips into 
his handkerchief. "The Abbas Ruby!" he gasped. 

Sherlock Holmes broke into a hearty laugh and clapped his hands together. 

"Really you must forgive me!" he cried. "My friend Dr. Watson will tell you that I can never resist these somewhat dramatic touches. It is perhaps the 
Vernet blood in my veins." 

Sir John Doverton gazed thunder-struck at the great jewel, smouldering and winking against its background of white linen. 

"Good heavens, I can scarcely credit my own eyes," he said in a shaking voice. "But how on earth did you recover it?" 

"Ah, there I must crave your indulgence. Suffice to say that your butler, Joliffe, who was a sorely wronged man, was released this morning and that the jewel is 
now returned safely to its rightful owner," replied Holmes kindly. "Here is the locket and chain from which I took the liberty of removing the stone in order 
that I might play my little trick upon you by concealing the ruby in your port wine. I beg that you will press the matter no further." 

"It shall be as you wish, Mr. Holmes," said Sir John earnestly. "Indeed I have cause to place every confidence in your judgement. But what can I do to 
express—" 

"Well, I am far from a rich man and I shall leave it to you whether or not I have deserved your five thousand pounds reward." 

"Many times over," cried John Doverton, drawing a cheque-book from his pocket "Furthermore, I shall send you a cutting from my red camellias." 

Holmes bowed gravely. 

"I shall place it in the special charge of Watson," he said. "By the way, Sir John, I will be glad if you would make out two separate cheques. One for £2500 in 
favour of Sherlock Holmes, and the other for a similar amount in favour of Andrew Joliffe. I fear that from this time forward you might find your former butler 
a trifle nervous in his domestic duties, and this sum of money should be ample to set him up in the cigar business, thus fulfilling the secret ambition of his life. 
Thank you, my dear sir. And now I think that for once we might really break our morning habits and, by partaking a glass of port, modestly celebrate the 
successful conclusion of the case of the Abbas Ruby." 



The Reigate Puzzle 


t was some time before the health of my 
■•vcy.' friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes recovered 
f rom the strain caused by his immense 
exertions in the spring of '87. The whole 
question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and 
of the colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are 
too recent in the minds of the public, and are too 
intimately concerned with politics and finance to 
be fitting subjects for this series of sketches. They 
led, however, in an indirect fashion to a singular 
and complex problem which gave my friend an 
opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh 
weapon among the many with which he waged his 
life-long battle against crime. 

Qn referring to my notes I see that it was upon 
the 14th of April that I received a telegram from 
Lyons which informed me that Holmes was lying 
ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I 
was in his sick-room, and was relieved to find that 
there was nothing formidable in his symptoms. 
Even his iron constitution, however, had broken 
down under the strain of an investigation which 
had extended over two months, during which pe- 
riod he had never worked less than fifteen hours 
a day, and had more than once, as he assured me, 
kept to his task for five days at a stretch. Even the 
triumphant issue of his labors could not save him 
from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at 
a time when Europe was ringing with his name 
and when his room was literally ankle-deep with 
congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to the 
blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he 
had succeeded where the police of three countries 
had failed, and that he had outmanoeuvred at ev- 
ery point the most accomplished swindler in Eu- 
rope, was insufficient to rouse him from his ner- 
vous prostration. 

Three days later we were back in Baker Street 
together; but it was evident that my friend would 
be much the better for a change, and the thought 
of a week of spring time in the country was full 
of attractions to me also. My old friend. Colonel 
Hayter, who had come under my professional 
care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near 
Reigate in Surrey, and had frequently asked me to 
come down to him upon a visit. On the last oc- 
casion he had remarked that if my friend would 
only come with me he would be glad to extend 
his hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was 
needed, but when Holmes understood that the es- 
tablishment was a bachelor one, and that he would 
be allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with my 
plans and a week after our return from Lyons we 
were under the Colonel's roof. Hayter was a fine 
old soldier who had seen much of the world, and 


he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and 
he had much in common. 

On the evening of our arrival we were sitting 
in the Colonel's gun-room after dinner. Holmes 
stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I looked 
over his little armory of Eastern weapons. 

"By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I'll 
take one of these pistols upstairs with me in case 
we have an alarm." 

"An alarm!" said I. 

"Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old 
Acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his 
house broken into last Monday. No great damage 
done, but the fellows are still at large." 

"No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at 
the Colonel. 

"None as yet. But the affair is a pretty one, 
one of our little country crimes, which must seem 
too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after this 
great international affair. " 

Holmes waved away the compliment, though 
his smile showed that it had pleased him. 

"Was there any feature of interest?" 

"I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library 
and got very little for their pains. The whole place 
was turned upside down, drawers burst open, and 
presses ransacked, with the result that an odd vol- 
ume of Pope's Homer, two plated candlesticks, an 
ivory letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a 
ball of twine are all that have vanished." 

"What an extraordinary assortment!" I ex- 
claimed. 

"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of ev- 
erything they could get." 

Holmes grunted from the sofa. 

"The county police ought to make something 
of that," said he; "why, it is surely obvious that — " 

But I held up a warning finger. 

"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For 
Heaven's sake don't get started on a new problem 
when your nerves are all in shreds." 

Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance 
of comic resignation towards the Colonel, and the 
talk drifted away into less dangerous channels. 

It was destined, however, that all my profes- 
sional caution should be wasted, for next morning 
the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a way 
that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country 
visit took a turn which neither of us could have an- 
ticipated. We were at breakfast when the Colonel's 
butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out 
of him. 


341 



The Reigate Puzzle 


"Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. 
"At the Cunningham's sir!" 

"Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee- 
cup in mid-air. 

"Murder!" 

The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he. 
"Who's killed, then? The J.P. or his son?" 

"Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. 
Shot through the heart, sir, and never spoke 
again." 

"Who shot him, then?" 

"The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got 
clean away. He'd just broke in at the pantry win- 
dow when William came on him and met his end 
in saving his master's property." 

"What time?" 

"It was last night, sir, somewhere about 
twelve." 

"Ah, then, we'll step over afterwards," said 
the Colonel, coolly settling down to his breakfast 
again. "It's a baddish business," he added when 
the butler had gone; "he's our leading man about 
here, is old Cunningham, and a very decent fel- 
low too. He'll be cut up over this, for the man has 
been in his service for years and was a good ser- 
vant. It's evidently the same villains who broke 
into Acton's." 

"And stole that very singular collection," said 
Holmes, thoughtfully. 

"Precisely." 

"Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the 
world, but all the same at first glance this is just a 
little curious, is it not? A gang of burglars acting 
in the country might be expected to vary the scene 
of their operations, and not to crack two cribs in 
the same district within a few days. When you 
spoke last night of taking precautions I remem- 
ber that it passed through my mind that this was 
probably the last parish in England to which the 
thief or thieves would be likely to turn their atten- 
tion — which shows that I have still much to learn." 

"I fancy it's some local practitioner," said the 
Colonel. "In that case, of course, Acton's and 
Cunningham's are just the places he would go for, 
since they are far the largest about here." 

"And richest?" 

"Well, they ought to be, but they've had a law- 
suit for some years which has sucked the blood out 
of both of them, I fancy. Old Acton has some claim 
on half Cunningham's estate, and the lawyers have 
been at it with both hands." 


"If it's a local villain there should not be much 
difficulty in running him down," said Holmes 
with a yawn. "All right, Watson, I don't intend 
to meddle." 

"Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler, 
throwing open the door. 

The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, 
stepped into the room. "Good-morning, Colonel," 
said he; "I hope I don't intrude, but we hear that 
Mr. Holmes of Baker Street is here." 

The Colonel waved his hand towards my 
friend, and the Inspector bowed. 

"We thought that perhaps you would care to 
step across, Mr. Holmes." 

"The fates are against you, Watson," said he, 
laughing. "We were chatting about the matter 
when you came in. Inspector. Perhaps you can let 
us have a few details." As he leaned back in his 
chair in the familiar attitude I knew that the case 
was hopeless. 

"We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here 
we have plenty to go on, and there's no doubt it is 
the same party in each case. The man was seen." 

"Ah!" 

"Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after the 
shot that killed poor William Kirwan was fired. 
Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroom win- 
dow, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from 
the back passage. It was quarter to twelve when 
the alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham had just 
got into bed, and Mr. Alec was smoking a pipe 
in his dressing-gown. They both heard William 
the coachman calling for help, and Mr. Alec ran 
down to see what was the matter. The back door 
was open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs 
he saw two men wrestling together outside. One 
of them fired a shot, the other dropped, and the 
murderer rushed across the garden and over the 
hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of his bed- 
room, saw the fellow as he gained the road, but 
lost sight of him at once. Mr. Alec stopped to see 
if he could help the dying man, and so the vil- 
lain got clean away. Beyond the fact that he was a 
middle-sized man and dressed in some dark stuff, 
we have no personal clue; but we are making en- 
ergetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we shall 
soon find him out." 

"What was this William doing there? Did he 
say anything before he died?" 

"Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his 
mother, and as he was a very faithful fellow we 
imagine that he walked up to the house with the 
intention of seeing that all was right there. Of 


342 



The Reigate Puzzle 


course this Acton business has put every one on 
their guard. The robber must have just burst open 
the door — the lock has been forced — when William 
came upon him." 

"Did William say anything to his mother before 
going out?" 

"She is very old and deaf, and we can get no in- 
formation from her. The shock has made her half- 
witted, but I understand that she was never very 
bright. There is one very important circumstance, 
however. Look at this!" 

He took a small piece of torn paper from a 
note-book and spread it out upon his knee. 

"This was found between the finger and thumb 
of the dead man. It appears to be a fragment torn 
from a larger sheet. You will observe that the hour 
mentioned upon it is the very time at which the 
poor fellow met his fate. You see that his mur- 
derer might have torn the rest of the sheet from 
him or he might have taken this fragment from the 
murderer. It reads almost as though it were an ap- 
pointment." 

Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a facsimile 
of which is here reproduced. 

at quarter to twelve 

learn what 

may 

"Presuming that it is an appointment," contin- 
ued the Inspector, "it is of course a conceivable the- 
ory that this William Kirwan — though he had the 
reputation of being an honest man, may have been 
in league with the thief. He may have met him 
there, may even have helped him to break in the 
door, and then they may have fallen out between 
themselves." 

"This writing is of extraordinary interest," said 
Holmes, who had been examining it with intense 
concentration. "These are much deeper waters 
than I had thought." He sank his head upon his 
hands, while the Inspector smiled at the effect 
which his case had had upon the famous London 
specialist. 

"Your last remark," said Holmes, presently, "as 
to the possibility of there being an understanding 
between the burglar and the servant, and this be- 
ing a note of appointment from one to the other, 
is an ingenious and not entirely impossible suppo- 
sition. But this writing opens up — " He sank his 
head into his hands again and remained for some 
minutes in the deepest thought. When he raised 
his face again, I was surprised to see that his cheek 


was tinged with color, and his eyes as bright as be- 
fore his illness. He sprang to his feet with all his 
old energy. 

"I'll tell you what," said he, "I should like to 
have a quiet little glance into the details of this 
case. There is something in it which fascinates me 
extremely. If you will permit me. Colonel, I will 
leave my friend Watson and you, and I will step 
round with the Inspector to test the truth of one or 
two little fancies of mine. I will be with you again 
in half an hour." 

An hour and half had elapsed before the In- 
spector returned alone. 

"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the 
field outside," said he. "He wants us all four to go 
up to the house together." 

"To Mr. Cunningham's?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"What for?" 

The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. "I don't 
quite know, sir. Between ourselves, I think Mr. 
Holmes had not quite got over his illness yet. He's 
been behaving very queerly, and he is very much 
excited." 

"I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I. 
"I have usually found that there was method in his 
madness." 

"Some folks might say there was madness in 
his method," muttered the Inspector. "But he's all 
on fire to start. Colonel, so we had best go out if 
you are ready." 

We found Holmes pacing up and down in the 
field, his chin sunk upon his breast, and his hands 
thrust into his trousers pockets. 

"The matter grows in interest," said he. "Wat- 
son, your country-trip has been a distinct success. 
I have had a charming morning." 

"You have been up to the scene of the crime, I 
understand," said the Colonel. 

"Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a lit- 
tle reconnaissance together." 

"Any success?" 

"Well, we have seen some very interesting 
things. I'll tell you what we did as we walk. First 
of all, we saw the body of this unfortunate man. 
He certainly died from a revolver wound as re- 
ported." 

"Had you doubted it, then?" 

"Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our in- 
spection was not wasted. We then had an inter- 
view with Mr. Cunningham and his son, who were 


343 



The Reigate Puzzle 


able to point out the exact spot where the mur- 
derer had broken through the garden-hedge in his 
flight. That was of great interest." 

"Naturally." 

"Then we had a look at this poor fellow's 
mother. We could get no information from her, 
however, as she is very old and feeble." 

