"'The Sign of the Four\n\n\nBy\n\nSir Arthur Conan Doyle\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n\n\n\nChapter I\n\nThe Science of Deduction\n\nSherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and\nhis hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long,\nwhite, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back\nhis left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully\nupon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with\ninnumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home,\npressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined\narm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.\n\nThree times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but\ncustom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to\nday I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled\nnightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to\nprotest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver\nmy soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant\nair of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would\ncare to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his\nmasterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many\nextraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing\nhim.\n\nYet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken\nwith my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme\ndeliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no\nlonger.\n\n\"Which is it to-day?\" I asked,--\"morphine or cocaine?\"\n\nHe raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he\nhad opened. \"It is cocaine,\" he said,--\"a seven-per-cent. solution.\nWould you care to try it?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" I answered, brusquely. \"My constitution has not got over\nthe Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain\nupon it.\"\n\nHe smiled at my vehemence. \"Perhaps you are right, Watson,\" he said.\n\"I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it,\nhowever, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that\nits secondary action is a matter of small moment.\"\n\n\"But consider!\" I said, earnestly. \"Count the cost! Your brain may,\nas you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid\nprocess, which involves increased tissue-change and may at last leave a\npermanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon\nyou. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for\na mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which\nyou have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to\nanother, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to\nsome extent answerable.\"\n\nHe did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger-tips\ntogether and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who\nhas a relish for conversation.\n\n\"My mind,\" he said, \"rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me\nwork, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate\nanalysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then\nwith artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence.\nI crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own\nparticular profession,--or rather created it, for I am the only one in\nthe world.\"\n\n\"The only unofficial detective?\" I said, raising my eyebrows.\n\n\"The only unofficial consulting detective,\" he answered. \"I am the\nlast and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson or\nLestrade or Athelney Jones are out of their depths--which, by the way,\nis their normal state--the matter is laid before me. I examine the\ndata, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist\'s opinion. I claim no\ncredit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work\nitself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my\nhighest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my\nmethods of work in the Jefferson Hope case.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said I, cordially. \"I was never so struck by anything\nin my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure with the somewhat\nfantastic title of \'A Study in Scarlet.\'\"\n\nHe shook his head sadly. \"I glanced over it,\" said he. \"Honestly, I\ncannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an\nexact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional\nmanner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which\nproduces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an\nelopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid.\"\n\n\"But the romance was there,\" I remonstrated. \"I could not tamper with\nthe facts.\"\n\n\"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of\nproportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the\ncase which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from\neffects to causes by which I succeeded in unraveling it.\"\n\nI was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially\ndesigned to please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the\negotism which seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should be\ndevoted to his own special doings. More than once during the years\nthat I had lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small\nvanity underlay my companion\'s quiet and didactic manner. I made no\nremark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had a Jezail bullet\nthrough it some time before, and, though it did not prevent me from\nwalking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather.\n\n\"My practice has extended recently to the Continent,\" said Holmes,\nafter a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. \"I was consulted\nlast week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probably know, has come\nrather to the front lately in the French detective service. He has all\nthe Celtic power of quick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide\nrange of exact knowledge which is essential to the higher developments\nof his art. The case was concerned with a will, and possessed some\nfeatures of interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel cases,\nthe one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis in 1871, which have\nsuggested to him the true solution. Here is the letter which I had\nthis morning acknowledging my assistance.\" He tossed over, as he\nspoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. I glanced my eyes down\nit, catching a profusion of notes of admiration, with stray\n\"magnifiques,\" \"coup-de-maitres,\" and \"tours-de-force,\" all testifying\nto the ardent admiration of the Frenchman.\n\n\"He speaks as a pupil to his master,\" said I.\n\n\"Oh, he rates my assistance too highly,\" said Sherlock Holmes, lightly.\n\"He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two out of the three\nqualities necessary for the ideal detective. He has the power of\nobservation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge;\nand that may come in time. He is now translating my small works into\nFrench.\"\n\n\"Your works?\"\n\n\"Oh, didn\'t you know?\" he cried, laughing. \"Yes, I have been guilty of\nseveral monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for\nexample, is one \'Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the Various\nTobaccoes.\' In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar-,\ncigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with colored plates illustrating the\ndifference in the ash. It is a point which is continually turning up\nin criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supreme importance as a\nclue. If you can say definitely, for example, that some murder has\nbeen done by a man who was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously\nnarrows your field of search. To the trained eye there is as much\ndifference between the black ash of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff\nof bird\'s-eye as there is between a cabbage and a potato.\"\n\n\"You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae,\" I remarked.\n\n\"I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracing\nof footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as a\npreserver of impresses. Here, too, is a curious little work upon the\ninfluence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the\nhands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters, compositors, weavers, and\ndiamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical interest to the\nscientific detective,--especially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in\ndiscovering the antecedents of criminals. But I weary you with my\nhobby.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" I answered, earnestly. \"It is of the greatest interest\nto me, especially since I have had the opportunity of observing your\npractical application of it. But you spoke just now of observation and\ndeduction. Surely the one to some extent implies the other.\"\n\n\"Why, hardly,\" he answered, leaning back luxuriously in his arm-chair,\nand sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. \"For example,\nobservation shows me that you have been to the Wigmore Street\nPost-Office this morning, but deduction lets me know that when there\nyou dispatched a telegram.\"\n\n\"Right!\" said I. \"Right on both points! But I confess that I don\'t\nsee how you arrived at it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and I\nhave mentioned it to no one.\"\n\n\"It is simplicity itself,\" he remarked, chuckling at my surprise,--\"so\nabsurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous; and yet it may\nserve to define the limits of observation and of deduction.\nObservation tells me that you have a little reddish mould adhering to\nyour instep. Just opposite the Seymour Street Office they have taken\nup the pavement and thrown up some earth which lies in such a way that\nit is difficult to avoid treading in it in entering. The earth is of\nthis peculiar reddish tint which is found, as far as I know, nowhere\nelse in the neighborhood. So much is observation. The rest is\ndeduction.\"\n\n\"How, then, did you deduce the telegram?\"\n\n\"Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter, since I sat\nopposite to you all morning. I see also in your open desk there that\nyou have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle of post-cards. What\ncould you go into the post-office for, then, but to send a wire?\nEliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the\ntruth.\"\n\n\"In this case it certainly is so,\" I replied, after a little thought.\n\"The thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest. Would you think\nme impertinent if I were to put your theories to a more severe test?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" he answered, \"it would prevent me from taking a\nsecond dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any problem\nwhich you might submit to me.\"\n\n\"I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have any object\nin daily use without leaving the impress of his individuality upon it\nin such a way that a trained observer might read it. Now, I have here\na watch which has recently come into my possession. Would you have the\nkindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or habits of the\nlate owner?\"\n\nI handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement in my\nheart, for the test was, as I thought, an impossible one, and I\nintended it as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone which he\noccasionally assumed. He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at\nthe dial, opened the back, and examined the works, first with his naked\neyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could hardly keep from\nsmiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case to and\nhanded it back.\n\n\"There are hardly any data,\" he remarked. \"The watch has been recently\ncleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" I answered. \"It was cleaned before being sent to me.\"\nIn my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a most lame and\nimpotent excuse to cover his failure. What data could he expect from\nan uncleaned watch?\n\n\"Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren,\" he\nobserved, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes.\n\"Subject to your correction, I should judge that the watch belonged to\nyour elder brother, who inherited it from your father.\"\n\n\"That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the back?\"\n\n\"Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of the watch is\nnearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the watch: so\nit was made for the last generation. Jewelry usually descends to the\neldest son, and he is most likely to have the same name as the father.\nYour father has, if I remember right, been dead many years. It has,\ntherefore, been in the hands of your eldest brother.\"\n\n\"Right, so far,\" said I. \"Anything else?\"\n\n\"He was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and careless. He was left\nwith good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for some time\nin poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity, and finally,\ntaking to drink, he died. That is all I can gather.\"\n\nI sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room with\nconsiderable bitterness in my heart.\n\n\"This is unworthy of you, Holmes,\" I said. \"I could not have believed\nthat you would have descended to this. You have made inquires into the\nhistory of my unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce this\nknowledge in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe that\nyou have read all this from his old watch! It is unkind, and, to speak\nplainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it.\"\n\n\"My dear doctor,\" said he, kindly, \"pray accept my apologies. Viewing\nthe matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and\npainful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I\nnever even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch.\"\n\n\"Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get these facts?\nThey are absolutely correct in every particular.\"\n\n\"Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the balance of\nprobability. I did not at all expect to be so accurate.\"\n\n\"But it was not mere guess-work?\"\n\n\"No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit,--destructive to the\nlogical faculty. What seems strange to you is only so because you do\nnot follow my train of thought or observe the small facts upon which\nlarge inferences may depend. For example, I began by stating that your\nbrother was careless. When you observe the lower part of that\nwatch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in two places, but it\nis cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard\nobjects, such as coins or keys, in the same pocket. Surely it is no\ngreat feat to assume that a man who treats a fifty-guinea watch so\ncavalierly must be a careless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched\ninference that a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty\nwell provided for in other respects.\"\n\nI nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning.\n\n\"It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they take a\nwatch, to scratch the number of the ticket with a pin-point upon the\ninside of the case. It is more handy than a label, as there is no risk\nof the number being lost or transposed. There are no less than four\nsuch numbers visible to my lens on the inside of this case.\nInference,--that your brother was often at low water. Secondary\ninference,--that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could\nnot have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner\nplate, which contains the key-hole. Look at the thousands of scratches\nall round the hole,--marks where the key has slipped. What sober man\'s\nkey could have scored those grooves? But you will never see a\ndrunkard\'s watch without them. He winds it at night, and he leaves\nthese traces of his unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all this?\"\n\n\"It is as clear as daylight,\" I answered. \"I regret the injustice\nwhich I did you. I should have had more faith in your marvellous\nfaculty. May I ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot\nat present?\"\n\n\"None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain-work. What else\nis there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a\ndreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down\nthe street and drifts across the dun-colored houses. What could be\nmore hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having\npowers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime\nis commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those\nwhich are commonplace have any function upon earth.\"\n\nI had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp knock\nour landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.\n\n\"A young lady for you, sir,\" she said, addressing my companion.\n\n\"Miss Mary Morstan,\" he read. \"Hum! I have no recollection of the\nname. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don\'t go, doctor.\nI should prefer that you remain.\"\n\n\n\nChapter II\n\nThe Statement of the Case\n\nMiss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure\nof manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved,\nand dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness\nand simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of\nlimited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and\nunbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved\nonly by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither\nregularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was\nsweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual\nand sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over many\nnations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face\nwhich gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could\nnot but observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed\nfor her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every sign\nof intense inward agitation.\n\n\"I have come to you, Mr. Holmes,\" she said, \"because you once enabled\nmy employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic\ncomplication. She was much impressed by your kindness and skill.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Cecil Forrester,\" he repeated thoughtfully. \"I believe that I\nwas of some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember\nit, was a very simple one.\"\n\n\"She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine.\nI can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable,\nthan the situation in which I find myself.\"\n\nHolmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward in\nhis chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his\nclear-cut, hawklike features. \"State your case,\" said he, in brisk,\nbusiness tones.\n\nI felt that my position was an embarrassing one. \"You will, I am sure,\nexcuse me,\" I said, rising from my chair.\n\nTo my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me.\n\"If your friend,\" she said, \"would be good enough to stop, he might be\nof inestimable service to me.\"\n\nI relapsed into my chair.\n\n\"Briefly,\" she continued, \"the facts are these. My father was an\nofficer in an Indian regiment who sent me home when I was quite a\nchild. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I was\nplaced, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh,\nand there I remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year\n1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelve\nmonths\' leave and came home. He telegraphed to me from London that he\nhad arrived all safe, and directed me to come down at once, giving the\nLangham Hotel as his address. His message, as I remember, was full of\nkindness and love. On reaching London I drove to the Langham, and was\ninformed that Captain Morstan was staying there, but that he had gone\nout the night before and had not yet returned. I waited all day without\nnews of him. That night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I\ncommunicated with the police, and next morning we advertised in all the\npapers. Our inquiries led to no result; and from that day to this no\nword has ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with\nhis heart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and\ninstead--\" She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short\nthe sentence.\n\n\"The date?\" asked Holmes, opening his note-book.\n\n\"He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,--nearly ten years ago.\"\n\n\"His luggage?\"\n\n\"Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a\nclue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of\ncuriosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the officers\nin charge of the convict-guard there.\"\n\n\"Had he any friends in town?\"\n\n\"Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the 34th\nBombay Infantry. The major had retired some little time before, and\nlived at Upper Norwood. We communicated with him, of course, but he\ndid not even know that his brother officer was in England.\"\n\n\"A singular case,\" remarked Holmes.