"And what is the result of your investigations?" 

"The conviction that the crime is a very pecu- 
liar one. Perhaps our visit now may do something 
to make it less obscure. I think that we are both 
agreed. Inspector that the fragment of paper in the 
dead man's hand, bearing, as it does, the very hour 
of his death written upon it, is of extreme impor- 
tance." 

"It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes." 

"It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note 
was the man who brought William Kirwan out of 
his bed at that hour. But where is the rest of that 
sheet of paper?" 

"I examined the ground carefully in the hope 
of finding it," said the Inspector. 

"It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why 
was some one so anxious to get possession of it? 
Because it incriminated him. And what would he 
do with it? Thrust it into his pocket, most likely, 
never noticing that a corner of it had been left in 
the grip of the corpse. If we could get the rest of 
that sheet it is obvious that we should have gone a 
long way towards solving the mystery." 

"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's 
pocket before we catch the criminal?" 

"Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then 
there is another obvious point. The note was sent 
to William. The man who wrote it could not have 
taken it; otherwise, of course, he might have de- 
livered his own message by word of mouth. Who 
brought the note, then? Or did it come through 
the post?" 

"I have made inquiries," said the Inspector. 
"William received a letter by the afternoon post 
yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him." 

"Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspec- 
tor on the back. "You've seen the postman. It is a 
pleasure to work with you. Well, here is the lodge, 
and if you will come up. Colonel, I will show you 
the scene of the crime." 

We passed the pretty cottage where the mur- 
dered man had lived, and walked up an oak-lined 
avenue to the fine old Queen Anne house, which 
bears the date of Malplaquet upon the lintel of the 
door. Holmes and the Inspector led us round it 


until we came to the side gate, which is separated 
by a stretch of garden from the hedge which lines 
the road. A constable was standing at the kitchen 
door. 

"Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes. 
"Now, it was on those stairs that young Mr. Cun- 
ningham stood and saw the two men struggling 
just where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at 
that window — the second on the left — and he saw 
the fellow get away just to the left of that bush. 
So did the son.They are both sure of it on account 
of the bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt be- 
side the wounded man. The ground is very hard, 
you see, and there are no marks to guide us." As 
he spoke two men came down the garden path, 
from round the angle of the house. The one was 
an elderly man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy- 
eyed face; the other a dashing young fellow, whose 
bright, smiling expression and showy dress were 
in strange contract with the business which had 
brought us there. 

"Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I thought 
you Londoners were never at fault. You don't seem 
to be so very quick, after all." 

"Ah, you must give us a little time," said 
Holmes good-humoredly. 

"You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham. 
"Why, I don't see that we have any clue at all." 

"There's only one," answered the Inspector. 
"We thought that if we could only find — Good 
heavens, Mr. Holmes! What is the matter?" 

My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed 
the most dreadful expression. His eyes rolled up- 
wards, his features writhed in agony, and with a 
suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the 
ground. Horrified at the suddenness and sever- 
ity of the attack, we carried him into the kitchen, 
where he lay back in a large chair, and breathed 
heavily for some minutes. Finally, with a shame- 
faced apology for his weakness, he rose once more. 

"Watson would tell you that I have only just re- 
covered from a severe illness," he explained. "I am 
liable to these sudden nervous attacks." 

"Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old 
Cunningham. 

"Well, since I am here, there is one point on 
which I should like to feel sure. We can very eas- 
ily verify it." 

"What was it?" 

"Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that 
the arrival of this poor fellow William was not be- 
fore, but after, the entrance of the burglary into the 


344 



The Reigate Puzzle 


house. You appear to take it for granted that, al- 
though the door was forced, the robber never got 
in." 

"I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr. Cun- 
ningham, gravely. "Why, my son Alec had not yet 
gone to bed, and he would certainly have heard 
any one moving about." 

"Where was he sitting?" 

"I was smoking in my dressing-room." 

"Which window is that?" 

"The last on the left next my father's." 

"Both of your lamps were lit, of course?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"There are some very singular points here," 
said Holmes, smiling. "Is it not extraordinary that 
a burglary — and a burglar who had had some pre- 
vious experience — should deliberately break into a 
house at a time when he could see from the lights 
that two of the family were still afoot?" 

"He must have been a cool hand." 

"Well, of course, if the case were not an odd 
one we should not have been driven to ask you 
for an explanation," said young Mr. Alec. "But as 
to your ideas that the man had robbed the house 
before William tackled him, I think it a most ab- 
surd notion. Wouldn't we have found the place 
disarranged, and missed the things which he had 
taken?" 

"It depends on what the things were," said 
Holmes. "You must remember that we are dealing 
with a burglar who is a very peculiar fellow, and 
who appears to work on lines of his own. Look, 
for example, at the queer lot of things which he 
took from Acton's — what was it? — a ball of string, 
a letter-weight, and I don't know what other odds 
and ends." 

"Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. 
Holmes," said old Cunningham. "Anything which 
you or the Inspector may suggest will most cer- 
tainly be done." 

"In the first place," said Holmes, "I should 
like you to offer a reward — coming from yourself, 
for the officials may take a little time before they 
would agree upon the sum, and these things can- 
not be done too promptly. I have jotted down the 
form here, if you would not mind signing it. Fifty 
pound was quite enough, I thought." 

"I would willingly give five hundred," said the 
J.P., taking the slip of paper and the pencil which 
Holmes handed to him. "This is not quite correct, 
however," he added, glancing over the document. 


"I wrote it rather hurriedly." 

"You see you begin, 'Whereas, at about a quar- 
ter to one on Tuesday morning an attempt was 
made,' and so on. It was at a quarter to twelve, 
as a matter of fact." 

I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how 
keenly Holmes would feel any slip of the kind. It 
was his specialty to be accurate as to fact, but his 
recent illness had shaken him, and this one little 
incident was enough to show me that he was still 
far from being himself. He was obviously embar- 
rassed for an instant, while the Inspector raised 
his eyebrows, and Alec Cunningham burst into a 
laugh. The old gentleman corrected the mistake, 
however, and handed the paper back to Holmes. 

"Get it printed as soon as possible," he said; "I 
think your idea is an excellent one." 

Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away 
into his pocket-book. 

"And now," said he, "it really would be a good 
thing that we should all go over the house together 
and make certain that this rather erratic burglar 
did not, after all, carry anything away with him." 

Before entering. Holmes made an examination 
of the door which had been forced. It was evident 
that a chisel or strong knife had been thrust in, 
and the lock forced back with it. We could see the 
marks in the wood where it had been pushed in. 

"You don't use bars, then?" he asked. 

"We have never found it necessary." 

"You don't keep a dog?" 

"Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the 
house." 

"When do the servants go to bed?" 

"About ten." 

"I understand that William was usually in bed 
also at that hour." 

"Yes." 

"It is singular that on this particular night he 
should have been up. Now, I should be very glad 
if you would have the kindness to show us over 
the house, Mr. Cunningham." 

A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens 
branching away from it, led by a wooden staircase 
directly to the first floor of the house. It came out 
upon the landing opposite to a second more or- 
namental stair which came up from the front hall. 
Out of this landing opened the drawing-room and 
several bedrooms, including those of Mr. Cunning- 
ham and his son. Holmes walked slowly, taking 
keen note of the architecture of the house. I could 
tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, 
and yet I could not in the least imagine in what 
direction his inferences were leading him. 


345 



The Reigate Puzzle 


"My good sir," said Mr. Cunningham with 
some impatience, "this is surely very unnecessary 
That is my room at the end of the stairs, and my 
son's is the one beyond it. I leave it to your judg- 
ment whether it was possible for the thief to have 
come up here without disturbing us." 

"You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I 
fancy," said the son with a rather malicious smile. 

"Still, I must ask you to humor me a little 
further. I should like, for example, to see how 
far the windows of the bedrooms command the 
front. This, I understand is your son's room" — he 
pushed open the door — "and that, I presume, is 
the dressing-room in which he sat smoking when 
the alarm was given. Where does the window 
of that look out to?" He stepped across the bed- 
room, pushed open the door, and glanced round 
the other chamber. 

"I hope that you are satisfied now?" said Mr. 
Cunningham, tartly. 

"Thank you, I think I have seen all that I 
wished." 

"Then if it is really necessary we can go into 
my room." 

"If it is not too much trouble." 

The J.P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the 
way into his own chamber, which was a plainly 
furnished and commonplace room. As we moved 
across it in the direction of the window. Holmes 
fell back until he and I were the last of the group. 
Near the foot of the bed stood a dish of oranges 
and a carafe of water. As we passed it Holmes, to 
my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in front 
of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing 
over. The glass smashed into a thousand pieces 
and the fruit rolled about into every corner of the 
room. 

"You've done it now, Watson," said he, coolly. 
"A pretty mess you've made of the carpet." 

I stooped in some confusion and began to pick 
up the fruit, understanding for some reason my 
companion desired me to take the blame upon my- 
self. The others did the same, and set the table on 
its legs again. 

"Hullo!" cried the Inspector, "where's he got 
to?" 

Holmes had disappeared. 

"Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cun- 
ningham. "The fellow is off his head, in my opin- 
ion. Come with me, father, and see where he has 
got to!" 


They rushed out of the room, leaving the In- 
spector, the Colonel, and me staring at each other. 

"'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with 
Master Alec," said the official. "It may be the effect 
of this illness, but it seems to me that — " 

His words were cut short by a sudden scream 
of "Help! Help! Murder!" With a thrill I recog- 
nized the voice of that of my friend. I rushed 
madly from the room on to the landing. The cries, 
which had sunk down into a hoarse, inarticulate 
shouting, came from the room which we had first 
visited. I dashed in, and on into the dressing- 
room beyond. The two Cunninghams were bend- 
ing over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes, 
the younger clutching his throat with both hands, 
while the elder seemed to be twisting one of his 
wrists. In an instant the three of us had torn them 
away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, 
very pale and evidently greatly exhausted. 

"Arrest these men. Inspector," he gasped. 

"On what charge?" 

"That of murdering their coachman, William 
Kir wan." 

The Inspector stared about him in bewilder- 
ment. "Oh, come now, Mr. Holmes," said he at 
last, "I'm sure you don't really mean to — " 

"Tut, man, look at their faces!" cried Holmes, 
curtly. 

Never certainly have I seen a plainer confes- 
sion of guilt upon human countenances. The older 
man seemed numbed and dazed with a heavy, 
sullen expression upon his strongly-marked face. 
The son, on the other hand, had dropped all that 
jaunty, dashing style which had characterized him, 
and the ferocity of a dangerous wild beast gleamed 
in his dark eyes and distorted his handsome fea- 
tures. The Inspector said nothing, but, stepping to 
the door, he blew his whistle. Two of his consta- 
bles came at the call. 

"I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham," said 
he. "I trust that this may all prove to be an absurd 
mistake, but you can see that — Ah, would you? 
Drop it!" He struck out with his hand, and a re- 
volver which the younger man was in the act of 
cocking clattered down upon the floor. 

"Keep that," said Holmes, quietly putting his 
foot upon it; "you will find it useful at the trial. 
But this is what we really wanted." He held up a 
little crumpled piece of paper. 

"The remainder of the sheet!" cried the Inspec- 
tor. 

"Precisely." 


346 



The Reigate Puzzle 


"And where was it?" 

"Where I was sure it must be. I'll make the 
whole matter clear to you presently. I think. 
Colonel, that you and Watson might return now, 
and I will be with you again in an hour at the fur- 
thest. The Inspector and I must have a word with 
the prisoners, but you will certainly see me back at 
luncheon time." 

Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for 
about one o'clock he rejoined us in the Colonel's 
smoking-room. He was accompanied by a little el- 
derly gentleman, who was introduced to me as the 
Mr. Acton whose house had been the scene of the 
original burglary. 

"I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I 
demonstrated this small matter to you," said 
Holmes, "for it is natural that he should take a 
keen interest in the details. I am afraid, my dear 
Colonel, that you must regret the hour that you 
took in such a stormy petrel as I am." 

"On the contrary," answered the Colonel, 
warmly, "I consider it the greatest privilege to have 
been permitted to study your methods of working. 
I confess that they quite surpass my expectations, 
and that I am utterly unable to account for your 
result. I have not yet seen the vestige of a clue." 

"I am afraid that my explanation may disillu- 
sion you but it has always been my habit to hide 
none of my methods, either from my friend Wat- 
son or from any one who might take an intelligent 
interest in them. But, first, as I am rather shaken 
by the knocking about which I had in the dressing- 
room, I think that I shall help myself to a dash of 
your brandy. Colonel. My strength had been rather 
tried of late." 

"I trust that you had no more of those nervous 
attacks." 

Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily. "We will 
come to that in its turn," said he. "I will lay an 
account of the case before you in its due order, 
showing you the various points which guided me 
in my decision. Pray interrupt me if there is any 
inference which is not perfectly clear to you. 

"It is of the highest importance in the art of de- 
tection to be able to recognize, out of a number of 
facts, which are incidental and which vital. Other- 
wise your energy and attention must be dissipated 
instead of being concentrated. Now, in this case 
there was not the slightest doubt in my mind from 
the first that the key of the whole matter must be 
looked for in the scrap of paper in the dead man's 
hand. 


"Before going into this, I would draw your at- 
tention to the fact that, if Alec Cunningham's nar- 
rative was correct, and if the assailant, after shoot- 
ing William Kirwan, had instantly fled, then it ob- 
viously could not be he who tore the paper from 
the dead man's hand. But if it was not he, it must 
have been Alec Cunningham himself, for by the 
time that the old man had descended several ser- 
vants were upon the scene. The point is a sim- 
ple one, but the Inspector had overlooked it be- 
cause he had started with the supposition that 
these county magnates had had nothing to do with 
the matter. Now, I make a point of never having 
any prejudices, and of following docilely wherever 
fact may lead me, and so, in the very first stage of 
the investigation, I found myself looking a little 
askance at the part which had been played by Mr. 
Alec Cunningham. 

"And now I made a very careful examination of 
the corner of paper which the Inspector had sub- 
mitted to us. It was at once clear to me that it 
formed part of a very remarkable document. Here 
it is. Do you not now observed something very 
suggestive about it?" 

"It has a very irregular look," said the Colonel. 

"My dear sir," cried Holmes, "there cannot be 
the least doubt in the world that it has been writ- 
ten by two persons doing alternate words. When 
I draw your attention to the strong t's of 'at' and 
'to', and ask you to compare them with the weak 
ones of 'quarter' and 'twelve,' you will instantly 
recognize the fact. A very brief analysis of these 
four words would enable you to say with the ut- 
most confidence that the 'learn' and the 'maybe' 
are written in the stronger hand, and the 'what' in 
the weaker. " 

"By Jove, it's as clear as day!" cried the Colonel. 
"Why on earth should two men write a letter in 
such a fashion?" 

"Obviously the business was a bad one, and 
one of the men who distrusted the other was deter- 
mined that, whatever was done, each should have 
an equal hand in it. Now, of the two men, it is 
clear that the one who wrote the 'at' and 'to' was 
the ringleader." 

"How do you get at that?" 

"We might deduce it from the mere character 
of the one hand as compared with the other. But 
we have more assured reasons than that for sup- 
posing it. If you examine this scrap with attention 
you will come to the conclusion that the man with 
the stronger hand wrote all his words first, leaving 
blanks for the other to fill up. These blanks were 


347 



The Reigate Puzzle 


not always sufficient, and you can see that the sec- 
ond man had a squeeze to fit his 'quarter' in be- 
tween the 'at' and the 'to/ showing that the latter 
were already written. The man who wrote all his 
words first in undoubtedly the man who planned 
the affair." 

"Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton. 

"But very superficial," said Holmes. "We come 
now, however, to a point which is of importance. 
You may not be aware that the deduction of a 
man's age from his writing is one which has 
brought to considerable accuracy by experts. In 
normal cases one can place a man in his true 
decade with tolerable confidence. I say normal 
cases, because ill-health and physical weakness re- 
produce the signs of old age, even when the in- 
valid is a youth. In this case, looking at the bold, 
strong hand of the one, and the rather broken- 
backed appearance of the other, which still retains 
its legibility although the t's have begun to lose 
their crossing, we can say that the one was a young 
man and the other was advanced in years without 
being positively decrepit." 

"Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton again. 

"There is a further point, however, which is 
subtler and of greater interest. There is something 
in common between these hands. They belong to 
men who are blood-relatives. It may be most ob- 
vious to you in the Greek e’s, but to me there are 
many small points which indicate the same thing. 
I have no doubt at all that a family mannerism 
can be traced in these two specimens of writing. 
I am only, of course, giving you the leading results 
now of my examination of the paper. There were 
twenty-three other deductions which would be of 
more interest to experts than to you. They all tend 
to deepen the impression upon my mind that the 
Cunninghams, father and son, had written this let- 
ter. 

"Having got so far, my next step was, of course, 
to examine into the details of the crime, and to 
see how far they would help us. I went up to the 
house with the Inspector, and saw all that was to 
be seen. The wound upon the dead man was, as 
I was able to determine with absolute confidence, 
fired from a revolver at the distance of something 
over four yards. There was no powder-blackening 
on the clothes. Evidently, therefore, Alec Cunning- 
ham had lied when he said that the two men were 
struggling when the shot was fired. Again, both 
father and son agreed as to the place where the 
man escaped into the road. At that point, how- 
ever, as it happens, there is a broadish ditch, moist 
at the bottom. As there were no indications of 


bootmarks about this ditch, I was absolutely sure 
not only that the Cunninghams had again lied, but 
that there had never been any unknown man upon 
the scene at all. 

"And now I have to consider the motive of this 
singular crime. To get at this, I endeavored first of 
all to solve the reason of the original burglary at 
Mr. Acton's. I understood, from something which 
the Colonel told us, that a lawsuit had been go- 
ing on between you, Mr. Acton, and the Cunning- 
hams. Of course, it instantly occurred to me that 
they had broken into your library with the inten- 
tion of getting at some document which might be 
of importance in the case." 

"Precisely so," said Mr. Acton. "There can be 
no possible doubt as to their intentions. I have the 
clearest claim upon half of their present estate, and 
if they could have found a single paper — which, 
fortunately, was in the strong-box of my solici- 
tors — they would undoubtedly have crippled our 
case." 

"There you are," said Holmes, smiling. "It was 
a dangerous, reckless attempt, in which I seem to 
trace the influence of young Alec. Having found 
nothing they tried to divert suspicion by making 
it appear to be an ordinary burglary, to which 
end they carried off whatever they could lay their 
hands upon. That is all clear enough, but there was 
much that was still obscure. What I wanted above 
all was to get the missing part of that note. I was 
certain that Alec had torn it out of the dead man's 
hand, and almost certain that he must have thrust 
it into the pocket of his dressing-gown. Where 
else could he have put it? The only question was 
whether it was still there. It was worth an effort to 
find out, and for that object we all went up to the 
house. 

"The Cunninghams joined us, as you doubt- 
less remember, outside the kitchen door. It was, 
of course, of the very first importance that they 
should not be reminded of the existence of this 
paper, otherwise they would naturally destroy it 
without delay. The Inspector was about to tell 
them the importance which we attached to it 
when, by the luckiest chance in the world, I tum- 
bled down in a sort of fit and so changed the con- 
versation." 

"Good heavens!" cried the Colonel, laughing, 
"do you mean to say all our sympathy was wasted 
and your fit an imposture?" 

"Speaking professionally, it was admirably 
done," cried I, looking in amazement at this man 
who was forever confounding me with some new 
phase of his astuteness. 


348 



"It is an art which is often useful," said he. 
"When I recovered I managed, by a device which 
had perhaps some little merit of ingenuity, to get 
old Cunningham to write the word 'twelve/ so 
that I might compare it with the 'twelve' upon the 
paper." 

"Oh, what an ass I have been!" I exclaimed. 

"I could see that you were commiserating me 
over my weakness," said Holmes, laughing. "I 
was sorry to cause you the sympathetic pain which 
I know that you felt. We then went upstairs to- 
gether, and having entered the room and seen the 
dressing-gown hanging up behind the door, I con- 
trived, by upsetting a table, to engage their at- 
tention for the moment, and slipped back to ex- 
amine the pockets. I had hardly got the paper, 
however — which was, as I had expected, in one of 
them — when the two Cunninghams were on me, 
and would, I verily believe, have murdered me 
then and there but for your prompt and friendly 
aid. As it is, I feel that young man's grip on my 
throat now, and the father has twisted my wrist 
round in the effort to get the paper out of my hand. 
They saw that I must know all about it, you see, 
and the sudden change from absolute security to 
complete despair made them perfectly desperate. 

"I had a little talk with old Cunningham af- 
terwards as to the motive of the crime. He was 
tractable enough, though his son was a perfect 
demon, ready to blow out his own or anybody 
else's brains if he could have got to his revolver. 
When Cunningham saw that the case against him 
was so strong he lost all heart and made a clean 
breast of everything. It seems that William had se- 
cretly followed his two masters on the night when 


they made their raid upon Mr. Acton's, and having 
thus got them into his power, proceeded, under 
threats of exposure, to levy black-mail upon them. 
Mr. Alec, however, was a dangerous man to play 
games of that sort with. It was a stroke of posi- 
tive genius on his part to see in the burglary scare 
which was convulsing the country side an oppor- 
tunity of plausibly getting rid of the man whom 
he feared. William was decoyed up and shot, and 
had they only got the whole of the note and paid 
a little more attention to detail in the accessories, 
it is very possible that suspicion might never have 
been aroused." 

"And the note?" I asked. 

Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper 
before us. 

If you will only come around at quarter to 
twelve 

to the east gate you will learn what 
ivill very much surprise you and may 
be of the greatest service to you and also 
to Annie Morrison. But say nothing to 
anyone upon the matter 

"It is very much the sort of thing that I ex- 
pected," said he. "Of course, we do not yet know 
what the relations may have been between Alec 
Cunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie Morri- 
son. The results shows that the trap was skillfully 
baited. I am sure that you cannot fail to be de- 
lighted with the traces of heredity shown in the p's 
and in the tails of the g's. The absence of the i- dots 
in the old man's writing is also most characteristic. 
Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has 
been a distinct success, and I shall certainly return 
much invigorated to Baker Street to-morrow." 



THE GOLD HUNTER 


"Mr. Holmes, it was death by the visitation of God!" 

We have heard many singular statements in our rooms at Baker Street, but few more startling than this pronouncement of the Rev. Mr. James Appley. 

I need no reference to my note-book to recall that it was a fine summer day in the year 1887. A telegram had arrived at the breakfast-table. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, 
with an exclamation of impatience, threw it across to me. The telegram stated merely that the Rev. James Appley requested the favour of waiting upon him that morning, 
to consult him in a matter of church affairs. 

"Really, Watson," Holmes had commented with some asperity, as he lighted his after-breakfast pipe, "matters have indeed come to a pretty pass when clergymen 
seek my advice as to the length of their sermons or the conduct of the Harvest Festival. I am flattered but out of my depth. What does Crockford say of this 
strange client?" 

Endeavouring to anticipate my friend's methods, I had already taken down the clerical directory. I could find only that the gentleman in question was the vicar of a small 
parish in Somerset, and had written a monograph on Byzantine medicine. 

"An unusual pursuit for a country clergyman," Holmes remarked. "But here, unless I am much mistaken, is the man himself." 

As he spoke, there had arisen from below an excited pealing of the door-bell, and, before Mrs. Hudson could announce him, our visitor had burst into the room. 
He was a tall, thin, high-shouldered man in rustic clerical dress with a benevolent, scholarly face framed in antiquated side-whiskers of the sort once known as 
Dundreary weepers. 

"My dear sirs," he cried, peering at us myopically from behind oval spectacles, "pray accept my assurance that it is only the pressure of events that prompts my 
invasion of your privacy." 

"Come, come," said Sherlock Holmes good-humouredly, waving him to the basket-chair before the empty fireplace. "I am a consulting detective, and therefore my 
privacy is of no more consequence than that of a doctor." 

The clergyman had hardly seated himself when he blurted out the extraordinary words with which I have begun this narrative. 

"Death by the visitation of God," repeated Sherlock Holmes. Though his voice was subdued, yet it seemed to me that there was a roll and thrill in the words. "Then 
surely, my dear sir, the matter lies rather within your province than within mine?" 

"I ask your pardon," said the vicar, hastily. "My words were perhaps over-emphatic and even irreverent. But you will understand that this horrible event, this—" his voice 
sank almost to a whisper as he leaned forward in his chair. "Mr. Holmes, it is villainy: cold-blooded, deliberate villainy!" 

"Believe me, sir, I am all attention." 

"Mr. John Trelawney— Squire Trelawney, we called him— was the richest landowner for miles about. Four nights ago, when only three months short of his seventieth 
birthday, he died in his bed." 

"Hum! That is not so uncommon." 

"No, sir. But hear me!" cried the vicar, raising a long forefinger curiously smudged on the very tip. "John Trelawney was a hale and hearty man, suffering from no 
organic disease, and good for at least a dozen more years in this mundane sphere. Dr. Paul Griffin, our local medical practitioner and incidentally my nephew, flatly 
refused to issue a death-certificate. There was a most dreadful business called a post-mortem." 

Holmes, who had not yet doffed his mouse-coloured dressing-gown, had been leaning back languidly in his arm-chair. Now he half opened his eyes. 

"A post-mortem!" said he. "Performed by your nephew?" 