\n\n\"I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six\nyears ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882--an advertisement\nappeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan and\nstating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was\nno name or address appended. I had at that time just entered the\nfamily of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her\nadvice I published my address in the advertisement column. The same\nday there arrived through the post a small card-board box addressed to\nme, which I found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No word\nof writing was enclosed. Since then every year upon the same date\nthere has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl,\nwithout any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced by an\nexpert to be of a rare variety and of considerable value. You can see\nfor yourselves that they are very handsome.\" She opened a flat box as\nshe spoke, and showed me six of the finest pearls that I had ever seen.\n\n\"Your statement is most interesting,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"Has\nanything else occurred to you?\"\n\n\"Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come to you. This\nmorning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read for\nyourself.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Holmes. \"The envelope too, please. Postmark,\nLondon, S.W. Date, July 7. Hum! Man\'s thumb-mark on\ncorner,--probably postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence\na packet. Particular man in his stationery. No address. \'Be at the\nthird pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven\no\'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged\nwoman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all\nwill be in vain. Your unknown friend.\' Well, really, this is a very\npretty little mystery. What do you intend to do, Miss Morstan?\"\n\n\"That is exactly what I want to ask you.\"\n\n\"Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and--yes, why, Dr. Watson\nis the very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He and I have\nworked together before.\"\n\n\"But would he come?\" she asked, with something appealing in her voice\nand expression.\n\n\"I should be proud and happy,\" said I, fervently, \"if I can be of any\nservice.\"\n\n\"You are both very kind,\" she answered. \"I have led a retired life,\nand have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six it\nwill do, I suppose?\"\n\n\"You must not be later,\" said Holmes. \"There is one other point,\nhowever. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-box\naddresses?\"\n\n\"I have them here,\" she answered, producing half a dozen pieces of\npaper.\n\n\"You are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition.\nLet us see, now.\" He spread out the papers upon the table, and gave\nlittle darting glances from one to the other. \"They are disguised\nhands, except the letter,\" he said, presently, \"but there can be no\nquestion as to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will\nbreak out, and see the twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by\nthe same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss\nMorstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that of\nyour father?\"\n\n\"Nothing could be more unlike.\"\n\n\"I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then, at\nsix. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matter\nbefore then. It is only half-past three. Au revoir, then.\"\n\n\"Au revoir,\" said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly glance from\none to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom and\nhurried away. Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly\ndown the street, until the gray turban and white feather were but a\nspeck in the sombre crowd.\n\n\"What a very attractive woman!\" I exclaimed, turning to my companion.\n\nHe had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping eyelids.\n\"Is she?\" he said, languidly. \"I did not observe.\"\n\n\"You really are an automaton,--a calculating-machine!\" I cried. \"There\nis something positively inhuman in you at times.\"\n\nHe smiled gently. \"It is of the first importance,\" he said, \"not to\nallow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to\nme a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are\nantagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning\nwoman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for\ntheir insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my acquaintance is\na philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the\nLondon poor.\"\n\n\"In this case, however--\"\n\n\"I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have you\never had occasion to study character in handwriting? What do you make\nof this fellow\'s scribble?\"\n\n\"It is legible and regular,\" I answered. \"A man of business habits and\nsome force of character.\"\n\nHolmes shook his head. \"Look at his long letters,\" he said. \"They\nhardly rise above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that l an\ne. Men of character always differentiate their long letters, however\nillegibly they may write. There is vacillation in his k\'s and\nself-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I have some few\nreferences to make. Let me recommend this book,--one of the most\nremarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade\'s \'Martyrdom of Man.\' I\nshall be back in an hour.\"\n\nI sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were\nfar from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our\nlate visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the\nstrange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the\ntime of her father\'s disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now,--a\nsweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a\nlittle sobered by experience. So I sat and mused, until such dangerous\nthoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged\nfuriously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army\nsurgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account, that I should\ndare to think of such things? She was a unit, a factor,--nothing more.\nIf my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man\nthan to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o\'-the-wisps of the\nimagination.\n\n\n\nChapter III\n\nIn Quest of a Solution\n\nIt was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager,\nand in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his case alternated with\nfits of the blackest depression.\n\n\"There is no great mystery in this matter,\" he said, taking the cup of\ntea which I had poured out for him. \"The facts appear to admit of only\none explanation.\"\n\n\"What! you have solved it already?\"\n\n\"Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestive\nfact, that is all. It is, however, VERY suggestive. The details are\nstill to be added. I have just found, on consulting the back files of\nthe Times, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late of the 34th Bombay\nInfantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882.\"\n\n\"I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests.\"\n\n\"No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morstan\ndisappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited is\nMajor Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London.\nFour years later Sholto dies. WITHIN A WEEK OF HIS DEATH Captain\nMorstan\'s daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from\nyear to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as a\nwronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this deprivation of\nher father? And why should the presents begin immediately after\nSholto\'s death, unless it is that Sholto\'s heir knows something of the\nmystery and desires to make compensation? Have you any alternative\ntheory which will meet the facts?\"\n\n\"But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why, too,\nshould he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, the\nletter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is\ntoo much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other\ninjustice in her case that you know of.\"\n\n\"There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties,\" said\nSherlock Holmes, pensively. \"But our expedition of to-night will solve\nthem all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. Are\nyou all ready? Then we had better go down, for it is a little past the\nhour.\"\n\nI picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmes\ntook his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It\nwas clear that he thought that our night\'s work might be a serious one.\n\nMiss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was\ncomposed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did not\nfeel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were\nembarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered\nthe few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.\n\n\"Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa\'s,\" she said. \"His\nletters were full of allusions to the major. He and papa were in\ncommand of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a\ngreat deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found in papa\'s\ndesk which no one could understand. I don\'t suppose that it is of the\nslightest importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I\nbrought it with me. It is here.\"\n\nHolmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon his knee.\nHe then very methodically examined it all over with his double lens.\n\n\"It is paper of native Indian manufacture,\" he remarked. \"It has at\nsome time been pinned to a board. The diagram upon it appears to be a\nplan of part of a large building with numerous halls, corridors, and\npassages. At one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it\nis \'3.37 from left,\' in faded pencil-writing. In the left-hand corner\nis a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line with their arms\ntouching. Beside it is written, in very rough and coarse characters,\n\'The sign of the four,--Jonathan Small, Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan,\nDost Akbar.\' No, I confess that I do not see how this bears upon the\nmatter. Yet it is evidently a document of importance. It has been kept\ncarefully in a pocket-book; for the one side is as clean as the other.\"\n\n\"It was in his pocket-book that we found it.\"\n\n\"Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it may prove to be of\nuse to us. I begin to suspect that this matter may turn out to be much\ndeeper and more subtle than I at first supposed. I must reconsider my\nideas.\" He leaned back in the cab, and I could see by his drawn brow\nand his vacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss Morstan and I\nchatted in an undertone about our present expedition and its possible\noutcome, but our companion maintained his impenetrable reserve until\nthe end of our journey.\n\nIt was a September evening, and not yet seven o\'clock, but the day had\nbeen a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great city.\nMud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. Down the\nStrand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which threw\na feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow glare\nfrom the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous air, and\nthrew a murky, shifting radiance across the crowded thoroughfare.\nThere was, to my mind, something eerie and ghost-like in the endless\nprocession of faces which flitted across these narrow bars of\nlight,--sad faces and glad, haggard and merry. Like all human kind,\nthey flitted from the gloom into the light, and so back into the gloom\nonce more. I am not subject to impressions, but the dull, heavy\nevening, with the strange business upon which we were engaged, combined\nto make me nervous and depressed. I could see from Miss Morstan\'s\nmanner that she was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes alone\ncould rise superior to petty influences. He held his open note-book\nupon his knee, and from time to time he jotted down figures and\nmemoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern.\n\nAt the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at the\nside-entrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms and\nfour-wheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes of\nshirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had hardly\nreached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small,\ndark, brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted us.\n\n\"Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?\" he asked.\n\n\"I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are my friends,\" said she.\n\nHe bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes upon us.\n\"You will excuse me, miss,\" he said with a certain dogged manner, \"but\nI was to ask you to give me your word that neither of your companions\nis a police-officer.\"\n\n\"I give you my word on that,\" she answered.\n\nHe gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led across a\nfour-wheeler and opened the door. The man who had addressed us mounted\nto the box, while we took our places inside. We had hardly done so\nbefore the driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged away at a\nfurious pace through the foggy streets.\n\nThe situation was a curious one. We were driving to an unknown place,\non an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was either a complete\nhoax,--which was an inconceivable hypothesis,--or else we had good\nreason to think that important issues might hang upon our journey.\nMiss Morstan\'s demeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. I\nendeavored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures in\nAfghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at our\nsituation and so curious as to our destination that my stories were\nslightly involved. To this day she declares that I told her one moving\nanecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night,\nand how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it. At first I had\nsome idea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon, what\nwith our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledge of London, I lost\nmy bearings, and knew nothing, save that we seemed to be going a very\nlong way. Sherlock Holmes was never at fault, however, and he muttered\nthe names as the cab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuous\nby-streets.\n\n\"Rochester Row,\" said he. \"Now Vincent Square. Now we come out on the\nVauxhall Bridge Road. We are making for the Surrey side, apparently.\nYes, I thought so. Now we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses\nof the river.\"\n\nWe did indeed get a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thames with the\nlamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed on, and\nwas soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the other side.\n\n\"Wordsworth Road,\" said my companion. \"Priory Road. Lark Hall Lane.\nStockwell Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbor Lane. Our quest does not\nappear to take us to very fashionable regions.\"\n\nWe had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbidding neighborhood.\nLong lines of dull brick houses were only relieved by the coarse glare\nand tawdry brilliancy of public houses at the corner. Then came rows\nof two-storied villas each with a fronting of miniature garden, and\nthen again interminable lines of new staring brick buildings,--the\nmonster tentacles which the giant city was throwing out into the\ncountry. At last the cab drew up at the third house in a new terrace.\nNone of the other houses were inhabited, and that at which we stopped\nwas as dark as its neighbors, save for a single glimmer in the kitchen\nwindow. On our knocking, however, the door was instantly thrown open\nby a Hindoo servant clad in a yellow turban, white loose-fitting\nclothes, and a yellow sash. There was something strangely incongruous\nin this Oriental figure framed in the commonplace door-way of a\nthird-rate suburban dwelling-house.\n\n\"The Sahib awaits you,\" said he, and even as he spoke there came a high\npiping voice from some inner room. \"Show them in to me, khitmutgar,\"\nit cried. \"Show them straight in to me.\"\n\n\n\nChapter IV\n\nThe Story of the Bald-Headed Man\n\nWe followed the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill lit and\nworse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he threw\nopen. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre\nof the glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a bristle\nof red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining scalp which\nshot out from among it like a mountain-peak from fir-trees. He writhed\nhis hands together as he stood, and his features were in a perpetual\njerk, now smiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose.\nNature had given him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line of yellow\nand irregular teeth, which he strove feebly to conceal by constantly\npassing his hand over the lower part of his face. In spite of his\nobtrusive baldness, he gave the impression of youth. In point of fact\nhe had just turned his thirtieth year.\n\n\"Your servant, Miss Morstan,\" he kept repeating, in a thin, high voice.\n\"Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A small\nplace, miss, but furnished to my own liking. An oasis of art in the\nhowling desert of South London.\"\n\nWe were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into which he\ninvited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of place as a diamond\nof the first water in a setting of brass. The richest and glossiest of\ncurtains and tapestries draped the walls, looped back here and there to\nexpose some richly-mounted painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was\nof amber-and-black, so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly\ninto it, as into a bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart\nit increased the suggestion of Eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah\nwhich stood upon a mat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of a\nsilver dove was hung from an almost invisible golden wire in the centre\nof the room. As it burned it filled the air with a subtle and aromatic\nodor.\n\n\"Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,\" said the little man, still jerking and smiling.\n\"That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course. And these\ngentlemen--\"\n\n\"This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson.\"\n\n\"A doctor, eh?\" cried he, much excited. \"Have you your stethoscope?\nMight I ask you--would you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as\nto my mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I may\nrely upon, but I should value your opinion upon the mitral.\"\n\nI listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find anything\namiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he shivered\nfrom head to foot. \"It appears to be normal,\" I said. \"You have no\ncause for uneasiness.\"\n\n\"You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan,\" he remarked, airily. \"I am\na great sufferer, and I have long had suspicions as to that valve. I\nam delighted to hear that they are unwarranted. Had your father, Miss\nMorstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he might have\nbeen alive now.\"\n\nI could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at this\ncallous and off-hand reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan\nsat down, and her face grew white to the lips. \"I knew in my heart\nthat he was dead,\" said she.\n\n\"I can give you every information,\" said he, \"and, what is more, I can\ndo you justice; and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew may say.\nI am so glad to have your friends here, not only as an escort to you,\nbut also as witnesses to what I am about to do and say. The three of\nus can show a bold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us have no\noutsiders,--no police or officials. We can settle everything\nsatisfactorily among ourselves, without any interference. Nothing\nwould annoy Brother Bartholomew more than any publicity.\" He sat down\nupon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery\nblue eyes.\n\n\"For my part,\" said Holmes, \"whatever you may choose to say will go no\nfurther.\"\n\nI nodded to show my agreement.\n\n\"That is well! That is well!\" said he. \"May I offer you a glass of\nChianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I\nopen a flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objection to\ntobacco-smoke, to the mild balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco. I am\na little nervous, and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative.\" He\napplied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrily\nthrough the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle, with our\nheads advanced, and our chins upon our hands, while the strange, jerky\nlittle fellow, with his high, shining head, puffed uneasily in the\ncentre.\n\n\"When I first determined to make this communication to you,\" said he,\n\"I might have given you my address, but I feared that you might\ndisregard my request and bring unpleasant people with you. I took the\nliberty, therefore, of making an appointment in such a way that my man\nWilliams might be able to see you first. I have complete confidence in\nhis discretion, and he had orders, if he were dissatisfied, to proceed\nno further in the matter. You will excuse these precautions, but I am\na man of somewhat retiring, and I might even say refined, tastes, and\nthere is nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural\nshrinking from all forms of rough materialism. I seldom come in contact\nwith the rough crowd. I live, as you see, with some little atmosphere\nof elegance around me. I may call myself a patron of the arts. It is\nmy weakness. The landscape is a genuine Corot, and, though a\nconnoisseur might perhaps throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there\ncannot be the least question about the Bouguereau. I am partial to the\nmodern French school.