Mr. Appley hesitated. "No, Mr. Holmes. It was performed by Sir Leopold Harper, our foremost living authority on medical jurisprudence. I may tell you, here and now, 
that poor Trelawney did not die a natural death. Not only the police but Scotland Yard have been called in." 

"Ah!" 

"On the other hand," continued Mr. Appley agitatedly, "Trelawney was not murdered, and he could not possibly have been murdered. The greatest medical skill has 
been used to pronounce that he could not have died from any cause whatsoever." 

For a moment there was a silence in our sitting-room, where the blinds had been half drawn against the summer sun. 

"My dear Watson," said Holmes cordially, "will you be good enough to fetch me a clay pipe from the rack over the sofa? Thank you. I find, Mr. Appley, that a 
clay is most conducive to meditation. Come, where is the coalscuttle? May I venture to offer you a cigar?" 

"Cras ingens iterabimus aequor," said the vicar, running his curiously mottled fingers over his side-whiskers. "At the moment, thank you, no. I cannot smoke. I dare 
not smoke! It would choke me. I am aware that I must tell you the facts in precise detail. But it is difficult. You may have remarked that I am considered somewhat 
absent-minded?" 

"Indeed." 

"Yes, sir. In youth, before my call to the Church, I once desired to study medicine. But my late father forbade it, due to this absent-mindedness. Were I to become a 
doctor, said my father, I should instantly chloroform the patient and remove his gall-stones when he had merely come to enquire about a slight cough." 

"Well, well," said Holmes, with a touch of impatience. "But you were disturbed in your mind this morning," he continued, regarding our client with his keen glance. "That, 
no doubt, was why you consulted several books in your study before catching the train to London this morning?" 

"Yes, sir. They were medical works." 

"Do you not find it inconvenient to have the bookshelves in your study built so high?" 

"Dear me, no. Can any room be too high or too large for one's books?" 

Abruptly the vicar paused. His long face, framed in the Dundreary weepers, grew even longer as his mouth fell open. 

"Now I am positive, I am quite positive," said he, "that I mentioned neither my books nor the height of the shelves in my study! How could you have known 
these things?" 

"Tut, a trifle! How do I know, for instance, that you are either a bachelor or a widower, and that you have a most slovenly housekeeper?" 

"Really, Holmes," cried I, "there is another besides Mr. Appley who would like to know how you deduced it!" 

"The dust, Watson! The dust!" 

"What dust?" 

"Kindly observe the index finger of Mr. Appley's right hand. You will note, on its tip, smudges of that dark-grey dust which accumulates on the top of books. The 
smudges, somewhat faded, were made no later than this morning. Since Mr. Appley is a tall man with long arms, surely it is obvious that he plucked down books from 
a high shelf. When to this accumulation of dust we add an unbrushed top hat, it requires small shrewdness to determine that he has no wife, but an appalling 
housekeeper." 

"Remarkable!" said I. 

"Meretricious," said he. "And I apologize to our guest for interrupting his narrative." 

"This death was incomprehensible beyond all measure! But you have not yet heard the worst," continued our visitor. "I must tell you that Trelawney has one surviving 
relative: a niece, aged twenty-one. Her name is Miss Dolores Dale, the daughter of the late Mrs. Copley Dale, of Glastonbury. For several years the young 
lady has kept house for T relawney in his great whitewashed home, called Goodman's Rest. It has always been understood that Dolores, who is engaged to be married to 
a fine young man named Jeffrey Ainsworth, would inherit her uncle's fortune. When I tell you that a sweeter, or kinder spirit never existed, that her hair is darker than 
Homer's wine-dark sea and that upon occasion she can be all flash and fire suggestive of Southern blood—" 

"Yes, yes," said Holmes, closing his eyes. "But you stated that I had not heard the worst?" 



"True. Here are the facts. Shortly before his death, Trelawney changed his will. Disinheriting his niece, whom the stern-minded old man considered to be too frivolous, he 
left his entire fortune to my nephew, Dr. Paul Griffin. Sir, it was the scandal of the country-side! Two weeks later, Trelawney was dead in his bed and my 
unhappy nephew is now under suspicion of murder." 

"Pray be particular in your details," said Holmes. 

"In the first place," continued the vicar, "I should describe the late Squire Trelawney as a man of stern and implacable habit. I seem always to see him, tall and big- 
boned, with his great head and his grizzled silver beard, against the brown of a ploughed field or a line of heavy green trees. 

"Each evening, in his bedroom, he would read a chapter of the Bible. Afterwards he would wind up his watch, which had almost run down at that hour. Then he would 
retire to bed at ten o'clock precisely, and rise at five each morning." 

"One moment!" interposed Holmes. "Did these habits of his ever vary?" 

"Well, should he become absorbed in the Bible, he might read until very late. But this happened so seldom, Mr. Holmes, that I think you may disregard it." 

"Thank you; that is quite clear." 

"In the second place, I am sorry to say that he was never on the best of terms with his niece. He was stern to a point of brutality. On one occasion, two years 
ago, he thrashed poor Dolores with a razor-strop, and confined her to her room on bread and water, because she had gone to Bristol to witness a performance of 
Gilbert and Sullivan's comic opera, Patience. I can still see her, with the tears running down her warm-blooded cheeks. You must forgive the intemperance of her 
language. 'Old devil,' she sobbed. 'Old devil!' " 

"Am I to understand," interposed Holmes, "that the young lady's future welfare depends on the inheritance of this money?" 

"Far from it. Her fiance, Mr. Ainsworth, is a rising young solicitor who is already making his way in the world. Trelawney himself was among his clients." 

"I seemed to detect a certain apprehension when you mentioned your nephew," said Holmes. "Since Dr. Griffin inherits this fortune, he was presumably on friendly terms 
with Trelawney?" 

The vicar shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "On the friendliest possible terms," he replied with some haste. "Indeed, on one occasion he saved the squire's life. At 
the same time, I must confess that he has always been a wild, hot-headed man. His intemperate behaviour has gone a long way towards creating the strong local 
prejudice which has now risen against him. If the police could show how Trelawney died, my nephew might be under arrest at this moment." 

The vicar paused and looked round. There had come an authoritative rap at the door. An instant later, as it was flung open, we had a glimpse of Mrs. Hudson 
over the shoulder of a short, thin, rat-faced man, clad in a check suit and bowler hat. As his hard blue eyes fell on Mr. Appley, he paused on the threshold with a 
growl of surprise. 

"You have a certain gift, Lestrade, for timing your appearances with a pleasant touch of the dramatic," observed Holmes languidly. 

"And very awkward for some folk," remarked the detective, depositing his hat beside the gasogene. "Well, from the presence of this reverend gentleman I take it that 
you are up to date with this cosy little murder in Somerset. The facts are pretty obvious and all point one way as clear as signposts, eh, Mr. Holmes!" 

"Unfortunately, signposts are so easily turned in the opposite direction," said Holmes; "a truism of which I have given you one or two small demonstrations in the 
past, Lestrade." 

The Scotland Yard man flushed angrily. "Well, well, Mr. Holmes, that's as may be. But there is no doubt this time. There are both the motive and the opportunity. 
We know the man and it only remains to find the means." 

"I tell you that my unfortunate nephew—!" broke in the clergyman distractedly. 

"I have named no names." 

"But you have made it obvious from the moment you heard he was Trelawney's doctor! Admittedly he stands to benefit under that deplorable will." 

"You have forgotten to mention his personal reputation, Mr. Appley," said Lestrade grimly. 

"Wild, yes; romantic, hot-headed if you like! But a cold-blooded murderer— never! I have known him from his cradle." 

"Well, we shall see. Mr. Holmes, I would value a word with you." 

During this interchange between our unhappy client and Lestrade, Holmes had been staring at the ceiling with that far-away, dreamy look upon his face 
which I had noted only on those occasions when his mind whispered that some subtle thread of evidence was already there to hand, but buried as yet in the maze 
of obvious facts and no less obvious suspicions. He rose abruptly and turned to the vicar. 

"I take it that you return to Somerset this afternoon?" 

"By the 2:30 from Paddington." There was a tinge of colour in his face as he leapt to his feet. "Am I then to understand, my dear Mr. Holmes—?" 

"Dr. Watson and I will accompany you. If you will have the kindness to ask Mrs. Hudson to whistle a cab, Mr. Appley?" 

Our client clattered down the stairs. 

"This is a somewhat curious affair," said Holmes, filling his travelling-pouch with shag from the Persian slipper. 

"I am glad that at last you see it in that light, my dear fellow," I remarked, "for it did seem to me that you were a little impatient from the first with the worthy vicar, 
especially when he strayed into his early medical ambitions and the probability that he would absent-mindedly have removed a patient's gall-stones." 

The effect of this casual remark was extraordinary. After looking fixedly into space, Holmes sprang to his feet. 

"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "By Jove!" 

There was a touch of colour in his high cheekbones and that sudden gleam in his eyes that I knew of old. 

"As usual, Watson, your help has been invaluable," he went on warmly. "Though not yourself luminous, you are a conductor of light." 

"I have helped you? By mentioning the vicar's gallstones?" 

"Precisely." 

"Really, Holmes!" 

"At the moment, I must find a certain surname. Yes, unquestionably I must find a certain surname. Will you hand me the commonplace book under the letter 'B'?". 

I had given him the bulky volume, one of many in which he pasted press-cuttings of any incidents arresting his attention, before I had time to reflect. 

"But, Holmes, there is no one in this affair whose surname begins with a ’B'i" 

"Quite so. I was aware of it. B-a, Ba-r, Bartlett! H'm! Ha! Good old index." 

After a short perusal, turning over the pages eagerly, Holmes closed the book with a bang and sat tapping its cover with his long, nervous fingers. Behind him, the 
tubes and beakers and retorts of the chemical table glittered in the sunlight. 

"I had not all the data, of course," he added musingly. "Even now they are not complete." 

Lestrade caught my eye and winked. 

"They are complete enough for me!" he said with a grin. "They can't deceive me. That red-bearded doctor is a murdering devil. We know the man, and we know the 
motive." 

"Then why are you here?" 

"Because there is one thing lacking. We know he did it, right enough! But how did he do it?" 

No less than a dozen times did Lestrade ask the same question during the course of our journey, until it seemed to throb and echo in my head with the very click of 
the train wheels. 

It was a long, hot day and the afterglow of sunset lay on the crests of the softly rounded Somersetshire hills when we alighted at last at the little wayside station. 
On the hillside beyond the half-timbered gables of the village and set amid noble elm trees from whence, even at that distance, the clear evening air carried the cawing of 
the homing rooks, there shone a great white house. 



"We have a mile before us," said Lestrade sourly. 

"I should prefer not to go to the house at first," said Holmes. "Does this village run to an inn?" 

"There is the Camberwell Arms." 

"Then let us go there. I prefer to commence on neutral ground." 

"Really, Holmes!" cried Lestrade. "I cannot imagine—" 

"Precisely," remarked Holmes, and not another word would he utter until we were all ensconced in the private parlour of the ancient hostelry. Holmes scribbled a few 
lines in his note-book and tore out two leaves. 

"Now, Mr. Appley, if I might take the liberty of sending your groom with this note to Goodman's Rest and the other to Mr. Ainsworth?" 

"By all means." 

"Excellent. Then we have time for a pipe before Miss Dolores and her fiance join us." 

For some time we sat in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. As for myself, I had too much confidence in my friend to accept the obvious at its face value 

so long as he appeared to be perplexed in his own mind. 

"Well, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade sternly, at last. "You have been sufficiently mysterious to satisfy even Dr. Watson here. Let us have your theory." 

"I have no theory. I am merely sounding my facts." 

"Your facts have overlooked the criminal." 

"That remains to be seen. By the way, Vicar, what are the relations between Miss Dolores and your nephew?" 

"It is strange that you should mention this," replied Mr. Appley. "Their relationship has been a source of pain to me for some time past. But in justice I must add 

that the fault lies with the young lady. For no reason, she is gratuitously offensive to him. Worst of all, she shows her dislike in public." 

"Ah! And Mr. Ainsworth?" 

"Ainsworth is too good a fellow not to deplore his fiancee's behaviour to my nephew. He takes it almost as a personal affront." 

"Indeed. Most praiseworthy. But here, unless I am much mistaken, are our visitors." 

The old door creaked open and a tall, graceful girl swept into the room. Her dark eyes, glowing with an unnatural brilliance, turned from one to the other of us 
with a long, searching glance that had in it a glint of animosity and something more of despair. A slim, fair-haired young man with a fresh complexion and a pair 
of singularly clear, shrewd blue eyes followed behind her and greeted Appley with a friendly word. 

"Which of you is Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" cried the young lady. "Ah, yes. You have uncovered fresh evidence, I imagine?" 