\"\n\n\"You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto,\" said Miss Morstan, \"but I am here at\nyour request to learn something which you desire to tell me. It is\nvery late, and I should desire the interview to be as short as\npossible.\"\n\n\"At the best it must take some time,\" he answered; \"for we shall\ncertainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. We shall\nall go and try if we can get the better of Brother Bartholomew. He is\nvery angry with me for taking the course which has seemed right to me.\nI had quite high words with him last night. You cannot imagine what a\nterrible fellow he is when he is angry.\"\n\n\"If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as well to start at\nonce,\" I ventured to remark.\n\nHe laughed until his ears were quite red. \"That would hardly do,\" he\ncried. \"I don\'t know what he would say if I brought you in that sudden\nway. No, I must prepare you by showing you how we all stand to each\nother. In the first place, I must tell you that there are several\npoints in the story of which I am myself ignorant. I can only lay the\nfacts before you as far as I know them myself.\n\n\"My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto, once of the\nIndian army. He retired some eleven years ago, and came to live at\nPondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had prospered in India, and\nbrought back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection\nof valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With these\nadvantages he bought himself a house, and lived in great luxury. My\ntwin-brother Bartholomew and I were the only children.\n\n\"I very well remember the sensation which was caused by the\ndisappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the papers,\nand, knowing that he had been a friend of our father\'s, we discussed\nthe case freely in his presence. He used to join in our speculations\nas to what could have happened. Never for an instant did we suspect\nthat he had the whole secret hidden in his own breast,--that of all men\nhe alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.\n\n\"We did know, however, that some mystery--some positive\ndanger--overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out alone,\nand he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at\nPondicherry Lodge. Williams, who drove you to-night, was one of them.\nHe was once light-weight champion of England. Our father would never\ntell us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to men\nwith wooden legs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver at a\nwooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless tradesman canvassing for\norders. We had to pay a large sum to hush the matter up. My brother\nand I used to think this a mere whim of my father\'s, but events have\nsince led us to change our opinion.\n\n\"Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a great\nshock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he opened\nit, and from that day he sickened to his death. What was in the letter\nwe could never discover, but I could see as he held it that it was\nshort and written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered for years from\nan enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and towards the\nend of April we were informed that he was beyond all hope, and that he\nwished to make a last communication to us.\n\n\"When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows and breathing\nheavily. He besought us to lock the door and to come upon either side\nof the bed. Then, grasping our hands, he made a remarkable statement\nto us, in a voice which was broken as much by emotion as by pain. I\nshall try and give it to you in his own very words.\n\n\"\'I have only one thing,\' he said, \'which weighs upon my mind at this\nsupreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan\'s orphan. The\ncursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has withheld\nfrom her the treasure, half at least of which should have been hers.\nAnd yet I have made no use of it myself,--so blind and foolish a thing\nis avarice. The mere feeling of possession has been so dear to me that\nI could not bear to share it with another. See that chaplet dipped\nwith pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Even that I could not bear to\npart with, although I had got it out with the design of sending it to\nher. You, my sons, will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But\nsend her nothing--not even the chaplet--until I am gone. After all, men\nhave been as bad as this and have recovered.\n\n\"\'I will tell you how Morstan died,\' he continued. \'He had suffered\nfor years from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. I\nalone knew it. When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of\ncircumstances, came into possession of a considerable treasure. I\nbrought it over to England, and on the night of Morstan\'s arrival he\ncame straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from the\nstation, and was admitted by my faithful Lal Chowdar, who is now dead.\nMorstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of the\ntreasure, and we came to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of his\nchair in a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to his\nside, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards, cutting his\nhead against the corner of the treasure-chest. When I stooped over him\nI found, to my horror, that he was dead.\n\n\"\'For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do.\nMy first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could\nnot but recognize that there was every chance that I would be accused\nof his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in\nhis head, would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could\nnot be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which I\nwas particularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no soul\nupon earth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why\nany soul ever should know.\n\n\"\'I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw my\nservant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the door\nbehind him. \"Do not fear, Sahib,\" he said. \"No one need know that you\nhave killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?\" \"I did\nnot kill him,\" said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. \"I\nheard it all, Sahib,\" said he. \"I heard you quarrel, and I heard the\nblow. But my lips are sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put\nhim away together.\" That was enough to decide me. If my own servant\ncould not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before\ntwelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of\nthe body that night, and within a few days the London papers were full\nof the mysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan. You will see from\nwhat I say that I can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in\nthe fact that we concealed not only the body, but also the treasure,\nand that I have clung to Morstan\'s share as well as to my own. I wish\nyou, therefore, to make restitution. Put your ears down to my mouth.\nThe treasure is hidden in--\' At this instant a horrible change came\nover his expression; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he\nyelled, in a voice which I can never forget, \'Keep him out! For\nChrist\'s sake keep him out!\' We both stared round at the window behind\nus upon which his gaze was fixed. A face was looking in at us out of\nthe darkness. We could see the whitening of the nose where it was\npressed against the glass. It was a bearded, hairy face, with wild\ncruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence. My brother\nand I rushed towards the window, but the man was gone. When we\nreturned to my father his head had dropped and his pulse had ceased to\nbeat.\n\n\"We searched the garden that night, but found no sign of the intruder,\nsave that just under the window a single footmark was visible in the\nflower-bed. But for that one trace, we might have thought that our\nimaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however,\nhad another and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies\nat work all round us. The window of my father\'s room was found open in\nthe morning, his cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his\nchest was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the words \'The sign of the\nfour\' scrawled across it. What the phrase meant, or who our secret\nvisitor may have been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none of\nmy father\'s property had been actually stolen, though everything had\nbeen turned out. My brother and I naturally associated this peculiar\nincident with the fear which haunted my father during his life; but it\nis still a complete mystery to us.\"\n\nThe little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully\nfor a few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his\nextraordinary narrative. At the short account of her father\'s death\nMiss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that\nshe was about to faint. She rallied however, on drinking a glass of\nwater which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon\nthe side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair with an\nabstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering eyes.\nAs I glanced at him I could not but think how on that very day he had\ncomplained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here at least was\na problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus\nSholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious pride at the\neffect which his story had produced, and then continued between the\npuffs of his overgrown pipe.\n\n\"My brother and I,\" said he, \"were, as you may imagine, much excited as\nto the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeks and for\nmonths we dug and delved in every part of the garden, without\ndiscovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think that the\nhiding-place was on his very lips at the moment that he died. We could\njudge the splendor of the missing riches by the chaplet which he had\ntaken out. Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had some\nlittle discussion. The pearls were evidently of great value, and he\nwas averse to part with them, for, between friends, my brother was\nhimself a little inclined to my father\'s fault. He thought, too, that\nif we parted with the chaplet it might give rise to gossip and finally\nbring us into trouble. It was all that I could do to persuade him to\nlet me find out Miss Morstan\'s address and send her a detached pearl at\nfixed intervals, so that at least she might never feel destitute.\"\n\n\"It was a kindly thought,\" said our companion, earnestly. \"It was\nextremely good of you.\"\n\nThe little man waved his hand deprecatingly. \"We were your trustees,\"\nhe said. \"That was the view which I took of it, though Brother\nBartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. We had plenty\nof money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have been\nsuch bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion. \'Le\nmauvais gout mene au crime.\' The French have a very neat way of\nputting these things. Our difference of opinion on this subject went so\nfar that I thought it best to set up rooms for myself: so I left\nPondicherry Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me.\nYesterday, however, I learn that an event of extreme importance has\noccurred. The treasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated\nwith Miss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood\nand demand our share. I explained my views last night to Brother\nBartholomew: so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors.\"\n\nMr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his luxurious settee.\nWe all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new development\nwhich the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was the first to\nspring to his feet.\n\n\"You have done well, sir, from first to last,\" said he. \"It is\npossible that we may be able to make you some small return by throwing\nsome light upon that which is still dark to you. But, as Miss Morstan\nremarked just now, it is late, and we had best put the matter through\nwithout delay.\"\n\nOur new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of his\nhookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged\ntopcoat with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up,\nin spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finished his attire\nby putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the\nears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and peaky\nface. \"My health is somewhat fragile,\" he remarked, as he led the way\ndown the passage. \"I am compelled to be a valetudinarian.\"\n\nOur cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidently\nprearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace.\nThaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose high above\nthe rattle of the wheels.\n\n\"Bartholomew is a clever fellow,\" said he. \"How do you think he found\nout where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it was\nsomewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic space of the house,\nand made measurements everywhere, so that not one inch should be\nunaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the height of the\nbuilding was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of\nall the separate rooms, and making every allowance for the space\nbetween, which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the total\nto more than seventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted for. These\ncould only be at the top of the building. He knocked a hole,\ntherefore, in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the highest room, and\nthere, sure enough, he came upon another little garret above it, which\nhad been sealed up and was known to no one. In the centre stood the\ntreasure-chest, resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through the\nhole, and there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels at not\nless than half a million sterling.\"\n\nAt the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another\nopen-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change from\na needy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it was the\nplace of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed to\nsay that selfishness took me by the soul, and that my heart turned as\nheavy as lead within me. I stammered out some few halting words of\ncongratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to\nthe babble of our new acquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed\nhypochondriac, and I was dreamily conscious that he was pouring forth\ninterminable trains of symptoms, and imploring information as to the\ncomposition and action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which he\nbore about in a leather case in his pocket. I trust that he may not\nremember any of the answers which I gave him that night. Holmes\ndeclares that he overheard me caution him against the great danger of\ntaking more than two drops of castor oil, while I recommended\nstrychnine in large doses as a sedative. However that may be, I was\ncertainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman\nsprang down to open the door.\n\n\"This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge,\" said Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,\nas he handed her out.\n\n\n\nChapter V\n\nThe Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge\n\nIt was nearly eleven o\'clock when we reached this final stage of our\nnight\'s adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great city behind\nus, and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from the westward,\nand heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peeping\noccasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to see for some\ndistance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the side-lamps from the\ncarriage to give us a better light upon our way.\n\nPondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt round with a\nvery high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow\niron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On this our guide\nknocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat.\n\n\"Who is there?\" cried a gruff voice from within.\n\n\"It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this time.\"\n\nThere was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys. The\ndoor swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood in the\nopening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon his\nprotruded face and twinkling distrustful eyes.\n\n\"That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others? I had no orders\nabout them from the master.\"\n\n\"No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother last night that I\nshould bring some friends.\"\n\n\"He ain\'t been out o\' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus, and I have no\norders. You know very well that I must stick to regulations. I can let\nyou in, but your friends must just stop where they are.\"\n\nThis was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked about him in a\nperplexed and helpless manner. \"This is too bad of you, McMurdo!\" he\nsaid. \"If I guarantee them, that is enough for you. There is the young\nlady, too. She cannot wait on the public road at this hour.\"\n\n\"Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus,\" said the porter, inexorably. \"Folk may be\nfriends o\' yours, and yet no friends o\' the master\'s. He pays me well\nto do my duty, and my duty I\'ll do. I don\'t know none o\' your friends.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes you do, McMurdo,\" cried Sherlock Holmes, genially. \"I don\'t\nthink you can have forgotten me. Don\'t you remember the amateur who\nfought three rounds with you at Alison\'s rooms on the night of your\nbenefit four years back?\"\n\n\"Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!\" roared the prize-fighter. \"God\'s truth! how\ncould I have mistook you? If instead o\' standin\' there so quiet you\nhad just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of yours under the jaw,\nI\'d ha\' known you without a question. Ah, you\'re one that has wasted\nyour gifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you had joined the\nfancy.\"\n\n\"You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still one of the\nscientific professions open to me,\" said Holmes, laughing. \"Our friend\nwon\'t keep us out in the cold now, I am sure.\"\n\n\"In you come, sir, in you come,--you and your friends,\" he answered.\n\"Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are very strict. Had to be\ncertain of your friends before I let them in.\"\n\nInside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge clump of\na house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where a\nmoonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. The vast\nsize of the building, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a\nchill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and the\nlantern quivered and rattled in his hand.\n\n\"I cannot understand it,\" he said. \"There must be some mistake. I\ndistinctly told Bartholomew that we should be here, and yet there is no\nlight in his window. I do not know what to make of it.\"\n\n\"Does he always guard the premises in this way?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Yes; he has followed my father\'s custom. He was the favorite son, you\nknow, and I sometimes think that my father may have told him more than\nhe ever told me. That is Bartholomew\'s window up there where the\nmoonshine strikes. It is quite bright, but there is no light from\nwithin, I think.\"\n\n\"None,\" said Holmes. \"But I see the glint of a light in that little\nwindow beside the door.\"\n\n\"Ah, that is the housekeeper\'s room. That is where old Mrs. Bernstone\nsits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps you would not mind\nwaiting here for a minute or two, for if we all go in together and she\nhas no word of our coming she may be alarmed. But hush! what is that?\"\n\nHe held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of light\nflickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist, and\nwe all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears. From the great\nblack house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and most\npitiful of sounds,--the shrill, broken whimpering of a frightened woman.\n\n\"It is Mrs. Bernstone,\" said Sholto. \"She is the only woman in the\nhouse. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment.\" He hurried for the\ndoor, and knocked in his peculiar way. We could see a tall old woman\nadmit him, and sway with pleasure at the very sight of him.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come! I am so glad you\nhave come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!\" We heard her reiterated rejoicings\nuntil the door was closed and her voice died away into a muffled\nmonotone.\n\nOur guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round, and\npeered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps which\ncumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand\nwas in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two who\nhad never seen each other before that day, between whom no word or even\nlook of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble\nour hands instinctively sought for each other. I have marvelled at it\nsince, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I should\ngo out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her also\nthe instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So we stood\nhand in hand, like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for\nall the dark things that surrounded us.\n\n\"What a strange place!\" she said, looking round.\n\n\"It looks as though all the moles in England had been let loose in it.\nI have seen something of the sort on the side of a hill near Ballarat,\nwhere the prospectors had been at work.\"\n\n\"And from the same cause,\" said Holmes. \"These are the traces of the\ntreasure-seekers. You must remember that they were six years looking\nfor it. No wonder that the grounds look like a gravel-pit.\"\n\nAt that moment the door of the house burst open, and Thaddeus Sholto\ncame running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in his eyes.\n\n\"There is something amiss with Bartholomew!\" he cried. \"I am\nfrightened! My nerves cannot stand it.\" He was, indeed, half\nblubbering with fear, and his twitching feeble face peeping out from\nthe great Astrakhan collar had the helpless appealing expression of a\nterrified child.\n\n\"Come into the house,\" said Holmes, in his crisp, firm way.\n\n\"Yes, do!\" pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. \"I really do not feel equal to\ngiving directions.\"\n\nWe all followed him into the housekeeper\'s room, which stood upon the\nleft-hand side of the passage. The old woman was pacing up and down\nwith a scared look and restless picking fingers, but the sight of Miss\nMorstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon her.\n\n\"God bless your sweet calm face!\" she cried, with an hysterical sob.\n\"It does me good to see you. Oh, but I have been sorely tried this\nday!\"\n\nOur companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and murmured some few\nwords of kindly womanly comfort which brought the color back into the\nothers bloodless cheeks.\n\n\"Master has locked himself in and will not answer me,\" she explained.\n\"All day I have waited to hear from him, for he often likes to be\nalone; but an hour ago I feared that something was amiss, so I went up\nand peeped through the key-hole. You must go up, Mr. Thaddeus,--you\nmust go up and look for yourself. I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto\nin joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but I never saw him with such\na face on him as that.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for Thaddeus Sholto\'s\nteeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he that I had to pass\nmy hand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for his knees were\ntrembling under him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his lens out\nof his pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to me to be\nmere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoa-nut matting which served\nas a stair-carpet. He walked slowly from step to step, holding the\nlamp, and shooting keen glances to right and left. Miss Morstan had\nremained behind with the frightened housekeeper.\n\nThe third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some length,\nwith a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right of it and three\ndoors upon the left. Holmes advanced along it in the same slow and\nmethodical way, while we kept close at his heels, with our long black\nshadows streaming backwards down the corridor. The third door was that\nwhich we were seeking. Holmes knocked without receiving any answer,\nand then tried to turn the handle and force it open. It was locked on\nthe inside, however, and by a broad and powerful bolt, as we could see\nwhen we set our lamp up against it. The key being turned, however, the\nhole was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it, and\ninstantly rose again with a sharp intaking of the breath.\n\n\"There is something devilish in this, Watson,\" said he, more moved than\nI had ever before seen him. \"What do you make of it?\"\n\nI stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight was streaming\ninto the room, and it was bright with a vague and shifty radiance.\nLooking straight at me, and suspended, as it were, in the air, for all\nbeneath was in shadow, there hung a face,--the very face of our\ncompanion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shining head, the same\ncircular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance. The\nfeatures were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and unnatural\ngrin, which in that still and moonlit room was more jarring to the\nnerves than any scowl or contortion. So like was the face to that of\nour little friend that I looked round at him to make sure that he was\nindeed with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had mentioned to us\nthat his brother and he were twins.\n\n\"This is terrible!\" I said to Holmes. \"What is to be done?\"\n\n\"The door must come down,\" he answered, and, springing against it, he\nput all his weight upon the lock. It creaked and groaned, but did not\nyield. Together we flung ourselves upon it once more, and this time it\ngave way with a sudden snap, and we found ourselves within Bartholomew\nSholto\'s chamber.\n\nIt appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. A double\nline of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite the\ndoor, and the table was littered over with Bunsen burners, test-tubes,\nand retorts. In the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets.\nOne of these appeared to leak or to have been broken, for a stream of\ndark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the air was heavy\nwith a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. A set of steps stood at one\nside of the room, in the midst of a litter of lath and plaster, and\nabove them there was an opening in the ceiling large enough for a man\nto pass through. At the foot of the steps a long coil of rope was\nthrown carelessly together.\n\nBy the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the house was seated\nall in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder, and that\nghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff and cold, and\nhad clearly been dead many hours. It seemed to me that not only his\nfeatures but all his limbs were twisted and turned in the most\nfantastic fashion. By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar\ninstrument,--a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a\nhammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside it was a torn sheet\nof note-paper with some words scrawled upon it. Holmes glanced at it,\nand then handed it to me.\n\n\"You see,\" he said, with a significant raising of the eyebrows.\n\nIn the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror, \"The sign\nof the four.\"\n\n\"In God\'s name, what does it all mean?\" I asked.\n\n\"It means murder,\" said he, stooping over the dead man. \"Ah, I\nexpected it. Look here!\" He pointed to what looked like a long, dark\nthorn stuck in the skin just above the ear.\n\n\"It looks like a thorn,\" said I.\n\n\"It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it is\npoisoned.\"\n\nI took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away from the skin\nso readily that hardly any mark was left behind. One tiny speck of\nblood showed where the puncture had been.\n\n\"This is all an insoluble mystery to me,\" said I. \"It grows darker\ninstead of clearer.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" he answered, \"it clears every instant. I only\nrequire a few missing links to have an entirely connected case.\"\n\nWe had almost forgotten our companion\'s presence since we entered the\nchamber. He was still standing in the door-way, the very picture of\nterror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself. Suddenly, however,\nhe broke out into a sharp, querulous cry.\n\n\"The treasure is gone!\" he said. \"They have robbed him of the\ntreasure! There is the hole through which we lowered it. I helped him\nto do it! I was the last person who saw him! I left him here last\nnight, and I heard him lock the door as I came down-stairs.\"\n\n\"What time was that?\"\n\n\"It was ten o\'clock. And now he is dead, and the police will be called\nin, and I shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh, yes, I am\nsure I shall. But you don\'t think so, gentlemen? Surely you don\'t\nthink that it was I? Is it likely that I would have brought you here\nif it were I? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!\" He\njerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive frenzy.\n\n\"You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto,\" said Holmes, kindly, putting\nhis hand upon his shoulder. \"Take my advice, and drive down to the\nstation to report this matter to the police. Offer to assist them in\nevery way. We shall wait here until your return.\"\n\nThe little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard him\nstumbling down the stairs in the dark.\n\n\n\nChapter VI\n\nSherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration\n\n\"Now, Watson,\" said Holmes, rubbing his hands, \"we have half an hour to\nourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I have told\nyou, almost complete; but we must not err on the side of\nover-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may be something\ndeeper underlying it.\"\n\n\"Simple!\" I ejaculated.\n\n\"Surely,\" said he, with something of the air of a clinical professor\nexpounding to his class. \"Just sit in the corner there, that your\nfootprints may not complicate matters. Now to work! In the first\nplace, how did these folk come, and how did they go? The door has not\nbeen opened since last night. How of the window?\" He carried the lamp\nacross to it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but\naddressing them to himself rather than to me. \"Window is snibbed on\nthe inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us\nopen it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has\nmounted by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is the\nprint of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy\nmark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table. See\nhere, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration.\"\n\nI looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. \"This is not a\nfootmark,\" said I.\n\n\"It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression of a\nwooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy boot\nwith the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark of the timber-toe.\"\n\n\"It is the wooden-legged man.\"\n\n\"Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very able and\nefficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?\"\n\nI looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly on that\nangle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the ground, and,\nlook where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as much as a crevice\nin the brick-work.\n\n\"It is absolutely impossible,\" I answered.\n\n\"Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who\nlowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner, securing\none end of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, I think, if you\nwere an active man, You might swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would\ndepart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the\nrope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the inside,\nand get away in the way that he originally came. As a minor point it\nmay be noted,\" he continued, fingering the rope, \"that our\nwooden-legged friend, though a fair climber, was not a professional\nsailor. His hands were far from horny. My lens discloses more than\none blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from which I\ngather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin\noff his hand.\"\n\n\"This is all very well,\" said I, \"but the thing becomes more\nunintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How came he\ninto the room?\"\n\n\"Yes, the ally!\" repeated Holmes, pensively. \"There are features of\ninterest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions of the\ncommonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals\nof crime in this country,--though parallel cases suggest themselves\nfrom India, and, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia.\"\n\n\"How came he, then?\" I reiterated. \"The door is locked, the window is\ninaccessible. Was it through the chimney?\"\n\n\"The grate is much too small,\" he answered. \"I had already considered\nthat possibility.\"\n\n\"How then?\" I persisted.\n\n\"You will not apply my precept,\" he said, shaking his head. \"How often\nhave I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible\nwhatever remains, HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, must be the truth? We know that\nhe did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also\nknow that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is no\nconcealment possible. Whence, then, did he come?\"\n\n\"He came through the hole in the roof,\" I cried.\n\n\"Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the kindness\nto hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches to the room\nabove,--the secret room in which the treasure was found.\"\n\nHe mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he swung\nhimself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached down\nfor the lamp and held it while I followed him.\n\nThe chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way and\nsix the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin\nlath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step from beam\nto beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner shell\nof the true roof of the house. There was no furniture of any sort, and\nthe accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor.\n\n\"Here you are, you see,\" said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand against\nthe sloping wall. \"This is a trap-door which leads out on to the roof.\nI can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping at a gentle\nangle. This, then, is the way by which Number One entered. Let us see\nif we can find any other traces of his individuality.\"\n\nHe held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for the\nsecond time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face.\nFor myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold under my clothes.\nThe floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked foot,--clear,\nwell defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of an\nordinary man.\n\n\"Holmes,\" I said, in a whisper, \"a child has done the horrid thing.\"\n\nHe had recovered his self-possession in an instant. \"I was staggered\nfor the moment,\" he said, \"but the thing is quite natural. My memory\nfailed me, or I should have been able to foretell it. There is nothing\nmore to be learned here. Let us go down.\"\n\n\"What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?\" I asked, eagerly,\nwhen we had regained the lower room once more.\n\n\"My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself,\" said he, with a touch\nof impatience. \"You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be\ninstructive to compare results.\"\n\n\"I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts,\" I answered.\n\n\"It will be clear enough to you soon,\" he said, in an off-hand way. \"I\nthink that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will look.\"\nHe whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about the room\non his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin nose\nonly a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes gleaming and\ndeep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and furtive were his\nmovements, like those of a trained blood-hound picking out a scent,\nthat I could not but think what a terrible criminal he would have made\nhad he turned his energy and sagacity against the law, instead of\nexerting them in its defense. As he hunted about, he kept muttering to\nhimself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow of delight.\n\n\"We are certainly in luck,\" said he. \"We ought to have very little\ntrouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the\ncreosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here\nat the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked,\nYou see, and the stuff has leaked out.\"\n\n\"What then?\" I asked.\n\n\"Why, we have got him, that\'s all,\" said he. \"I know a dog that would\nfollow that scent to the world\'s end. If a pack can track a trailed\nherring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow so\npungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of three.\nThe answer should give us the--But halloo! here are the accredited\nrepresentatives of the law.\"\n\nHeavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below, and\nthe hall door shut with a loud crash.\n\n\"Before they come,\" said Holmes, \"just put your hand here on this poor\nfellow\'s arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?\"\n\n\"The muscles are as hard as a board,\" I answered.\n\n\"Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding\nthe usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face, this\nHippocratic smile, or \'risus sardonicus,\' as the old writers called it,\nwhat conclusion would it suggest to your mind?\"\n\n\"Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid,\" I answered,--\"some\nstrychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus.\"\n\n\"That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the drawn\nmuscles of the face. On getting into the room I at once looked for the\nmeans by which the poison had entered the system. As you saw, I\ndiscovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force\ninto the scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which would\nbe turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect in his\nchair. Now examine the thorn.\"\n\nI took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was\nlong, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though\nsome gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had been trimmed\nand rounded off with a knife.\n\n\"Is that an English thorn?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, it certainly is not.\"\n\n\"With all these data you should be able to draw some just inference.\nBut here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces may beat a retreat.\"\n\nAs he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on\nthe passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode heavily\ninto the room. He was red-faced, burly and plethoric, with a pair of\nvery small twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from between swollen\nand puffy pouches. He was closely followed by an inspector in uniform,\nand by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.\n\n\"Here\'s a business!\" he cried, in a muffled, husky voice. \"Here\'s a\npretty business! But who are all these? Why, the house seems to be as\nfull as a rabbit-warren!\"\n\n\"I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones,\" said Holmes,\nquietly.\n\n\"Why, of course I do!\" he wheezed. \"It\'s Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the\ntheorist. Remember you! I\'ll never forget how you lectured us all on\ncauses and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. It\'s\ntrue you set us on the right track; but you\'ll own now that it was more\nby good luck than good guidance.\"\n\n\"It was a piece of very simple reasoning.\"\n\n\"Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is all\nthis? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts here,--no room for\ntheories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood over another\ncase! I was at the station when the message arrived. What d\'you think\nthe man died of?\"\n\n\"Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over,\" said Holmes, dryly.\n\n\"No, no. Still, we can\'t deny that you hit the nail on the head\nsometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a\nmillion missing. How was the window?\"\n\n\"Fastened; but there are steps on the sill.\"\n\n\"Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do with\nthe matter. That\'s common sense. Man might have died in a fit; but\nthen the jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come\nupon me at times.--Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr. Sholto.\nYour friend can remain.--What do you think of this, Holmes? Sholto\nwas, on his own confession, with his brother last night. The brother\ndied in a fit, on which Sholto walked off with the treasure. How\'s\nthat?\"\n\n\"On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door on\nthe inside.\"\n\n\"Hum! There\'s a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the matter.