"I have come to hear it, Miss Dale. Indeed, I have heard everything except what actually happened on the night your uncle— died." 

"You stress the word 'died,' Mr. Holmes." 

"But hang it all, my dear, what else could he say?" asked young Ainsworth, with an attempt at a laugh. "You have probably got a lot of superstitious nonsense in your 
head because the thunder-storm on Tuesday night upset your uncle. But it was over before he was dead." 

"How do you know that?" 

"Dr. Griffin said that he didn't die until about three o'clock in the morning. Anyway, he was all right in the early hours!" 

"You seem very sure." 

The young man looked at Holmes in obvious perplexity. "Of course I am. As Mr. Lestrade can tell you, I was in that room three times during the night. The squire 
asked me to go there." 

"Then be good enough to let me have the facts from the beginning. Perhaps, Miss Dale—?" 

'Very well, Mr. Holmes. On Tuesday night, my uncle asked my fiance and Dr. Griffin to dine with us at Goodman's Rest. From the first, he was uneasy. I put it down to 
the far-off muttering of thunder; he loathed and feared storms. But now I am wondering whether his uneasiness lay in his mind or his conscience. Be that as it may, our 
nerves grew more and more tense as the evening went on, nor did Dr. Griffin's sense of humor improve matters when lightning struck a tree in the copse. 'I've 
got to drive home tonight,' he said, 'and I hope nothing happens to me in this storm.' Dr. Griffin is positively insufferable! 

" ’Well, I'm glad that I'm staying,' laughed Jeffrey; 'we are snug enough with the good old lightning-conductors.' 

"My uncle leaped from his chair. 

" 'You young fool!' he cried. 'Don't you know that there are none on this house?' And my uncle stood there shivering like a man out of his wits." 

"I couldn't imagine what I'd said," interrupted Ainsworth naively. "Then, when he flew off about his nightmares—" 

"Nightmares?" said Holmes. 

"Yes. He screeched out that he suffered from nightmares, and that this was no night for the human soul to be alone." 

"He grew calmer," continued Miss Dale, "when Jeffrey offered to look in once or twice during the night. It was really rather pitiful. My fiance went in— when was it, 
Jeffrey?" 

"Once at ten-thirty; once at midnight and finally at one in the morning." 

"Did you speak with him?" asked Sherlock Holmes. 

"No, he was asleep." 

"Then, how do you know that he was alive?" 

"Well, like many elderly people, the squire kept a night-light. It was a kind of rushlight burning blue in a bowl on the hearth. I couldn't see much, but I could hear his 
heavy breathing under the howl of the storm." 

"It was just after five on the following morning—" said Miss Dale, "when— I can't go on!" she burst out. "I can't!" 

"Gently, my dear," said Ainsworth, who was looking at her steadily. "Mr. Holmes, this has been a great strain on my fiancee." 

"Perhaps I may be permitted to continue," suggested the vicar. "Dawn was just breaking when I was roused by a heavy pounding on the vicarage door. A 
stableboy had been dispatched post-haste from Goodman's Rest with horrible news. It appears that the housemaid carried up the squire's morning tea as usual. 
On drawing the curtains, she screamed out in horror at beholding her master dead in the bed. Huddling in my clothes, I rushed to Goodman's Rest. When I 
entered the bedroom, followed by Dolores and Jeffrey, Dr. Griffin— who had been summoned first— had concluded his examination. 

" 'He has been dead for about two hours,' said the doctor. 'But for the life of me I can't understand how he died.' 

"I had moved round to the other side of the bed, composing myself to pray, when I caught sight of Trelawney's gold watch, gleaming in a ray of morning sunlight. The 
watch was a stem-winder, without a key. It lay on a small marble-topped table, amid a litter of patent-medicine bottles and liniment-bottles which diffused a strong odour 
in the stuffy room. 

"We are told that in times of crisis our minds will occupy themselves with trifles. This is so, else I cannot account for my own behaviour. 

"Fancying that the watch was not ticking, I lifted it to my ear. But it was ticking. I gave the stem two full turns until it was stopped by the spring; but, in any case, I 
should not have proceeded. The winding caused a harsh noise, cr-r-ack, which drew from Dolores an unnerving scream. I recall her exact words. 

" 'Vicar! Put it down! It is like— like a death-rattle.' " 

For a moment we sat in silence. Miss Dale turned away her head. 

"Mr. Holmes," said Ainsworth earnestly, "these wounds are too recent. May I beg that you will excuse Miss Dale from any further questions tonight?" 

Holmes rose to his feet. 

"Fears are groundless things without proof, Miss Dale," he observed. Taking out his watch, he looked at it thoughtfully. 

"The hour grows late, eh, Mr. Holmes," remarked Lestrade. 



"That did not occur to me. But you are right. And now, to Goodman's Rest." 

A short journey in the vicar's carriage brought us to a pair of lodge gates opening into a narrow drive. The moon had risen and the long, glimmering avenue 
stretched away before us, all mottled and barred with the shadows of the great elm trees. As we swung round the final curve, the golden cones of light from the carriage- 
lamps gleamed faintly on the face of a gaunt, ugly mansion. All the drab-painted window-shutters were closed against the casements, and the front door was 
shrouded in black crepe. 

"It’s a house of gloom, all right," said Lestrade in a subdued voice as he tugged at the bell-pull. "Hullo! How's this! What are you doing here, Dr. Griffin?" 

The door had swung open and a tall, red-bearded man, clad in a loose-fitting Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, stood in the entrance. As he glared fiercely from one to 
the other of us, I noted the clenched hands and heaving chest that told of some fearsome inner tension. 

"Must I get your permission to walk a mile, Mr. Lestrade?" he cried. "Isn't it enough that your cursed suspicions have roused the whole country-side 
against me?" His great hand shot out and siezed my friend by the shoulder. "You're Holmes!" he said passionately. "I got your note, and here I am. 
Please God that you live up to your repute. So far as I can see, you are all that stands between me and the hangman. There, now, what a brute I am! 
I've frightened her." 

With a low moan, Miss Dale had buried her face in her hands. 

"It's the strain, it's— it's everything!" she sobbed. "Oh, horror unthinkable!" 

I was really very annoyed with Holmes; for, while we gathered round the weeping girl with words of comfort, he merely observed to Lestrade that 
presumably the dead man's body was inside. Turning his back on us, he strode into the house, whipping out a pocket lens as he did so. 

After a decent interval, I hurried after him with Lestrade on my heels. Through a door on the left of a great dark hall, we caught a glimpse of a candle-lit 
room piled high with half-withered flowers and of Holmes's long, thin figure stooping over a white-shrouded form in the open coffin. The candlelight twinkled on 
his lens as he bent down until his face was only a few inches above that of the dead man. There was a period of absolute stillness while he scrutinized 
the placid features beneath him. Then gently he pulled up the sheet and turned away. 

I would have spoken, but he hurried past us swiftly and silently with no more than a curt gesture towards the stairs. On the upper landing, Lestrade led 
the way into a bedroom with massive dark furniture that loomed up gloomily in the light of a shaded lamp burning on a table beside a great open Bible. The 
sickly stuffiness of funeral flowers, as well as the dampness of the house, followed me everywhere. 

Holmes, his brows drawn into two hard black lines, was crawling on all fours under the windows, examining every inch of the floor with his lens. At my 
stern word of injunction he rose to his feet. 

"No, Watson! These windows were not opened three nights ago. Had they been opened during so heavy a storm, I must have found traces." He sniffed 
the air. "But it was not necessary to open the windows." 

"Listen!" said I. "What is that strange noise?" 

I looked over towards the bed, with its curtains and high dark canopy. At the head of the bed my gaze fastened on a marble-topped table littered with 
dusty medicine-bottles. 

"Holmes, it is the dead man's gold watch! It lies upon that little table there, and it is still ticking." 

"Does that astonish you?" 

"Surely, after three days, they would have allowed it to run down?" 

"So they did. But I wound it up. I came up here before I examined the dead man downstairs. In fact, I made this whole journey from the village to wind up 
Squire Trelawney's watch at precisely ten o'clock." 

"Upon my word, Holmes—!" 

"And see," he continued, hastening to the small table in question, "what a treasure-trove we have here! Look at this, Lestrade! Look at it!" 

"But, Holmes, it is only a small pot of vaseline such as you may buy at any chemist's!" 

"On the contrary, it is a hangman's rope. And yet," he finished thoughtfully, "there remains that one point which continues to puzzle me. How was it that you 
were able to avail yourself of Sir Leopold Harper?" he asked suddenly, turning to Lestrade. "Does he live here?" 

"No, he is staying with some friends in the neighbourhood. When the post-mortem was decided on, the local police looked upon it as a bit of luck that the best- 
known expert in England on medical jurisprudence should be within reach, so they sent for him. And a fine time they had to get him to do it," he added 
with a sly grin. 

"Why?" 

"Because he was in bed with a hot-water bottle, a glass of hot toddy, and a cold in his head." 

Holmes threw his arms in the air. 

"My case is complete," he cried. 

Lestrade and I looked at each other in amazement. "I have only one more instruction to give," said Holmes. "Lestrade, nobody must leave this house tonight. 
The diplomacy of detaining everyone here I leave to you. Watson and I will compose ourselves in this room until five o'clock tomorrow morning." 

It was in vain, considering his masterful nature, to ask why we must do this. While he settled into the only rocking-chair, it was in vain to protest that I could not even sit 
down on the dead man's bed, much less take a brief nap there. I objected for some time. I objected until— "Watson!" 

Cleaving through my dreams, that voice roused me from slumber. I sat bolt upright on the quilt, feeling much dishevelled, with the morning sun in my eyes 
and the dead man's watch still ticking near my ear. 

Sherlock Holmes, with his customary catlike neatness of appearance, stood watching me. 

"It is ten minutes past five," said he, "and I felt I had best awaken you. Ah, Lestrade," he continued, as there came a knock at the door. "I trust that the others 
are with you. Pray come in." 

I bounded off the bed as Miss Dale entered the room followed by Dr. Griffin, young Ainsworth and, to my astonishment, the vicar. 

"Really, Mr. Holmes," cried Dolores Dale, her eyes sparkling with anger. "It is intolerable that a mere whim should keep us here all night— even poor Mr. Appley." 

"It was no whim, believe me. I wish to explain how the late Mr. Trelawney was cold-bloodedly murdered." 

"Murdered, eh!" blurted out Dr. Griffin. "Then Inspector Lestrade wants to hear you. But the method—?" 

"Was diabolical in its simplicity. Dr. Watson here was shrewd enough to call my attention to it. No, Watson, not a word! Mr. Appley gave us the clue when he said 
that if he had practiced medicine he might absent-mindedly have removed a patient's gall-stones. But that was not all he said. He stated that first he would have 
chloroformed the patient. The suggestive word was chloroform." 

"Chloroform!" echoed Dr. Griffin, rather wildly. 

"Exactly. It might well suggest itself to a murderer, since only last year, in a famous murder-trial at the Old Bailey, Mrs. Adelaide Bartlett was acquitted from a charge of 
poisoning her husband by pouring liquid chloroform down his throat as he lay asleep." 

"But, deuce take it! Trelawney swallowed no chloroform!" 

"Of course not. But suppose, Dr. Griffin, I were to take a large pad of cotton-wool saturated in chloroform, and press it over the mouth and nostrils of an old man 
—a heavily sleeping man— for some twenty minutes. What would happen?" 

"He would die. Yet you could not do that without leaving traces!" 

"Ah, excellent! What traces?" 

"Chloroform tends to burn or blister the skin. There would be burns, at least very small burns." 



Holmes shot out a long arm towards the marble-topped table. 

"Now suppose, Dr. Griffin," said he, holding up the tiny pot of vaseline, "I were first softly to spread on the face of the victim a thin film of such ointment as this. 
Would there be burns afterwards?" 

"No, there wouldn't!" 

"I perceive that your medical knowledge leaps ahead and anticipates me. Chloroform is volatile; it evaporates and quickly vanishes from the blood. Delay a post- 
mortem examination for nearly two days, as this was delayed, and no trace will be left." 

"Not so fast, Mr. Sherlock Holmes! There is—" 

"There is a slight, a very slight possibility, that an odour of chloroform may be detected either in the room of death or at the post-mortem. But here it would have 
been hidden by the thick pungency of medicine and liniment. At the post-mortem it would have been hidden by that bad cold in the head from which Sir Leopold Harper 
suffered." 

Dr. Griffin's face seemed to stand out white against his red beard. 

"By God, that's true!" 

"Now we ask ourselves, as the vicar might, cui bono? Who profits from this dastardly crime?" 

I noticed that Lestrade moved a step closer to the doctor. 

"Take care, curse you!" snarled Griffin. 

Holmes put down the ointment and took up the dead man's heavy gold watch, which seemed to tick even more loudly. 