\nThis Thaddeus Sholto WAS with his brother; there WAS a quarrel; so much\nwe know. The brother is dead and the jewels are gone. So much also we\nknow. No one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him. His bed\nhad not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most disturbed state\nof mind. His appearance is--well, not attractive. You see that I am\nweaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins to close upon him.\"\n\n\"You are not quite in possession of the facts yet,\" said Holmes. \"This\nsplinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to be poisoned,\nwas in the man\'s scalp where you still see the mark; this card,\ninscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside it lay this\nrather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fit into\nyour theory?\"\n\n\"Confirms it in every respect,\" said the fat detective, pompously.\n\"House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and if\nthis splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as well have made murderous use\nof it as any other man. The card is some hocus-pocus,--a blind, as\nlike as not. The only question is, how did he depart? Ah, of course,\nhere is a hole in the roof.\" With great activity, considering his\nbulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed through into the garret, and\nimmediately afterwards we heard his exulting voice proclaiming that he\nhad found the trap-door.\n\n\"He can find something,\" remarked Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. \"He\nhas occasional glimmerings of reason. _Il n\'y a pas des sots si\nincommodes que ceux qui ont de l\'esprit!_\"\n\n\"You see!\" said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the steps again.\n\"Facts are better than mere theories, after all. My view of the case\nis confirmed. There is a trap-door communicating with the roof, and it\nis partly open.\"\n\n\"It was I who opened it.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?\" He seemed a little crestfallen\nat the discovery. \"Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our\ngentleman got away. Inspector!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" from the passage.\n\n\"Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.--Mr. Sholto, it is my duty to inform\nyou that anything which you may say will be used against you. I arrest\nyou in the queen\'s name as being concerned in the death of your\nbrother.\"\n\n\"There, now! Didn\'t I tell you!\" cried the poor little man, throwing\nout his hands, and looking from one to the other of us.\n\n\"Don\'t trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto,\" said Holmes. \"I think\nthat I can engage to clear you of the charge.\"\n\n\"Don\'t promise too much, Mr. Theorist,--don\'t promise too much!\"\nsnapped the detective. \"You may find it a harder matter than you\nthink.\"\n\n\"Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free\npresent of the name and description of one of the two people who were\nin this room last night. His name, I have every reason to believe, is\nJonathan Small. He is a poorly-educated man, small, active, with his\nright leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the\ninner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with an iron\nband round the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has\nbeen a convict. These few indications may be of some assistance to\nyou, coupled with the fact that there is a good deal of skin missing\nfrom the palm of his hand. The other man--\"\n\n\"Ah! the other man--?\" asked Athelney Jones, in a sneering voice, but\nimpressed none the less, as I could easily see, by the precision of the\nother\'s manner.\n\n\"Is a rather curious person,\" said Sherlock Holmes, turning upon his\nheel. \"I hope before very long to be able to introduce you to the pair\nof them.--A word with you, Watson.\"\n\nHe led me out to the head of the stair. \"This unexpected occurrence,\"\nhe said, \"has caused us rather to lose sight of the original purpose of\nour journey.\"\n\n\"I have just been thinking so,\" I answered. \"It is not right that Miss\nMorstan should remain in this stricken house.\"\n\n\"No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester,\nin Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far. I will wait for you here\nif you will drive out again. Or perhaps you are too tired?\"\n\n\"By no means. I don\'t think I could rest until I know more of this\nfantastic business. I have seen something of the rough side of life,\nbut I give you my word that this quick succession of strange surprises\nto-night has shaken my nerve completely. I should like, however, to\nsee the matter through with you, now that I have got so far.\"\n\n\"Your presence will be of great service to me,\" he answered. \"We shall\nwork the case out independently, and leave this fellow Jones to exult\nover any mare\'s-nest which he may choose to construct. When you have\ndropped Miss Morstan I wish you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, down\nnear the water\'s edge at Lambeth. The third house on the right-hand\nside is a bird-stuffer\'s: Sherman is the name. You will see a weasel\nholding a young rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman up, and tell\nhim, with my compliments, that I want Toby at once. You will bring\nToby back in the cab with you.\"\n\n\"A dog, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Yes,--a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of scent. I would\nrather have Toby\'s help than that of the whole detective force of\nLondon.\"\n\n\"I shall bring him, then,\" said I. \"It is one now. I ought to be back\nbefore three, if I can get a fresh horse.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said Holmes, \"shall see what I can learn from Mrs. Bernstone,\nand from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell me, sleeps in the\nnext garret. Then I shall study the great Jones\'s methods and listen\nto his not too delicate sarcasms. \'Wir sind gewohnt das die Menschen\nverhoehnen was sie nicht verstehen.\' Goethe is always pithy.\"\n\n\n\nChapter VII\n\nThe Episode of the Barrel\n\nThe police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted Miss\nMorstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she had\nborne trouble with a calm face as long as there was some one weaker\nthan herself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the\nside of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first\nturned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping,--so sorely had\nshe been tried by the adventures of the night. She has told me since\nthat she thought me cold and distant upon that journey. She little\nguessed the struggle within my breast, or the effort of self-restraint\nwhich held me back. My sympathies and my love went out to her, even as\nmy hand had in the garden. I felt that years of the conventionalities\nof life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave nature as had this\none day of strange experiences. Yet there were two thoughts which\nsealed the words of affection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless,\nshaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to\nobtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse still, she was rich. If\nHolmes\'s researches were successful, she would be an heiress. Was it\nfair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon should take such\nadvantage of an intimacy which chance had brought about? Might she not\nlook upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I could not bear to risk\nthat such a thought should cross her mind. This Agra treasure\nintervened like an impassable barrier between us.\n\nIt was nearly two o\'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forrester\'s. The\nservants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so\ninterested by the strange message which Miss Morstan had received that\nshe had sat up in the hope of her return. She opened the door herself,\na middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderly\nher arm stole round the other\'s waist and how motherly was the voice in\nwhich she greeted her. She was clearly no mere paid dependant, but an\nhonored friend. I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged\nme to step in and tell her our adventures. I explained, however, the\nimportance of my errand, and promised faithfully to call and report any\nprogress which we might make with the case. As we drove away I stole a\nglance back, and I still seem to see that little group on the step, the\ntwo graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened door, the hall light\nshining through stained glass, the barometer, and the bright\nstair-rods. It was soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of a\ntranquil English home in the midst of the wild, dark business which had\nabsorbed us.\n\nAnd the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it\ngrew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I\nrattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. There was the original\nproblem: that at least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain\nMorstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the letter,--we\nhad had light upon all those events. They had only led us, however, to\na deeper and far more tragic mystery. The Indian treasure, the curious\nplan found among Morstan\'s baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto\'s\ndeath, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the\nmurder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to the\ncrime, the footsteps, the remarkable weapons, the words upon the card,\ncorresponding with those upon Captain Morstan\'s chart,--here was indeed\na labyrinth in which a man less singularly endowed than my\nfellow-lodger might well despair of ever finding the clue.\n\nPinchin Lane was a row of shabby two-storied brick houses in the lower\nquarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at No. 3 before I\ncould make my impression. At last, however, there was the glint of a\ncandle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the upper window.\n\n\"Go on, you drunken vagabone,\" said the face. \"If you kick up any more\nrow I\'ll open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon you.\"\n\n\"If you\'ll let one out it\'s just what I have come for,\" said I.\n\n\"Go on!\" yelled the voice. \"So help me gracious, I have a wiper in the\nbag, an\' I\'ll drop it on your \'ead if you don\'t hook it.\"\n\n\"But I want a dog,\" I cried.\n\n\"I won\'t be argued with!\" shouted Mr. Sherman. \"Now stand clear, for\nwhen I say \'three,\' down goes the wiper.\"\n\n\"Mr. Sherlock Holmes--\" I began, but the words had a most magical\neffect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute the\ndoor was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a lanky, lean old man,\nwith stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses.\n\n\"A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome,\" said he. \"Step in, sir.\nKeep clear of the badger; for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty, would\nyou take a nip at the gentleman?\" This to a stoat which thrust its\nwicked head and red eyes between the bars of its cage. \"Don\'t mind\nthat, sir: it\'s only a slow-worm. It hain\'t got no fangs, so I gives\nit the run o\' the room, for it keeps the beetles down. You must not\nmind my bein\' just a little short wi\' you at first, for I\'m guyed at by\nthe children, and there\'s many a one just comes down this lane to knock\nme up. What was it that Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?\"\n\n\"He wanted a dog of yours.\"\n\n\"Ah! that would be Toby.\"\n\n\"Yes, Toby was the name.\"\n\n\"Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here.\" He moved slowly forward with\nhis candle among the queer animal family which he had gathered round\nhim. In the uncertain, shadowy light I could see dimly that there were\nglancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at us from every cranny and\ncorner. Even the rafters above our heads were lined by solemn fowls,\nwho lazily shifted their weight from one leg to the other as our voices\ndisturbed their slumbers.\n\nToby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel\nand half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a very clumsy waddling\ngait. It accepted after some hesitation a lump of sugar which the old\nnaturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an alliance, it\nfollowed me to the cab, and made no difficulties about accompanying me.\nIt had just struck three on the Palace clock when I found myself back\nonce more at Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I\nfound, been arrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had\nbeen marched off to the station. Two constables guarded the narrow\ngate, but they allowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the\ndetective\'s name.\n\nHolmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in his pockets,\nsmoking his pipe.\n\n\"Ah, you have him there!\" said he. \"Good dog, then! Atheney Jones has\ngone. We have had an immense display of energy since you left. He has\narrested not only friend Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper, the housekeeper,\nand the Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves, but for a\nsergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog here, and come up.\"\n\nWe tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. The room\nwas as he had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the\ncentral figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the corner.\n\n\"Lend me your bull\'s-eye, sergeant,\" said my companion. \"Now tie this\nbit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank you.\nNow I must kick off my boots and stockings.--Just you carry them down\nwith you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And dip my\nhandkerchief into the creasote. That will do. Now come up into the\ngarret with me for a moment.\"\n\nWe clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once more\nupon the footsteps in the dust.\n\n\"I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks,\" he said. \"Do you\nobserve anything noteworthy about them?\"\n\n\"They belong,\" I said, \"to a child or a small woman.\"\n\n\"Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?\"\n\n\"They appear to be much as other footmarks.\"\n\n\"Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in the\ndust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chief\ndifference?\"\n\n\"Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toe\ndistinctly divided.\"\n\n\"Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would you\nkindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the\nwood-work? I shall stay here, as I have this handkerchief in my hand.\"\n\nI did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry\nsmell.\n\n\"That is where he put his foot in getting out. If YOU can trace him, I\nshould think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run down-stairs,\nloose the dog, and look out for Blondin.\"\n\nBy the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on the\nroof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling very\nslowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of\nchimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanished once more upon\nthe opposite side. When I made my way round there I found him seated\nat one of the corner eaves.\n\n\"That you, Watson?\" he cried.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"This is the place. What is that black thing down there?\"\n\n\"A water-barrel.\"\n\n\"Top on it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"No sign of a ladder?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Confound the fellow! It\'s a most break-neck place. I ought to be\nable to come down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels pretty\nfirm. Here goes, anyhow.\"\n\nThere was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadily\ndown the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came on to the\nbarrel, and from there to the earth.\n\n\"It was easy to follow him,\" he said, drawing on his stockings and\nboots. \"Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry he\nhad dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express it.\"\n\nThe object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch woven out\nof colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it. In\nshape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were half a\ndozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other,\nlike that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.\n\n\"They are hellish things,\" said he. \"Look out that you don\'t prick\nyourself. I\'m delighted to have them, for the chances are that they\nare all he has. There is the less fear of you or me finding one in our\nskin before long. I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself. Are\nyou game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" I answered.\n\n\"Your leg will stand it?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes.\"\n\n\"Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!\" He\npushed the creasote handkerchief under the dog\'s nose, while the\ncreature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most comical\ncock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of a famous\nvintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief to a distance, fastened a\nstout cord to the mongrel\'s collar, and led him to the foot of the\nwater-barrel. The creature instantly broke into a succession of high,\ntremulous yelps, and, with his nose on the ground, and his tail in the\nair, pattered off upon the trail at a pace which strained his leash and\nkept us at the top of our speed.\n\nThe east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see some\ndistance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with its\nblack, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and forlorn,\nbehind us. Our course led right across the grounds, in and out among\nthe trenches and pits with which they were scarred and intersected.\nThe whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs,\nhad a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized with the black tragedy\nwhich hung over it.\n\nOn reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,\nunderneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by a\nyoung beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had been\nloosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon the\nlower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder.\nHolmes clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it over\nupon the other side.\n\n\"There\'s the print of wooden-leg\'s hand,\" he remarked, as I mounted up\nbeside him. \"You see the slight smudge of blood upon the white\nplaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rain\nsince yesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of their\neight-and-twenty hours\' start.\"\n\nI confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the great\ntraffic which had passed along the London road in the interval. My\nfears were soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated or swerved,\nbut waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly, the pungent\nsmell of the creasote rose high above all other contending scents.\n\n\"Do not imagine,\" said Holmes, \"that I depend for my success in this\ncase upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his foot\nin the chemical. I have knowledge now which would enable me to trace\nthem in many different ways. This, however, is the readiest and, since\nfortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if I neglected\nit. It has, however, prevented the case from becoming the pretty\nlittle intellectual problem which it at one time promised to be. There\nmight have been some credit to be gained out of it, but for this too\npalpable clue.\"\n\n\"There is credit, and to spare,\" said I. \"I assure you, Holmes, that I\nmarvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case, even\nmore than I did in the Jefferson Hope Murder. The thing seems to me to\nbe deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could you describe\nwith such confidence the wooden-legged man?\"\n\n\"Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don\'t wish to be\ntheatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers who are in\ncommand of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buried\ntreasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named Jonathan\nSmall. You remember that we saw the name upon the chart in Captain\nMorstan\'s possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself and his\nassociates,--the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called\nit. Aided by this chart, the officers--or one of them--gets the\ntreasure and brings it to England, leaving, we will suppose, some\ncondition under which he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did\nnot Jonathan Small get the treasure himself? The answer is obvious.\nThe chart is dated at a time when Morstan was brought into close\nassociation with convicts. Jonathan Small did not get the treasure\nbecause he and his associates were themselves convicts and could not\nget away.\"\n\n\"But that is mere speculation,\" said I.\n\n\"It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which covers the\nfacts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholto\nremains at peace for some years, happy in the possession of his\ntreasure. Then he receives a letter from India which gives him a great\nfright. What was that?\"\n\n\"A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set free.