"I would draw your attention to this watch, of the sort known as a gold hunter. Last night I wound it up fully at ten o'clock. It is now, as you see, twenty minutes 
past five." 

"And what of that?" cried Miss Dale. 

"It is the exact time, if you recall, when the vicar wound up this same watch on the morning you found your uncle dead. Though the performance may distress 
you now, I beg of you to listen." 

Cr-r— r-ack went the harsh, rasping noise as Holmes began slowly to wind it up. On and on it seemed to go, while the stem still turned. 

"Hold hard!" said Dr. Griffin. "There's something wrong!" 

"Again excellent! And what is wrong?" 

"Deuce take it, the vicar made only two full turns of that stem, and it was fully wound up! You've made seven or eight turns, but it still is not wound!" 

"Precisely so," returned Holmes, "but I do not emphasize this particular watch. Any watch, if it be wound up at ten o'clock in the evening, cannot possibly be fully 
wound on the following morning with only two turns." 

"My God!" muttered the doctor, staring at Holmes. 

"Hence the late Mr. Trelawney did not go to bed at ten o'clock. Surely, considering his badly disturbed nerves and the continued thunder-storm, it is far more likely 
that he sat up reading his Bible until an unearthly hour, as the vicar said he sometimes did. Though he wound up his watch as usual, he did not retire until 
three o'clock. The murderer caught him in a heavy sleep." 

"And therefore?" almost screamed Dolores. 

"Therefore— since one person tells us he saw Trelawney asleep at ten-thirty, at midnight, and again at one o'clock— that person has told us a provable 
and damning falsehood." 

"Holmes," cried I, "at last I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit is—" 

Jeffrey Ainsworth sprang for the door. 

"Ah, would you!" shouted Lestrade. He hurled himself on the young man, and there was a snap of closing handcuffs. 

Miss Dolores Dale ran sobbing forward. She did not run towards Ainsworth. Instead she rushed into the outstretched arms of Dr. Paul Griffin. 

"You see, Watson," concluded Mr. Sherlock Holmes, as that night we sat once more in Baker Street, refreshing ourselves with whisky and soda, "the probable 
guilt of young Ainsworth, who fervently desired to marry the young lady for her money, was at least indicated without even the evidence of the watch." 

"Surely not!" I objected. 

"My dear fellow, consider Trelawney's will." 

"Then, after all, Trelawney did not make that unjust will?" 

"Indeed, he did. He let it be known that such was his intention and he carried out that intention. But there was only one person who was aware of the final outcome; 
namely, that he never actually signed it." 

"You mean Trelawney himself?" 

"I mean Ainsworth, the solicitor who drew the will. He has admitted as much in his confession." 

Holmes leaned back in his chair and placed his fingertips together. 

"Chloroform is easily obtainable, as the British public knows from the Bartlett case. In such a small community, a friend of the family, like Ainsworth, would have easy 
access to the medical works in the vicar's library. He evolved rather a clever plan at his leisure. In my little analysis last night, I should have been less confident had 
not examination of the dead man's face with a lens revealed jury-proof evidence in the form of minute burns and traces of vaseline in the skin-pores." 

"But Miss Dale and Dr. Griffin!" 

"Their conduct puzzled you?" 

"Well, women are strange." 

"My dear Watson, when I hear of a young woman, all fire and temperament, who is thrown into the company of a man of exactly similar characteristics— in sharp con- 
trast to a cold-minded solicitor who watches her carefully —my suspicions are aroused, especially when she expresses unprovoked dislike on all public 
occasions." 

"Then why did she not simply break her engagement!" 

"You overlook the fact that her uncle always upbraided her for fickleness. Had she revoked her pledge, she would have lost dignity in her own eyes. But why on earth, 
Watson, are you chuckling now?" 

"Merely a sense of incongruity. I was thinking of the singular name of that village in Somerset." 

"The village of Camberwell?" said Holmes, smiling. "Yes, it is indeed different from our London district of Camberwell. You must give the chronicle a different 
title, Watson, lest readers be confused as to the true locale of the Camberwell poisoning case." 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


n choosing a few typical cases which il- 
hJAh'tfth lustrate the remarkable mental qualities 
m y friendr Sherlock Holmes, I have 
endeavoured, as far as possible, to se- 
lect those which presented the minimum of sen- 
sationalism, while offering a fair field for his tal- 
ents. It is, however, unfortunately impossible en- 
tirely to separate the sensational from the crimi- 
nal, and a chronicler is left in the dilemma that he 
must either sacrifice details which are essential to 
his statement and so give a false impression of the 
problem, or he must use matter which chance, and 
not choice, has provided him with. With this short 
preface I shall turn to my notes of what proved to 
be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of 
events. 

It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street 
was like an oven, and the glare of the sunlight 
upon the yellow brickwork of the house across the 
road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe 
that these were the same walls which loomed so 
gloomily through the fogs of winter. Our blinds 
were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the 
sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had 
received by the morning post. For myself, my term 
of service in India had trained me to stand heat 
better than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was 
no hardship. But the morning paper was uninter- 
esting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out 
of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New 
Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank 
account had caused me to postpone my holiday, 
and as to my companion, neither the country nor 
the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. 
He loved to lie in the very center of five millions 
of people, with his filaments stretching out and 
running through them, responsive to every little 
rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreci- 
ation of nature found no place among his many 
gifts, and his only change was when he turned his 
mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down 
his brother of the country. 

Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for con- 
versation I had tossed side the barren paper, and 
leaning back in my chair I fell into a brown study. 
Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my 
thoughts: 

"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem 
a most preposterous way of settling a dispute." 

"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then 
suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost 
thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared 
at him in blank amazement. 


"What is this. Holmes?" I cried. "This is be- 
yond anything which I could have imagined." 

He laughed heartily at my perplexity. 

"You remember," said he, "that some little time 
ago when I read you the passage in one of Poe's 
sketches in which a close reasoner follows the un- 
spoken thoughts of his companion, you were in- 
clined to treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of 
the author. On my remarking that I was constantly 
in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed 
incredulity." 

"Oh, no!" 

"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Wat- 
son, but certainly with your eyebrows. So when I 
saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a 
train of thought, I was very happy to have the op- 
portunity of reading it off, and eventually of break- 
ing into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport 
with you." 

But I was still far from satisfied. "In the exam- 
ple which you read to me," said I, "the reasoner 
drew his conclusions from the actions of the man 
whom he observed. If I remember right, he stum- 
bled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, 
and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my 
chair, and what clues can I have given you?" 

"You do yourself an injustice. The features 
are given to man as the means by which he shall 
express his emotions, and yours are faithful ser- 
vants." 

"Do you mean to say that you read my train of 
thoughts from my features?" 

"Your features and especially your eyes. Per- 
haps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie 
commenced?" 

"No, I cannot." 

"Then I will tell you. After throwing down 
your paper, which was the action which drew my 
attention to you, you sat for half a minute with 
a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed them- 
selves upon your newly framed picture of General 
Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face 
that a train of thought had been started. But it 
did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across 
to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher 
which stands upon the top of your books. Then 
you glanced up at the wall, and of course your 
meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if 
the portrait were framed it would just cover that 
bare space and correspond with Gordon's picture 
there." 

"You have followed me wonderfully!" I ex- 
claimed. 


763 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But 
now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you 
looked hard across as if you were studying the 
character in his features. Then your eyes ceased 
to pucker, but you continued to look across, and 
your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the 
incidents of Beecher 's career. I was well aware that 
you could not do this without thinking of the mis- 
sion which he undertook on behalf of the North 
at the time of the Civil War, for I remember your 
expressing your passionate indignation at the way 
in which he was received by the more turbulent 
of our people. You felt so strongly about it that 
I knew you could not think of Beecher without 
thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw 
your eyes wander away from the picture, I sus- 
pected that your mind had now turned to the Civil 
War, and when I observed that your lips set, your 
eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched I was pos- 
itive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry 
which was shown by both sides in that desperate 
struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder, 
you shook your head. You were dwelling upon 
the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. 
Your hand stole towards your own old wound and 
a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me 
that the ridiculous side of this method of settling 
international questions had forced itself upon your 
mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was 
preposterous and was glad to find that all my de- 
ductions had been correct." 

"Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have 
explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as be- 
fore." 


"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I as- 
sure you. I should not have intruded it upon your 
attention had you not shown some incredulity the 
other day. But I have in my hands here a little 
problem which may prove to be more difficult of 
solution than my small essay I thought reading. 
Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph 
referring to the remarkable contents of a packet 
sent through the post to Miss Cushing, of Cross 
Street, Croydon?" 

"No, I saw nothing." 

"Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just 
toss it over to me. Here it is, under the financial 
column. Perhaps you would be good enough to 
read it aloud." 

I picked up the paper which he had thrown 
back to me and read the paragraph indicated. It 
was headed, "A Gruesome Packet." 


“Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross 
Street, Croydon, has been made the victim 
of what must be regarded as a pecidiarly re- 
volting practical joke unless some more sin- 
ister meaning should prove to be attached to 
the incident. At two o'clock yesterday after- 
noon a small packet, wrapped in brown pa- 
per, was handed in by the postman. A card- 
board box was inside, which was filled with 
coarse salt. On emptying this, Miss Cush- 
ing was horrified to find two human ears, 
apparently quite freshly severed. The box 
had been sent by parcel post from Belfast 
upon the morning before. There is no in- 
dication as to the sender, and the matter 
is the more mysterious as Miss Cushing, 
zvho is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most 
retired life, and has so few acquaintances 
or correspondents that it is a rare event for 
her to receive anything through the post. 
Some years ago, however, when she resided 
at Penge, she let apartments in her house 
to three young medical students, whom she 
was obliged to get rid of on account of their 
noisy and irregidar habits. The police are 
of opinion that this outrage may have been 
perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these 
youths, who owed her a grudge and zvho 
hoped to frighten her by sending her these 
relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some proba- 
bility is lent to the theory by the fact that 
one of these students came from the north of 
Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing's 
belief, from Belfast. In the meantime, the 
matter is being actively investigated, Mr. 
Lestrade, one of the very smartest of our de- 
tective officers, being in charge of the case." 


"So much for the Daily Chronicle ," said Holmes as 
I finished reading. "Now for our friend Lestrade. 
I had a note from him this morning, in which he 
says: 


"I think that this case is very much in 
your line. We have every hope of clear- 
ing the matter up, but we find a little 
difficulty in getting anything to work 
upon. We have, of course, wired to the 
Belfast post-office, but a large number 
of parcels were handed in upon that 
day, and they have no means of identi- 
fying this particular one, or of remem- 
bering the sender. The box is a half- 
pound box of honeydew tobacco and 
does not help us in any way. The medi- 
cal student theory still appears to me to 


764 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


be the most feasible, but if you should 
have a few hours to spare I should be 
very happy to see you out here. I shall 
be either at the house or in the police- 
station all day 

"What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior 
to the heat and run down to Croydon with me on 
the off chance of a case for your annals?" 

"I was longing for something to do." 

"You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and 
tell them to order a cab. I'll be back in a moment 
when I have changed my dressing-gown and filled 
my cigar-case." 

A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, 
and the heat was far less oppressive in Croydon 
than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so that 
Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as 
ever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of 
five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss 
Cushing resided. 

It was a very long street of two-story brick 
houses, neat and prim, with whitened stone steps 
and little groups of aproned women gossiping at 
the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and 
tapped at a door, which was opened by a small 
servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front 
room, into which we were ushered. She was a 
placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, and 
grizzled hair curving down over her temples on 
each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her 
lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a 
stool beside her. 

"They are in the outhouse, those dreadful 
things," said she as Lestrade entered. "I wish that 
you would take them away altogether." 

"So I shall. Miss Cushing. I only kept them 
here until my friend, Mr. Holmes, should have 
seen them in your presence." 

"Why in my presence, sir?" 

"In case he wished to ask any questions." 

"What is the use of asking me questions when 
I tell you I know nothing whatever about it?" 

"Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his sooth- 
ing way. "I have no doubt that you have been an- 
noyed more than enough already over this busi- 
ness." 

"Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and 
live a retired life. It is something new for me to 
see my name in the papers and to find the police 
in my house. I won't have those things I here, Mr. 
Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to 
the outhouse." 


It was a small shed in the narrow garden which 
ran behind the house. Lestrade went in and 
brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece 
of brown paper and some string. There was a 
bench at the end of the path, and we all sat down 
while Homes examined one by one, the articles 
which Lestrade had handed to him. 

"The string is exceedingly interesting," he re- 
marked, holding it up to the light and sniffing at 
it. "What do you make of this string, Lestrade?" 

"It has been tarred." 

"Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You 
have also, no doubt, remarked that Miss Cushing 
has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen 
by the double fray on each side. This is of impor- 
tance." 

"I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade. 