\"\n\n\"Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would have known\nwhat their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been a surprise\nto him. What does he do then? He guards himself against a\nwooden-legged man,--a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white\ntradesman for him, and actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one\nwhite man\'s name is on the chart. The others are Hindoos or\nMohammedans. There is no other white man. Therefore we may say with\nconfidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with Jonathan Small.\nDoes the reasoning strike you as being faulty?\"\n\n\"No: it is clear and concise.\"\n\n\"Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let us\nlook at it from his point of view. He comes to England with the double\nidea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and of having\nhis revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He found out where\nSholto lived, and very possibly he established communications with some\none inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao, whom we have not\nseen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a good character. Small could\nnot find out, however, where the treasure was hid, for no one ever\nknew, save the major and one faithful servant who had died. Suddenly\nSmall learns that the major is on his death-bed. In a frenzy lest the\nsecret of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of the\nguards, makes his way to the dying man\'s window, and is only deterred\nfrom entering by the presence of his two sons. Mad with hate, however,\nagainst the dead man, he enters the room that night, searches his\nprivate papers in the hope of discovering some memorandum relating to\nthe treasure, and finally leaves a momento of his visit in the short\ninscription upon the card. He had doubtless planned beforehand that\nshould he slay the major he would leave some such record upon the body\nas a sign that it was not a common murder, but, from the point of view\nof the four associates, something in the nature of an act of justice.\nWhimsical and bizarre conceits of this kind are common enough in the\nannals of crime, and usually afford valuable indications as to the\ncriminal. Do you follow all this?\"\n\n\"Very clearly.\"\n\n\"Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could only continue to keep a\nsecret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly he\nleaves England and only comes back at intervals. Then comes the\ndiscovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We again\ntrace the presence of some confederate in the household. Jonathan,\nwith his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the lofty room of\nBartholomew Sholto. He takes with him, however, a rather curious\nassociate, who gets over this difficulty, but dips his naked foot into\ncreasote, whence comes Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay officer\nwith a damaged tendo Achillis.\"\n\n\"But it was the associate, and not Jonathan, who committed the crime.\"\n\n\"Quite so. And rather to Jonathan\'s disgust, to judge by the way he\nstamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudge against\nBartholomew Sholto, and would have preferred if he could have been\nsimply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a halter.\nThere was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of his\ncompanion had broken out, and the poison had done its work: so\nJonathan Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to the ground,\nand followed it himself. That was the train of events as far as I can\ndecipher them. Of course as to his personal appearance he must be\nmiddle-aged, and must be sunburned after serving his time in such an\noven as the Andamans. His height is readily calculated from the length\nof his stride, and we know that he was bearded. His hairiness was the\none point which impressed itself upon Thaddeus Sholto when he saw him\nat the window. I don\'t know that there is anything else.\"\n\n\"The associate?\"\n\n\"Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will know all\nabout it soon enough. How sweet the morning air is! See how that one\nlittle cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo.\nNow the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank.\nIt shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a\nstranger errand than you and I. How small we feel with our petty\nambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces\nof nature! Are you well up in your Jean Paul?\"\n\n\"Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle.\"\n\n\"That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makes one\ncurious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof of man\'s real\ngreatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. It argues, you\nsee, a power of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself a\nproof of nobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You\nhave not a pistol, have you?\"\n\n\"I have my stick.\"\n\n\"It is just possible that we may need something of the sort if we get\nto their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if the other turns\nnasty I shall shoot him dead.\" He took out his revolver as he spoke,\nand, having loaded two of the chambers, he put it back into the\nright-hand pocket of his jacket.\n\nWe had during this time been following the guidance of Toby down the\nhalf-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now,\nhowever, we were beginning to come among continuous streets, where\nlaborers and dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women were\ntaking down shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped\ncorner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-looking men\nwere emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after their\nmorning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as\nwe passed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor to\nthe left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the ground and an\noccasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent.\n\nWe had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now found\nourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the\nside-streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued seemed\nto have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of\nescaping observation. They had never kept to the main road if a\nparallel side-street would serve their turn. At the foot of Kennington\nLane they had edged away to the left through Bond Street and Miles\nStreet. Where the latter street turns into Knight\'s Place, Toby ceased\nto advance, but began to run backwards and forwards with one ear cocked\nand the other drooping, the very picture of canine indecision. Then he\nwaddled round in circles, looking up to us from time to time, as if to\nask for sympathy in his embarrassment.\n\n\"What the deuce is the matter with the dog?\" growled Holmes. \"They\nsurely would not take a cab, or go off in a balloon.\"\n\n\"Perhaps they stood here for some time,\" I suggested.\n\n\"Ah! it\'s all right. He\'s off again,\" said my companion, in a tone of\nrelief.\n\nHe was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made up\nhis mind, and darted away with an energy and determination such as he\nhad not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before,\nfor he had not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his\nleash and tried to break into a run. I cold see by the gleam in\nHolmes\'s eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of our journey.\n\nOur course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick and\nNelson\'s large timber-yard, just past the White Eagle tavern. Here the\ndog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gate into\nthe enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the dog\nraced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a passage,\nbetween two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp, sprang\nupon a large barrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on which it\nhad been brought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes, Toby stood\nupon the cask, looking from one to the other of us for some sign of\nappreciation. The staves of the barrel and the wheels of the trolley\nwere smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was heavy with the\nsmell of creasote.\n\nSherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other, and then burst\nsimultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.\n\n\n\nChapter VIII\n\nThe Baker Street Irregulars\n\n\"What now?\" I asked. \"Toby has lost his character for infallibility.\"\n\n\"He acted according to his lights,\" said Holmes, lifting him down from\nthe barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. \"If you consider\nhow much creasote is carted about London in one day, it is no great\nwonder that our trail should have been crossed. It is much used now,\nespecially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to blame.\"\n\n\"We must get on the main scent again, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently what\npuzzled the dog at the corner of Knight\'s Place was that there were two\ndifferent trails running in opposite directions. We took the wrong one.\nIt only remains to follow the other.\"\n\nThere was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place where\nhe had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finally\ndashed off in a fresh direction.\n\n\"We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where the\ncreasote-barrel came from,\" I observed.\n\n\"I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the pavement,\nwhereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the true\nscent now.\"\n\nIt tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont Place\nand Prince\'s Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to\nthe water\'s edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to\nthe very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the dark\ncurrent beyond.\n\n\"We are out of luck,\" said Holmes. \"They have taken to a boat here.\"\nSeveral small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on the\nedge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but, though he\nsniffed earnestly, he made no sign.\n\nClose to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a wooden\nplacard slung out through the second window. \"Mordecai Smith\" was\nprinted across it in large letters, and, underneath, \"Boats to hire by\nthe hour or day.\" A second inscription above the door informed us that\na steam launch was kept,--a statement which was confirmed by a great\npile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked slowly round, and\nhis face assumed an ominous expression.\n\n\"This looks bad,\" said he. \"These fellows are sharper than I expected.\nThey seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I fear, been\npreconcerted management here.\"\n\nHe was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a little,\ncurly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a stoutish,\nred-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.\n\n\"You come back and be washed, Jack,\" she shouted. \"Come back, you\nyoung imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that, he\'ll\nlet us hear of it.\"\n\n\"Dear little chap!\" said Holmes, strategically. \"What a rosy-cheeked\nyoung rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would like?\"\n\nThe youth pondered for a moment. \"I\'d like a shillin\',\" said he.\n\n\"Nothing you would like better?\"\n\n\"I\'d like two shillin\' better,\" the prodigy answered, after some\nthought.\n\n\"Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs. Smith!\"\n\n\"Lor\' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a\'most too much\nfor me to manage, \'specially when my man is away days at a time.\"\n\n\"Away, is he?\" said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. \"I am sorry for\nthat, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith.\"\n\n\"He\'s been away since yesterday mornin\', sir, and, truth to tell, I am\nbeginnin\' to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a boat,\nsir, maybe I could serve as well.\"\n\n\"I wanted to hire his steam launch.\"\n\n\"Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone.\nThat\'s what puzzles me; for I know there ain\'t more coals in her than\nwould take her to about Woolwich and back. If he\'d been away in the\nbarge I\'d ha\' thought nothin\'; for many a time a job has taken him as\nfar as Gravesend, and then if there was much doin\' there he might ha\'\nstayed over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?\"\n\n\"He might have bought some at a wharf down the river.\"\n\n\"He might, sir, but it weren\'t his way. Many a time I\'ve heard him\ncall out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I don\'t\nlike that wooden-legged man, wi\' his ugly face and outlandish talk.\nWhat did he want always knockin\' about here for?\"\n\n\"A wooden-legged man?\" said Holmes, with bland surprise.\n\n\"Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that\'s called more\'n once for my\nold man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and, what\'s more,\nmy man knew he was comin\', for he had steam up in the launch. I tell\nyou straight, sir, I don\'t feel easy in my mind about it.\"\n\n\"But, my dear Mrs. Smith,\" said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, \"You\nare frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell\nthat it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don\'t quite\nunderstand how you can be so sure.\"\n\n\"His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o\' thick and foggy.\nHe tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. \'Show a leg,\nmatey,\' says he: \'time to turn out guard.\' My old man woke up\nJim,--that\'s my eldest,--and away they went, without so much as a word\nto me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin\' on the stones.\"\n\n\"And was this wooden-legged man alone?\"\n\n\"Couldn\'t say, I am sure, sir. I didn\'t hear no one else.\"\n\n\"I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have heard\ngood reports of the--Let me see, what is her name?\"\n\n\"The Aurora, sir.\"\n\n\"Ah! She\'s not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad in\nthe beam?\"\n\n\"No, indeed. She\'s as trim a little thing as any on the river. She\'s\nbeen fresh painted, black with two red streaks.\"\n\n\"Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am going\ndown the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall let\nhim know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?\"\n\n\"No, sir. Black with a white band.\"\n\n\"Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs.\nSmith.--There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take\nit and cross the river.\n\n\"The main thing with people of that sort,\" said Holmes, as we sat in\nthe sheets of the wherry, \"is never to let them think that their\ninformation can be of the slightest importance to you. If you do, they\nwill instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them under\nprotest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want.\"\n\n\"Our course now seems pretty clear,\" said I.\n\n\"What would you do, then?\"\n\n\"I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of the\nAurora.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched at\nany wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich.\nBelow the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for\nmiles. It would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you set\nabout it alone.\"\n\n\"Employ the police, then.\"\n\n\"No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He is\nnot a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would\ninjure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working it out\nmyself, now that we have gone so far.\"\n\n\"Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?\"\n\n\"Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at their\nheels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are\nlikely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly\nsafe they will be in no hurry. Jones\'s energy will be of use to us\nthere, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily\npress, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrong\nscent.\"\n\n\"What are we to do, then?\" I asked, as we landed near Millbank\nPenitentiary.\n\n\"Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour\'s\nsleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again.\nStop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be of\nuse to us yet.\"\n\nWe pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes\ndespatched his wire. \"Whom do you think that is to?\" he asked, as we\nresumed our journey.\n\n\"I am sure I don\'t know.\"\n\n\"You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force\nwhom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, laughing.\n\n\"This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail, I\nhave other resources; but I shall try them first. That wire was to my\ndirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gang\nwill be with us before we have finished our breakfast.\"\n\nIt was between eight and nine o\'clock now, and I was conscious of a\nstrong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was\nlimp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the\nprofessional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I look\nat the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as the\ndeath of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him, and\ncould feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure,\nhowever, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged\nrightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it\nI was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it\nit would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a\npetty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as\nthat. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold\nstronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.\n\nA bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up\nwonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid\nand Homes pouring out the coffee.\n\n\"Here it is,\" said he, laughing, and pointing to an open newspaper.\n\"The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up\nbetween them. But you have had enough of the case. Better have your\nham and eggs first.\"\n\nI took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed\n\"Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood.\"\n\n\"About twelve o\'clock last night,\" said the Standard, \"Mr. Bartholomew\nSholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead in his room\nunder circumstances which point to foul play. As far as we can learn,\nno actual traces of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto\'s person, but a\nvaluable collection of Indian gems which the deceased gentleman had\ninherited from his father has been carried off. The discovery was\nfirst made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at the\nhouse with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular\npiece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member of the\ndetective police force, happened to be at the Norwood Police Station,\nand was on the ground within half an hour of the first alarm. His\ntrained and experienced faculties were at once directed towards the\ndetection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that the\nbrother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested, together with the\nhousekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a\nporter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the\nthief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones\'s\nwell-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation\nhave enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not\nhave entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their way\nacross the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into a room\nwhich communicated with that in which the body was found. This fact,\nwhich has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that it was\nno mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of the\nofficers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on such\noccasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but think\nthat it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our\ndetectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and more\neffective touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate.\"\n\n\"Isn\'t it gorgeous!\" said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup. \"What\ndo you think of it?\"\n\n\"I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested for\nthe crime.\"\n\n\"So do I. I wouldn\'t answer for our safety now, if he should happen to\nhave another of his attacks of energy.\"\n\nAt this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs.\nHudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation and\ndismay.\n\n\"By heaven, Holmes,\" I said, half rising, \"I believe that they are\nreally after us.\"\n\n\"No, it\'s not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force,--the\nBaker Street irregulars.\"\n\nAs he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the\nstairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and\nragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline among\nthem, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in\nline and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number,\ntaller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of lounging\nsuperiority which was very funny in such a disreputable little\nscarecrow.\n\n\"Got your message, sir,\" said he, \"and brought \'em on sharp. Three bob\nand a tanner for tickets.\"\n\n\"Here you are,\" said Holmes, producing some silver. \"In future they\ncan report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house\ninvaded in this way. However, it is just as well that you should all\nhear the instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a steam\nlaunch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red\nstreaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down the river\nsomewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith\'s landing-stage\nopposite Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You must divide it\nout among yourselves, and do both banks thoroughly. Let me know the\nmoment you have news. Is that all clear?\"\n\n\"Yes, guv\'nor,\" said Wiggins.\n\n\"The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat.\nHere\'s a day in advance. Now off you go!\" He handed them a shilling\neach, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw them a moment\nlater streaming down the street.\n\n\"If the launch is above water they will find her,\" said Holmes, as he\nrose from the table and lit his pipe. \"They can go everywhere, see\neverything, overhear every one. I expect to hear before evening that\nthey have spotted her. In the mean while, we can do nothing but await\nresults. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the\nAurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith.\"\n\n\"Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed,\nHolmes?\"\n\n\"No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never remember\nfeeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I am\ngoing to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fair\nclient has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours\nought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man\nmust, I should think, be absolutely unique.\"\n\n\"That other man again!\"\n\n\"I have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you, anyway. But you\nmust have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data.\nDiminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet,\nstone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What do\nyou make of all this?\"\n\n\"A savage!\" I exclaimed. \"Perhaps one of those Indians who were the\nassociates of Jonathan Small.\"\n\n\"Hardly that,\" said he. \"When first I saw signs of strange weapons I\nwas inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the footmarks\ncaused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants of the\nIndian Peninsula are small men, but none could have left such marks as\nthat. The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The sandal-wearing\nMohammedan has the great toe well separated from the others, because\nthe thong is commonly passed between. These little darts, too, could\nonly be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where\nare we to find our savage?\"\n\n\"South American,\" I hazarded.\n\nHe stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the shelf.\n\"This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being published.\nIt may be looked upon as the very latest authority. What have we here?\n\'Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra, in the\nBay of Bengal.\' Hum! hum! What\'s all this? Moist climate, coral\nreefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, Rutland Island,\ncottonwoods--Ah, here we are. \'The aborigines of the Andaman Islands\nmay perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest race upon this\nearth, though some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the\nDigger Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The average\nheight is rather below four feet, although many full-grown adults may\nbe found who are very much smaller than this. They are a fierce,\nmorose, and intractable people, though capable of forming most devoted\nfriendships when their confidence has once been gained.\' Mark that,\nWatson. Now, then, listen to this. \'They are naturally hideous,\nhaving large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes, and distorted\nfeatures. Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably small. So\nintractable and fierce are they that all the efforts of the British\nofficial have failed to win them over in any degree. They have always\nbeen a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with their\nstone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. These\nmassacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.\' Nice, amiable\npeople, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his own unaided\ndevices this affair might have taken an even more ghastly turn. I\nfancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small would give a good deal not to\nhave employed him.\"\n\n\"But how came he to have so singular a companion?\"\n\n\"Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had already\ndetermined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is not so very\nwonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubt we shall\nknow all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly done.\nLie down there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to sleep.\"\n\nHe took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he\nbegan to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own, no doubt, for\nhe had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembrance\nof his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow.\nThen I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound,\nuntil I found myself in dream-land, with the sweet face of Mary Morstan\nlooking down upon me.\n\n\n\nChapter IX\n\nA Break in the Chain\n\nIt was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and refreshed.\nSherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, save that he had\nlaid aside his violin and was deep in a book. He looked across at me,\nas I stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and troubled.\n\n\"You have slept soundly,\" he said. \"I feared that our talk would wake\nyou.\"\n\n\"I heard nothing,\" I answered. \"Have you had fresh news, then?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and disappointed. I\nexpected something definite by this time. Wiggins has just been up to\nreport. He says that no trace can be found of the launch. It is a\nprovoking check, for every hour is of importance.\"\n\n\"Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite ready for\nanother night\'s outing.\"\n\n\"No, we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go ourselves, the\nmessage might come in our absence, and delay be caused. You can do\nwhat you will, but I must remain on guard.\"\n\n\"Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs. Cecil\nForrester. She asked me to, yesterday.\"\n\n\"On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?\" asked Holmes, with the twinkle of a smile in\nhis eyes.\n\n\"Well, of course Miss Morstan too. They were anxious to hear what\nhappened.\"\n\n\"I would not tell them too much,\" said Holmes. \"Women are never to be\nentirely trusted,--not the best of them.\"\n\nI did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment. \"I shall be\nback in an hour or two,\" I remarked.\n\n\"All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the river you\nmay as well return Toby, for I don\'t think it is at all likely that we\nshall have any use for him now.\"\n\nI took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together with a\nhalf-sovereign, at the old naturalist\'s in Pinchin Lane. At Camberwell\nI found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night\'s adventures, but\nvery eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was full of\ncuriosity. I told them all that we had done, suppressing, however, the\nmore dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I spoke of Mr.\nSholto\'s death, I said nothing of the exact manner and method of it.\nWith all my omissions, however, there was enough to startle and amaze\nthem.\n\n\"It is a romance!\" cried Mrs. Forrester. \"An injured lady, half a\nmillion in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian.\nThey take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl.\"\n\n\"And two knight-errants to the rescue,\" added Miss Morstan, with a\nbright glance at me.\n\n\"Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search. I don\'t\nthink that you are nearly excited enough. Just imagine what it must be\nto be so rich, and to have the world at your feet!\"\n\nIt sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed no\nsign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave a toss of\nher proud head, as though the matter were one in which she took small\ninterest.\n\n\"It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious,\" she said. \"Nothing\nelse is of any consequence; but I think that he has behaved most kindly\nand honorably throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this dreadful\nand unfounded charge.\"\n\nIt was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the time I\nreached home. My companion\'s book and pipe lay by his chair, but he\nhad disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but\nthere was none.\n\n\"I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out,\" I said to Mrs.\nHudson as she came up to lower the blinds.\n\n\"No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir,\" sinking\nher voice into an impressive whisper, \"I am afraid for his health?\"\n\n\"Why so, Mrs. Hudson?\"\n\n\"Well, he\'s that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he\nwalked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound of\nhis footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering, and\nevery time the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with \'What is\nthat, Mrs. Hudson?\' And now he has slammed off to his room, but I can\nhear him walking away the same as ever. I hope he\'s not going to be\nill, sir. I ventured to say something to him about cooling medicine,\nbut he turned on me, sir, with such a look that I don\'t know how ever I\ngot out of the room.\"\n\n\"I don\'t think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson,\" I\nanswered. \"I have seen him like this before. He has some small matter\nupon his mind which makes him restless.\" I tried to speak lightly to\nour worthy landlady, but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the\nlong night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread,\nand knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this involuntary\ninaction.\n\nAt breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of\nfeverish color upon either cheek.\n\n\"You are knocking yourself up, old man,\" I remarked. \"I heard you\nmarching about in the night.\"\n\n\"No, I could not sleep,\" he answered. \"This infernal problem is\nconsuming me. It is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle,\nwhen all else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch,\neverything; and yet I can get no news. I have set other agencies at\nwork, and used every means at my disposal. The whole river has been\nsearched on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith heard\nof her husband. I shall come to the conclusion soon that they have\nscuttled the craft. But there are objections to that.\"\n\n\"Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent.\"\n\n\"No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries made, and there is\na launch of that description.\"\n\n\"Could it have gone up the river?\"\n\n\"I have considered that possibility too, and there is a search-party\nwho will work up as far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day, I shall\nstart off myself to-morrow, and go for the men rather than the boat.\nBut surely, surely, we shall hear something.\"\n\nWe did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins or from\nthe other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers upon the\nNorwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to the\nunfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found,\nhowever, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the\nfollowing day. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to report\nour ill success to the ladies, and on my return I found Holmes dejected\nand somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my questions, and busied\nhimself all evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved\nmuch heating of retorts and distilling of vapors, ending at last in a\nsmell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. Up to the small hours\nof the morning I could hear the clinking of his test-tubes which told\nme that he was still engaged in his malodorous experiment.\n\nIn the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised to find him\nstanding by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a pea-jacket,\nand a coarse red scarf round his neck.\n\n\"I am off down the river, Watson,\" said he. \"I have been turning it\nover in my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It is worth\ntrying, at all events.\"\n\n\"Surely I can come with you, then?\" said I.\n\n\"No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my\nrepresentative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that\nsome message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondent\nabout it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and to\nact on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon you?\"\n\n\"Most certainly.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can hardly\ntell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I may not\nbe gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort or other before I\nget back.\"\n\nI had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On opening the Standard,\nhowever, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the business.\n\"With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy,\" it remarked, \"we have\nreason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex and\nmysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has shown that\nit is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been in any\nway concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone,\nwere both released yesterday evening. It is believed, however, that\nthe police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that it is being\nprosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his\nwell-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at any\nmoment.\"\n\n\"That is satisfactory so far as it goes,\" thought I. \"Friend Sholto is\nsafe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be; though it\nseems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made a blunder.\"\n\nI tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye\ncaught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:\n\n\"Lost.--Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son, Jim, left Smith\'s\nWharf at or about three o\'clock last Tuesday morning in the steam\nlaunch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white\nband, the sum of five pounds will be paid to any one who can give\ninformation to Mrs. Smith, at Smith\'s Wharf, or at 221b Baker Street,\nas to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the launch Aurora.\"\n\nThis was clearly Holmes\'s doing. The Baker Street address was enough\nto prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious, because it might be\nread by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural\nanxiety of a wife for her missing husband.\n\nIt was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door, or a\nsharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes\nreturning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my\nthoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted\nand villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there be, I wondered,\nsome radical flaw in my companion\'s reasoning. Might he be suffering\nfrom some huge self-deception? Was it not possible that his nimble and\nspeculative mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises? I\nhad never known him to be wrong; and yet the keenest reasoner may\noccasionally be deceived. He was likely, I thought, to fall into error\nthrough the over-refinement of his logic,--his preference for a subtle\nand bizarre explanation when a plainer and more commonplace one lay\nready to his hand. Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen the\nevidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions. When I\nlooked back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them\ntrivial in themselves, but all tending in the same direction, I could\nnot disguise from myself that even if Holmes\'s explanation were\nincorrect the true theory must be equally outre and startling.\n\nAt three o\'clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, an\nauthoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person\nthan Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was he,\nhowever, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who\nhad taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His\nexpression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.\n\n\"Good-day, sir; good-day,\" said he. \"Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you would\ncare to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars.\"\n\n\"Thank you; I don\'t mind if I do,\" said he, mopping his face with a red\nbandanna handkerchief.\n\n\"And a whiskey-and-soda?\"\n\n\"Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and I have\nhad a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this\nNorwood case?\"\n\n\"I remember that you expressed one.\"\n\n\"Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn\ntightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the\nmiddle of it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken.\nFrom the time that he left his brother\'s room he was never out of sight\nof some one or other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and\nthrough trap-doors. It\'s a very dark case, and my professional credit\nis at stake. I should be very glad of a little assistance.\"\n\n\"We all need help sometimes,\" said I.\n\n\"Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man, sir,\" said he, in\na husky and confidential voice. \"He\'s a man who is not to be beat. I\nhave known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never saw\nthe case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in\nhis methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on\nthe whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I\ndon\'t care who knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by\nwhich I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business.\nHere is the message.\"\n\nHe took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. It was\ndated from Poplar at twelve o\'clock. \"Go to Baker Street at once,\" it\nsaid. \"If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track\nof the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be in\nat the finish.\"\n\n\"This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again,\" said I.\n\n\"Ah, then he has been at fault too,\" exclaimed Jones, with evident\nsatisfaction. \"Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of\ncourse this may prove to be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an\nofficer of the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is some one at\nthe door. Perhaps this is he.\"\n\nA heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and\nrattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or\ntwice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at\nlast he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance\ncorresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man,\nclad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his\nthroat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing\nwas painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his\nshoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had\na colored scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face save\na pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and long gray\nside-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a respectable\nmaster mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.\n\n\"What is it, my man?\" I asked.\n\nHe looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.\n\n\"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?\" said he.\n\n\"No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you have for\nhim.\"\n\n\"It was to him himself I was to tell it,\" said he.\n\n\"But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai\nSmith\'s boat?\"\n\n\"Yes. I knows well where it is. An\' I knows where the men he is after\nare. An\' I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it.\"\n\n\"Then tell me, and I shall let him know.\"\n\n\"It was to him I was to tell it,\" he repeated, with the petulant\nobstinacy of a very old man.\n\n\"Well, you must wait for him.\"\n\n\"No, no; I ain\'t goin\' to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr.\nHolmes ain\'t here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself. I\ndon\'t care about the look of either of you, and I won\'t tell a word.\"\n\nHe shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.\n\n\"Wait a bit, my friend,\" said he. \"You have important information, and\nyou must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or not,\nuntil our friend returns.