"The importance lies in the fact that the knot is 
left intact, and that this knot is of a peculiar char- 
acter." 

"It is very neatly tied. I had already made a 
note of that effect," said Lestrade complacently. 

"So much for the string, then," said Holmes, 
smiling, "now for the box wrapper. Brown paper, 
with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not 
observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Ad- 
dress printed in rather straggling characters: 'Miss 
S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon.' Done with a 
broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very in- 
ferior ink. The word 'Croydon' has been originally 
spelled with an 'i', which has been changed to 
'y'. The parcel was directed, then, by a man — the 
printing is distinctly masculine — of limited educa- 
tion and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. 
So far, so good! The box is a yellow, half-pound 
honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two 
thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled 
with rough salt of the quality used for preserv- 
ing hides and other of the coarser commercial pur- 
poses. And embedded in it are these very singular 
enclosures." 

He took out the two ears as he spoke, and lay- 
ing a board across his knee he examined them 
minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward 
on each side of him, glanced alternately at these 
dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of 
our companion. Finally he returned them to the 
box once more and sat for a while in deep medita- 
tion. 

"You have observed, of course," said he at last, 
"that the ears are not a pair." 

"Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were 
the practical joke of some students from the 


765 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to 
send two odd ears as a pair." 

"Precisely. But this is not a practical joke." 

"You are sure of it?" 

"The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies 
in the dissecting-rooms are injected with preserva- 
tive fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They 
are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a 
blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if 
a student had done it. Again, carbolic or rectified 
spirits would be the preservatives which would 
suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly 
not rough salt. I repeat that there is no practical 
joke here, but that we are investigating a serious 
crime." 

A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to 
my companion's words and saw the stern grav- 
ity which had hardened his features. This bru- 
tal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some 
strange and inexplicable horror in the background. 
Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who 
is only half convinced. 

"There are objections to the joke theory, no 
doubt," said he, "but there are much stronger rea- 
sons against the other. We know that this woman 
has led a most quiet and respectable life at Penge 
and here for the last twenty years. She has hardly 
been away from her home for a day during that 
time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal 
send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, un- 
less she is a most consummate actress, she under- 
stands quite as little of the matter as we do?" 

"That is the problem which we have to solve," 
Holmes answered, "and for my part I shall set 
about it by presuming that my reasoning is cor- 
rect, and that a double murder has been commit- 
ted. One of these ears is a woman's, small, finely 
formed, and pierced for an earring. The other is a 
man's, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced 
for an earring. These two people are presumably 
dead, or we should have heard their story before 
now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on 
Thursday morning. The tragedy, then, occurred 
on Wednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If the two 
people were murdered, who but their murderer 
would have sent this sign of his work to Miss 
Cushing? We may take it that the sender of the 
packet is the man whom we want. But he must 
have some strong reason for sending Miss Cush- 
ing this packet. What reason then? It must have 
been to tell her that the deed was done! or to 
pain her, perhaps. But in that case she knows who 
it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, 
why should she call the police in? She might have 


buried the ears, and no one would have been the 
wiser. That is what she would have done if she 
had wished to shield the criminal. But if she does 
not wish to shield him she would give his name. 
There is a tangle here which needs straightening 
to." He had been talking in a high, quick voice, 
staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now 
he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards 
the house. 

"I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," 
said he. 

"In that case I may leave you here," said 
Lestrade, "for I have another small business on 
hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn 
from Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police- 
station." 

"We shall look in on our way to the train," an- 
swered Holmes. A moment later he and I were 
back in the front room, where the impassive lady 
was still quietly working away at her antimacas- 
sar. She put it down on her lap as we entered and 
looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes. 

"I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this mat- 
ter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never 
meant for me at all. I have said this several times to 
the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply 
laughs at me. I have not an enemy in the world, as 
far as I know, so why should anyone play me such 
a trick?" 

"I am coming to be of the same opinion. Miss 
Cushing," said Holmes, taking a seat beside her. "I 
think that it is more than probable — " He paused, 
and I was surprised, on glancing round to see 
that he was staring with singular intentness at 
the lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction were 
both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, 
though when she glanced round to find out the 
cause of his silence he had become as demure as 
ever. I stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, 
her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid fea- 
tures; but I could see nothing which could account 
for my companion's evident excitement. 

"There were one or two questions — " 

"Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss 
Cushing impatiently. 

"You have two sisters, I believe." 

"How could you know that?" 

"I observed the very instant that I entered the 
room that you have a portrait group of three ladies 
upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is undoubt- 
edly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly 
like you that there could be no doubt of the rela- 
tionship." 


766 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


"Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, 
Sarah and Mary" 

"And here at my elbow is another portrait, 
taken at Liverpool, of your younger sister, in the 
company of a man who appears to be a steward 
by his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried 
at the time." 

"You are very quick at observing." 

"That is my trade." 

"Well, you are quite right. But she was married 
to Mr. Browner a few days afterwards. He was on 
the South American line when that was taken, but 
he was so fond of her that he couldn't abide to 
leave her for so long, and he got into the Liverpool 
and London boats." 

"Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?" 

"No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim 
came down here to see me once. That was be- 
fore he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would 
always take drink when he was ashore, and a lit- 
tle drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! 
it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his 
hand again. First he dropped me, then he quar- 
relled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped 
writing we don't know how things are going with 
them." 

It was evident that Miss Cushing had come 
upon a subject on which she felt very deeply. Like 
most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy 
at first, but ended by becoming extremely com- 
municative. She told us many details about her 
brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering 
off on the subject of her former lodgers, the med- 
ical students, she gave us a long account of their 
delinquencies, with their names and those of their 
hospitals. Holmes listened attentively to every- 
thing, throwing in a question from time to time. 

"About your second sister, Sarah," said he. "I 
wonder, since you are both maiden ladies, that you 
do not keep house together." 

"Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you 
would wonder no more. I tried it when I came to 
Croydon, and we kept on until about two months 
ago, when we had to part. I don't want to say a 
word against my own sister, but she was always 
meddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah." 

"You say that she quarrelled with your Liver- 
pool relations." 

"Yes, and they were the best of friends at one 
time. Why, she went up there to live in order to be 
near them. And now she has no word hard enough 
for Jim Browner. The last six months that she was 


here she would speak of nothing but his drinking 
and his ways. He had caught her meddling, I sus- 
pect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was 
the start of it." 

"Thank you. Miss Cushing," said Holmes, ris- 
ing and bowing. "Your sister Sarah lives, I think 
you said, at New Street, Wallington? Good-bye, 
and I am very sorry that you should have been 
troubled over a case with which, as you say, you 
have nothing whatever to do." 

There was a cab passing as we came out, and 
Holmes hailed it. 

"How far to Wallington?" he asked. 

"Only about a mile, sir." 

"Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike 
while the iron is hot. Simple as the case is, there 
have been one or two very instructive details in 
connection with it. Just pull up at a telegraph of- 
fice as you pass, cabby." 

Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest 
of the drive lay back in the cab, with his hat tilted 
over his nose to keep the sun from his face. Our 
drive pulled up at a house which was not unlike 
the one which we had just quitted. My compan- 
ion ordered him to wait, and had his hand upon 
the knocker, when the door opened and a grave 
young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, 
appeared on the step. 

"Is Miss Cushing at home?" asked Holmes. 

"Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill," said he. 
"She has been suffering since yesterday from brain 
symptoms of great severity. As her medical ad- 
viser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of 
allowing anyone to see her. I should recommend 
you to call again in ten days." He drew on his 
gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the 
street. 

"Well, if we can't we can't," said Holmes, 
cheerfully. 

"Perhaps she could not or would not have told 
you much." 

"I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only 
wanted to look at her. However, I think that I have 
got all that I want. Drive us to some decent hotel, 
cabby, where we may have some lunch, and after- 
wards we shall drop down upon friend Lestrade 
at the police-station." 

We had a pleasant little meal together, during 
which Holmes would talk about nothing but vio- 
lins, narrating with great exultation how he had 
purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth 
at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in 


767 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This 
led him to Paganini, and we sat for an hour over 
a bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after 
anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon 
was far advanced and the hot glare had softened 
into a mellow glow before we found ourselves at 
the police-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at 
the door. 

"A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes," said he. 

"Ha! It is the answer!" He tore it open, glanced 
his eyes over it, and crumpled it into his pocket. 
"That's all right," said he. 

"Have you found out anything?" 

"I have found out everything!" 

"What!" Lestrade stared at him in amazement. 
"You are joking." 

"I was never more serious in my life. A shock- 
ing crime has been committed, and I think I have 
now laid bare every detail of it." 

"And the criminal?" 

Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back 
of one of his visiting cards and threw it over to 
Lestrade. 

"That is the name," he said. "You cannot effect 
an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I 
should prefer that you do not mention my name 
at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be 
only associated with those crimes which present 
some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Wat- 
son." We strode off together to the station, leaving 
Lestrade still staring with a delighted face at the 
card which Holmes had thrown him. 

"The case," said Sherlock Holmes as we chat- 
ted over or cigars that night in our rooms at 
Baker Street, "is one where, as in the investiga- 
tions which you have chronicled under the names 
of 'A Study in Scarlet' and of 'The Sign of Four/ 
we have been compelled to reason backward from 
effects to causes. I have written to Lestrade asking 
him to supply us with the details which are now 
wanting, and which he will only get after he had 
secured his man. That he may be safely trusted to 
do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, 
he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once un- 
derstands what he has to do, and indeed, it is just 
this tenacity which has brought him to the top at 
Scotland Yard." 

"Your case is not complete, then?" I asked. 

"It is fairly complete in essentials. We know 
who the author of the revolting business is, al- 
though one of the victims still escapes us. Of 
course, you have formed your own conclusions." 


"I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward 
of a Liverpool boat, is the man whom you sus- 
pect?" 

"Oh! it is more than a suspicion." 

"And yet I cannot see anything save very vague 
indications." 

"On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be 
more clear. Let me run over the principal steps. 
We approached the case, you remember, with an 
absolutely blank mind, which is always an advan- 
tage. We had formed no theories. We were sim- 
ply there to observe and to draw inferences from 
our observations. What did we see first? A very 
placid and respectable lady, who seemed quite in- 
nocent of any secret, and a portrait which showed 
me that she had two younger sisters. It instantly 
flashed across my mind that the box might have 
been meant for one of these. I set the idea aside 
as one which could be disproved or confirmed at 
our leisure. Then we went to the garden, as you 
remember, and we saw the very singular contents 
of the little yellow box. 

"The string was of the quality which is used 
by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of 
the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When 
I observed that the knot was one which is popu- 
lar with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at 
a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an 
earring which is so much more common among 
sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all 
the actors in the tragedy were to be found among 
our seafaring classes. 

"When I came to examine the address of the 
packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. 
Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss 
Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might 
belong to one of the others as well. In that case we 
should have to commence our investigation from 
a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the 
house with the intention of clearing up this point. 
I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was con- 
vinced that a mistake had been made when you 
may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The 
fact was that I had just seen something which filled 
me with surprise and at the same time narrowed 
the field of our inquiry immensely. 

"As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, 
that there is no part of the body which varies so 
much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule 
quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. 
In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find 
two short monographs from my pen upon the sub- 
ject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the 
box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully 


768 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my 
surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing 
I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with 
the female ear which I had just inspected. The mat- 
ter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was 
the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad 
curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of 
the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same 
ear. 

"In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, 
and her address had until recently been the same, 
so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had 
occurred and for whom the packet was meant. 
Then we heard of this steward, married to the third 
sister, and learned that he had at one time been 
so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually 
gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but 
a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quar- 
rel had put a stop to all communications for some 
months, so that if Browner had occasion to ad- 
dress a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubt- 
edly have done so to her old address. 

"And now the matter had begun to straighten 
itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the exis- 
tence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong 
passions — you remember that he threw up what 
must have been a very superior berth in order 
to be nearer to his wife — subject, too, to occa- 
sional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to be- 
lieve that his wife had been murdered, and that 
a man — presumably a seafaring man — had been 
murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, 
at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. 
And why should these proofs of the deed be sent 
to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during 
her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in 
bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. 
You will observe that this line of boats call at 
Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presum- 
ing that Browner had committed the deed and had 
embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, 
Belfast would be the first place at which he could 
post his terrible packet. 

"A second solution was at this stage obviously 
possible, and although I thought it exceedingly 
unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before 
going further. An unsuccessful lover might have 
killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear 
might have belonged to the husband. There were 
many grave objections to this theory, but it was 
conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my 
friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him 
to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if 
Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we 
went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. 


"I was curious, in the first place, to see how far 
the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, 
of course, she might give us very important infor- 
mation, but I was not sanguine that she would. 
She must have heard of the business the day be- 
fore, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she 
alone could have understood for whom the packet 
was meant. If she had been willing to help justice 
she would probably have communicated with the 
police already. However, it was clearly our duty to 
see her, so we went. We found that the news of the 
arrival of the packet — for her illness dated from 
that time — had such an effect upon her as to bring 
on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she 
understood its full significance, but equally clear 
that we should have to wait some time for any as- 
sistance from her. 

"However, we were really independent of her 
help. Our answers were waiting for us at the 
police-station, where I had directed Algar to send 
them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. 
Browner 's house had been closed for more than 
three days, and the neighbours were of opinion 
that she had gone south to see her relatives. It 
had been ascertained at the shipping offices that 
Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I 
calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow 
night. When he arrives he will be met by the ob- 
tuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt 
that we shall have all our details filled in." 

Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his 
expectations. Two days later he received a bulky 
envelope, which contained a short note from the 
detective, and a typewritten document, which cov- 
ered several pages of foolscap. 

"Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, 
glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you 
to hear what he says. 

"My dear Mr. Holmes: 

"In accordance with the scheme 
which we had formed in order to test 
our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, 
Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to 
the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., 
and boarded the S.S. May Day, belong- 
ing to the Liverpool, Dublin, and Lon- 
don Steam Packet Company. On in- 
quiry, I found that there was a stew- 
ard on board of the name of James 
Browner and that he had acted dur- 
ing the voyage in such an extraordinary 
manner that the captain had been com- 
pelled to relieve him of his duties. On 
descending to his berth, I found him 


769 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


seated upon a chest with his head sunk 
upon his hands, rocking himself to and 
fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean- 
shaven, and very swarthy — something 
like Aldrige, who helped us in the bo- 
gus laundry affair. He jumped up 
when he heard my business, and I had 
my whistle to my lips to call a couple 
of river police, who were round the cor- 
ner, but he seemed to have no heart in 
him, and he held out his hands quietly 
enough for the darbies. We brought 
him along to the cells, and his box as 
well, for we thought there might be 
something incriminating; but, bar a big 
sharp knife such as most sailors have, 
we got nothing for our trouble. How- 
ever, we find that we shall want no 
more evidence, for on being brought 
before the inspector at the station he 
asked leave to make a statement, which 
was, of course, taken down, just as he 
made it, by our shorthand man. We 
had three copies typewritten, one of 
which I enclose. The affair proves, as 
I always thought it would, to be an ex- 
tremely simple one, but I am obliged 
to you for assisting me in my investiga- 
tion. With kind regards, 

"Yours very truly, 

"G. Lestrade. 

"Hum! The investigation really was a very sim- 
ple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it 
struck him in that light when he first called us in. 
However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say 
for himself. This is his statement as made before 
Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Sta- 
tion, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." 

" ‘Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a 
deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of 
it all. You can hang me, or you can leave 
me alone. I don't care a plug zvhich you do. 

I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since 
I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again 
until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's 
his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm 
never without one or the other before me. 

He looks froivning and black-like, but she 
has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, 
the white lamb, she might ivell be surprised 
when she read death on a face that had sel- 
dom looked anything but love upon her be- 
fore. 


“ ‘But it was Sarah's fault, and may the 
curse of a broken man put a blight on her 
and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's 
not that I want to clear myself. I know that 
I went back to drink, like the beast that I 
was. But she zvould have forgiven me; she 
would have stuck as close to me a rope to a 
block if that woman had never darkened our 
door. For Sarah Cushing loved me — that's 
the root of the business — she loved me until 
all her love turned to poisonous hate when 
she knew that I thought more of my wife's 
footmark in the mud than I did of her whole 
body and soul. 

“ 'There were three sisters altogether. The 
old one was just a good woman, the sec- 
ond was a devil, and the third was an an- 
gel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was 
twenty-nine when I married. We were just 
as happy as the day was long when zve set 
up house together, and in all Liverpool there 
zvas no better woman than my Mary. And 
then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the 
week grezv into a month, and one thing led 
to another, until she was just one of our- 
selves. 

"T was blue ribbon at that time, and zve 
zvere putting a little money by, and all zvas 
as bright as a nezv dollar. My God, zvhoever 
zvould have thought that it coidd have come 
to this? Whoever zvould have dreamed it? 

“ 'I used to be home for the zveek-ends very 
often, and sometimes if the ship zvere held 
back for cargo I zvould have a zvhole zveek 
at a time, and in this zvay I sazv a deal of 
my sister-in-law, Sarah. She zvas a fine tall 
woman, black and quick and fierce, with a 
proud zvay of carrying her head, and a glint 
from her eye like a spark from a flint. But 
zvhen little Mary zvas there I had never a 
thought of her, and that I szvear as I hope 
for God's mercy. 

“ 'It had seemed to me sometimes that she 
liked to be alone with me, or to coax me 
out for a zvalk with her, but I had never 
thought anything of that. But one evening 
my eyes zvere opened. I had come up from 
the ship and found my zvife out, but Sarah 
at home. “ Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, 
she has gone to pay some accounts." I zvas 
impatient and paced up and dozvn the room. 
"Can't you be happy for five minutes with- 
out Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad 


77 o 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


compliment to me that yon can't be con- 
tented with my society for so short a time." 
“ That's all right, my lass," said I, putting 
out my hand tozvards her in a kindly way, 
but she had it in both hers in an instant, 
and they burned as if they were in a fever. 
I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. 
There was no need for her to speak, nor for 
me either. I frowned and drew my hand 
away. Then she stood by my side in silence 
for a bit, and then put up her hand and pat- 
ted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" 
said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, 
she ran out of the room. 

" 'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with 
her whole heart and soul, and she is a 
woman zvho can hate, too. I zvas a fool 
to let her go on biding with us — a besot- 
ted fool — but I never said a zvord to Mary, 
for I knezv it would grieve her. Things 
zvent on much as before, but after a time 
I began to find that there zvas a bit of a 
change in Mary herself. She had alzvays 
been so trusting and so innocent, but nozv 
she became queer and suspicious, zvant- 
ing to know zvhere I had been and what I 
had been doing, and zvhom my letters zvere 
from, and what I had in my pockets, and 
a thousand such follies. Day by day she 
grezv queerer and more irritable, and zve 
had ceaseless rozvs about nothing. I zvas 
fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me 
nozv, but she and Mary zvere just insepa- 
rable. I can see nozv how she zvas plot- 
ting and scheming and poisoning my wife's 
mind against me, but I zvas such a blind 
beetle that I could not understand it at the 
time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and be- 
gan to drink again, but I think I should not 
have done it if Mary had been the same as 
ever. She had some reason to be disgusted 
with me nozv, and the gap betzveen us began 
to be zvider and zvider. And then this Alec 
Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a 
thousand times blacker. 

" ‘It zvas to see Sarah that he came to my 
house first, but soon it zvas to see us, for 
he zvas a man with zvinning zvays, and 
he made friends zvherever he zvent. He 
zvas a dashing, szvaggering chap, smart and 
curled, zvho had seen half the zvorld and 
could talk of what he had seen. He zvas 
good company, I won't deny it, and he had 
zvonderful polite zvays with him for a sailor 
man, so that I think there must have been 


a time zvhen he knezv more of the poop than 
the forecastle. For a month he zvas in and 
out of my house, and never once did it cross 
my mind that harm might come of his soft, 
tricky zvays. And then at last something 
made me suspect, and from that day my 
peace zvas gone forever. 

“'It zvas only a little thing, too. I had 
come into the parlour unexpected, and as 
I zvalked in at the door I sazv a light of wel- 
come on my zvife's face. But as she sazv 
zvho it zvas it faded again, and she turned 
azvay with a look of disappointment. That 
zvas enough for me. There zvas no one but 
Alec Fairbairn zvhose step she coidd have 
mistaken for mine. If I coidd have seen him 
then I should have killed him, for I have 
alzvays been like a madman zvhen my tem- 
per gets loose. Mary sazv the devil's light 
in my eyes, and she ran forzvard with her 
hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" 
says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In 
the kitchen,” says she. "Sarah," says I as 
I zvent in, “this man Fairbairn is never to 
darken my door again.” "Why not?" says 
she. "Because I order it." “Oh!" says she, 
“if my friends are not good enough for this 
house, then I am not good enough for it ei- 
ther." "You can do what you like,” says I, 
"but if Fairbairn shozvs his face here again 
I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." 
She zvas frightened by my face, I think, for 
she never anszvered a zvord, and the same 
evening she left my house. 

"'Well, I don't knozv nozv whether it zvas 
pure devilry on the part of this woman, or 
whether she thought that she could turn me 
against my zvife by encouraging her to mis- 
behave. Anyway, she took a house just tzvo 
streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fair- 
bairn used to stay there, and Mary would 
go round to have tea with her sister and 
him. Hozv often she zvent I don't knozv, but 
Ifollozved her one day, and as I broke in at 
the door Fairbairn got azvay over the back 
garden wall, like the cozvardly skunk that 
he zvas. I szvore to my zvife that I would 
kill her if I found her in his company again, 
and I led her back with me, sobbing and 
trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. 
There zvas no trace of love betzveen us any 
longer. I could see that she hated me and 
feared me, and zvhen the thought of it drove 
me to drink, then she despised me as well. 


77 1 



The Adventure of the Cardboard Box 


"‘Well, Sarah found that she could not 
make a living in Liverpool, so she went 
back, as I understand, to live with her sister 
in Croydon, and things jogged on much the 
same as ever at home. And then came this 
week and all the misery and ruin. 

" 'It was in this way. We had gone on the 
May Day for a round voyage of seven days, 
but a hogshead got loose and started one 
of our plates, so that we had to put back 
into port for twelve hours. I left the ship 
and came home, thinking what a surprise 
it would be for my wife, and hoping that 
maybe she zvould be glad to see me so soon. 
The thought was in my head as I turned 
into my own street, and at that moment a 
cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by 
the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and 
laughing, with never a thought for me as I 
stood watching them from the footpath. 

" 7 tell you, and I give you my word for it, 
that from that moment I was not my own 
master, and it is all like a dim dream when 
I look back on it. I had been drinking hard 
of late, and the two things together fairly 
turned my brain. There's something throb- 
bing in my head nozv, like a docker's ham- 
mer, but that morning I seemed to have all 
Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. 
" 'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after 
the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, 
and I tell you I sazv red from the first; but 
as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a 
little to see them without being seen. They 
pulled up soon at the railway station. There 
zvas a good crozvd round the booking-office, 
so I got quite close to them without being 
seen. They took tickets for Nezv Brighton. 
So did I, but I got in three carriages be- 
hind them. When zve reached it they zvalked 
along the Parade, and I zvas never more 
than a hundred yards from them. At last 
I sazv them hire a boat and start for a rozv, 
for it zvas a very hot day, and they thought, 
no doubt, that it zvoidd be cooler on the zva- 
ter. 

" 'It zvas just as if they had been given into 
my hands. There zvas a bit of a haze, and 
you could not see more than afezv hundred 
yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled 
after them. I coidd see the blur of their craft, 
bid they zvere going nearly as fast as I, and 
they must have been a long mile from the 


shore before I caught them up. The haze 
zvas like a curtain all round us, and there 
zvere zve three in the middle of it. My God, 
shall I ever forget their faces zvhen they sazv 
who zvas in the boat that zvas closing in 
upon them? She screamed out. He szvore 
like a madman and jabbed at me with an 
oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. 

I got past it and got one in with my stick 
that crushed his head like an egg. I zvoidd 
have spared her, perhaps, for all my mad- 
ness, but she threw her arms round him, 
crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." 

I struck again, and she lay stretched beside 
him. I zvas like a zvild beast then that had 
tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by 
the Lord, she should have joined them. I 
pulled out my knife, and — zvell, there! I've 
said enough. It gave me a kind of savage 
joy zvhen I thought hozv Sarah zvould feel 
zvhen she had such signs as these of what 
her meddling had brought about. Then I 
tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, 
and stood by until they had sunk. I knezv 
very zvell that the ozvner zvould think that 
they had lost their bearings in the haze, and 
had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself 
up, got back to land, and joined my ship 
without a soul having a suspicion of what 
had passed. That night I made up the packet 
for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it 
from Belfast. 

" 'There you have the zvhole truth of it. You 
can hang me, or do what you like with 
me, but you cannot punish me as I have 
been punished already. I cannot shut my 
eyes but I see those tzvo faces staring at 
me — staring at me as they stared zvhen my 
boat broke through the haze. I killed them 
quick, but they are killing me slozv; and if 
I have another night of it I shall be either 
mad or dead before morning. You zvon't 
put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's 
sake don't, and may you be treated in your 
day of agony as you treat me nozv.’ 

"What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said 
Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. 
"What object is served by this circle of misery and 
violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or 
else our universe is ruled by chance, which is un- 
thinkable. But what end? There is the great stand- 
ing perennial problem to which human reason is 
as far from an answer as ever."