\"\n\nThe old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney Jones\nput his broad back up against it, he recognized the uselessness of\nresistance.\n\n\"Pretty sort o\' treatment this!\" he cried, stamping his stick. \"I come\nhere to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my life, seize\nme and treat me in this fashion!\"\n\n\"You will be none the worse,\" I said. \"We shall recompense you for the\nloss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not have\nlong to wait.\"\n\nHe came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with his face\nresting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk.\nSuddenly, however, Holmes\'s voice broke in upon us.\n\n\"I think that you might offer me a cigar too,\" he said.\n\nWe both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us\nwith an air of quiet amusement.\n\n\"Holmes!\" I exclaimed. \"You here! But where is the old man?\"\n\n\"Here is the old man,\" said he, holding out a heap of white hair. \"Here\nhe is,--wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise was\npretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that test.\"\n\n\"Ah, You rogue!\" cried Jones, highly delighted. \"You would have made\nan actor, and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and\nthose weak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew\nthe glint of your eye, though. You didn\'t get away from us so easily,\nYou see.\"\n\n\"I have been working in that get-up all day,\" said he, lighting his\ncigar. \"You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to know\nme,--especially since our friend here took to publishing some of my\ncases: so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise\nlike this. You got my wire?\"\n\n\"Yes; that was what brought me here.\"\n\n\"How has your case prospered?\"\n\n\"It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of my\nprisoners, and there is no evidence against the other two.\"\n\n\"Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them. But\nyou must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to all the\nofficial credit, but you must act on the line that I point out. Is\nthat agreed?\"\n\n\"Entirely, if you will help me to the men.\"\n\n\"Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-boat--a\nsteam launch--to be at the Westminster Stairs at seven o\'clock.\"\n\n\"That is easily managed. There is always one about there; but I can\nstep across the road and telephone to make sure.\"\n\n\"Then I shall want two stanch men, in case of resistance.\"\n\n\"There will be two or three in the boat. What else?\"\n\n\"When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I think that it\nwould be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the\nyoung lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her be the first\nto open it.--Eh, Watson?\"\n\n\"It would be a great pleasure to me.\"\n\n\"Rather an irregular proceeding,\" said Jones, shaking his head.\n\"However, the whole thing is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at\nit. The treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities\nuntil after the official investigation.\"\n\n\"Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I should much\nlike to have a few details about this matter from the lips of Jonathan\nSmall himself. You know I like to work the detail of my cases out.\nThere is no objection to my having an unofficial interview with him,\neither here in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently\nguarded?\"\n\n\"Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yet of the\nexistence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch him I\ndon\'t see how I can refuse you an interview with him.\"\n\n\"That is understood, then?\"\n\n\"Perfectly. Is there anything else?\"\n\n\"Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be ready in half\nan hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a little\nchoice in white wines.--Watson, you have never yet recognized my merits\nas a housekeeper.\"\n\n\n\nChapter X\n\nThe End of the Islander\n\nOur meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he\nchose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of\nnervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on\na quick succession of subjects,--on miracle-plays, on medieval pottery,\non Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the\nwar-ships of the future,--handling each as though he had made a special\nstudy of it. His bright humor marked the reaction from his black\ndepression of the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a\nsociable soul in his hours of relaxation, and faced his dinner with the\nair of a bon vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the thought that we\nwere nearing the end of our task, and I caught something of Holmes\'s\ngaiety. None of us alluded during dinner to the cause which had\nbrought us together.\n\nWhen the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at his watch, and filled up\nthree glasses with port. \"One bumper,\" said he, \"to the success of our\nlittle expedition. And now it is high time we were off. Have you a\npistol, Watson?\"\n\n\"I have my old service-revolver in my desk.\"\n\n\"You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that\nthe cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six.\"\n\nIt was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf, and\nfound our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.\n\n\"Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?\"\n\n\"Yes,--that green lamp at the side.\"\n\n\"Then take it off.\"\n\nThe small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were cast\noff. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at the\nrudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors\nforward.\n\n\"Where to?\" asked Jones.\n\n\"To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite Jacobson\'s Yard.\"\n\nOur craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines\nof loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled with\nsatisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us.\n\n\"We ought to be able to catch anything on the river,\" he said.\n\n\"Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beat us.\"\n\n\"We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name for being a\nclipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect how\nannoyed I was at being balked by so small a thing?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemical\nanalysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of work\nis the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving the\nhydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back to our problem of the\nSholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up\nthe river and down the river without result. The launch was not at any\nlanding-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet it could hardly have\nbeen scuttled to hide their traces,--though that always remained as a\npossible hypothesis if all else failed. I knew this man Small had a\ncertain degree of low cunning, but I did not think him capable of\nanything in the nature of delicate finesse. That is usually a product\nof higher education. I then reflected that since he had certainly been\nin London some time--as we had evidence that he maintained a continual\nwatch over Pondicherry Lodge--he could hardly leave at a moment\'s\nnotice, but would need some little time, if it were only a day, to\narrange his affairs. That was the balance of probability, at any rate.\"\n\n\"It seems to me to be a little weak,\" said I. \"It is more probable\nthat he had arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his\nexpedition.\"\n\n\"No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable a\nretreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was sure that he\ncould do without it. But a second consideration struck me. Jonathan\nSmall must have felt that the peculiar appearance of his companion,\nhowever much he may have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and\npossibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He was quite sharp\nenough to see that. They had started from their head-quarters under\ncover of darkness, and he would wish to get back before it was broad\nlight. Now, it was past three o\'clock, according to Mrs. Smith, when\nthey got the boat. It would be quite bright, and people would be about\nin an hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did not go very far. They\npaid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his launch for the final\nescape, and hurried to their lodgings with the treasure-box. In a\ncouple of nights, when they had time to see what view the papers took,\nand whether there was any suspicion, they would make their way under\ncover of darkness to some ship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no\ndoubt they had already arranged for passages to America or the\nColonies.\"\n\n\"But the launch? They could not have taken that to their lodgings.\"\n\n\"Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, in spite\nof its invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small, and\nlooked at it as a man of his capacity would. He would probably\nconsider that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharf would\nmake pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on his track. How,\nthen, could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted?\nI wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes. I could\nonly think of one way of doing it. I might land the launch over to\nsome boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling\nchange in her. She would then be removed to his shed or yard, and so\nbe effectually concealed, while at the same time I could have her at a\nfew hours\' notice.\"\n\n\"That seems simple enough.\"\n\n\"It is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be\noverlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I started at\nonce in this harmless seaman\'s rig and inquired at all the yards down\nthe river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at the\nsixteenth--Jacobson\'s--I learned that the Aurora had been handed over\nto them two days ago by a wooden-legged man, with some trivial\ndirections as to her rudder. \'There ain\'t naught amiss with her\nrudder,\' said the foreman. \'There she lies, with the red streaks.\' At\nthat moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the missing owner?\nHe was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, of course, have\nknown him, but he bellowed out his name and the name of his launch. \'I\nwant her to-night at eight o\'clock,\' said he,--\'eight o\'clock sharp,\nmind, for I have two gentlemen who won\'t be kept waiting.\' They had\nevidently paid him well, for he was very flush of money, chucking\nshillings about to the men. I followed him some distance, but he\nsubsided into an ale-house: so I went back to the yard, and, happening\nto pick up one of my boys on the way, I stationed him as a sentry over\nthe launch. He is to stand at water\'s edge and wave his handkerchief\nto us when they start. We shall be lying off in the stream, and it\nwill be a strange thing if we do not take men, treasure, and all.\"\n\n\"You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the right men or\nnot,\" said Jones; \"but if the affair were in my hands I should have had\na body of police in Jacobson\'s Yard, and arrested them when they came\ndown.\"\n\n\"Which would have been never. This man Small is a pretty shrewd\nfellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made him\nsuspicious lie snug for another week.\"\n\n\"But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been led to their\nhiding-place,\" said I.\n\n\"In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that it is a hundred\nto one against Smith knowing where they live. As long as he has liquor\nand good pay, why should he ask questions? They send him messages what\nto do. No, I thought over every possible course, and this is the best.\"\n\nWhile this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting the\nlong series of bridges which span the Thames. As we passed the City\nthe last rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of St.\nPaul\'s. It was twilight before we reached the Tower.\n\n\"That is Jacobson\'s Yard,\" said Holmes, pointing to a bristle of masts\nand rigging on the Surrey side. \"Cruise gently up and down here under\ncover of this string of lighters.\" He took a pair of night-glasses\nfrom his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. \"I see my sentry at\nhis post,\" he remarked, \"but no sign of a handkerchief.\"\n\n\"Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait for them,\" said\nJones, eagerly. We were all eager by this time, even the policemen and\nstokers, who had a very vague idea of what was going forward.\n\n\"We have no right to take anything for granted,\" Holmes answered. \"It\nis certainly ten to one that they go down-stream, but we cannot be\ncertain. From this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and they\ncan hardly see us. It will be a clear night and plenty of light. We\nmust stay where we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the\ngaslight.\"\n\n\"They are coming from work in the yard.\"\n\n\"Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some little\nimmortal spark concealed about him. You would not think it, to look at\nthem. There is no a priori probability about it. A strange enigma is\nman!\"\n\n\"Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal,\" I suggested.\n\n\"Winwood Reade is good upon the subject,\" said Holmes. \"He remarks\nthat, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate\nhe becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never\nforetell what any one man will do, but you can say with precision what\nan average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but percentages\nremain constant. So says the statistician. But do I see a\nhandkerchief? Surely there is a white flutter over yonder.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is your boy,\" I cried. \"I can see him plainly.\"\n\n\"And there is the Aurora,\" exclaimed Holmes, \"and going like the devil!\nFull speed ahead, engineer. Make after that launch with the yellow\nlight. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she proves to have\nthe heels of us!\"\n\nShe had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed behind two\nor three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up before we\nsaw her. Now she was flying down the stream, near in to the shore,\ngoing at a tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook his\nhead.\n\n\"She is very fast,\" he said. \"I doubt if we shall catch her.\"\n\n\"We MUST catch her!\" cried Holmes, between his teeth. \"Heap it on,\nstokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn the boat we must have\nthem!\"\n\nWe were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and the powerful\nengines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart. Her sharp,\nsteep prow cut through the river-water and sent two rolling waves to\nright and to left of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang and\nquivered like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our bows\nthrew a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right ahead a\ndark blur upon the water showed where the Aurora lay, and the swirl of\nwhite foam behind her spoke of the pace at which she was going. We\nflashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind\nthis one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the darkness,\nbut still the Aurora thundered on, and still we followed close upon her\ntrack.\n\n\"Pile it on, men, pile it on!\" cried Holmes, looking down into the\nengine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager,\naquiline face. \"Get every pound of steam you can.\"\n\n\"I think we gain a little,\" said Jones, with his eyes on the Aurora.\n\n\"I am sure of it,\" said I. \"We shall be up with her in a very few\nminutes.\"\n\nAt that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with\nthree barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only by putting\nour helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could\nround them and recover our way the Aurora had gained a good two hundred\nyards. She was still, however, well in view, and the murky uncertain\ntwilight was setting into a clear starlit night. Our boilers were\nstrained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated and creaked with\nthe fierce energy which was driving us along. We had shot through the\nPool, past the West India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up\nagain after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The dull blur in front of us\nresolved itself now clearly enough into the dainty Aurora. Jones\nturned our search-light upon her, so that we could plainly see the\nfigures upon her deck. One man sat by the stern, with something black\nbetween his knees over which he stooped. Beside him lay a dark mass\nwhich looked like a Newfoundland dog. The boy held the tiller, while\nagainst the red glare of the furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to\nthe waist, and shovelling coals for dear life. They may have had some\ndoubt at first as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as\nwe followed every winding and turning which they took there could no\nlonger be any question about it. At Greenwich we were about three\nhundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not have been more\nthan two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many creatures in many\ncountries during my checkered career, but never did sport give me such\na wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily\nwe drew in upon them, yard by yard. In the silence of the night we\ncould hear the panting and clanking of their machinery. The man in the\nstern still crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though\nhe were busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure\nwith a glance the distance which still separated us. Nearer we came\nand nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not more than four\nboat\'s lengths behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It\nwas a clear reach of the river, with Barking Level upon one side and\nthe melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man\nin the stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists\nat us, cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized,\npowerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride I could\nsee that from the thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump upon the\nright side. At the sound of his strident, angry cries there was\nmovement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened itself\ninto a little black man--the smallest I have ever seen--with a great,\nmisshapen head and a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair. Holmes had\nalready drawn his revolver, and I whipped out mine at the sight of this\nsavage, distorted creature. He was wrapped in some sort of dark ulster\nor blanket, which left only his face exposed; but that face was enough\nto give a man a sleepless night. Never have I seen features so deeply\nmarked with all bestiality and cruelty. His small eyes glowed and\nburned with a sombre light, and his thick lips were writhed back from\nhis teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with a half animal fury.\n\n\"Fire if he raises his hand,\" said Holmes, quietly. We were within a\nboat\'s-length by this time, and almost within touch of our quarry. I\ncan see the two of them now as they stood, the white man with his legs\nfar apart, shrieking out curses, and the unhallowed dwarf with his\nhideous face, and his strong yellow teeth gnashing at us in the light\nof our lantern.\n\nIt was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as we looked he\nplucked out from under his covering a short, round piece of wood, like\na school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. Our pistols rang out\ntogether. He whirled round, threw up his arms, and with a kind of\nchoking cough fell sideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of\nhis venomous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the waters. At the\nsame moment the wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder and put\nit hard down, so that his boat made straight in for the southern bank,\nwhile we shot past her stern, only clearing her by a few feet. We were\nround after her in an instant, but she was already nearly at the bank.\nIt was a wild and desolate place, where the moon glimmered upon a wide\nexpanse of marsh-land, with pools of stagnant water and beds of\ndecaying vegetation. The launch with a dull thud ran up upon the\nmud-bank, with her bow in the air and her stern flush with the water.\nThe fugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly sank its whole length\ninto the sodden soil. In vain he struggled and writhed. Not one step\ncould he possibly take either forwards or backwards. He yelled in\nimpotent rage, and kicked frantically into the mud with his other foot,\nbut his struggles only bored his wooden pin the deeper into the sticky\nbank. When we brought our launch alongside he was so firmly anchored\nthat it was only by throwing the end of a rope over his shoulders that\nwe were able to haul him out, and to drag him, like some evil fish,\nover our side. The two Smiths, father and son, sat sullenly in their\nlaunch, but came aboard meekly enough when commanded. The Aurora\nherself we hauled off and made fast to our stern. A solid iron chest\nof Indian workmanship stood upon the deck. This, there could be no\nquestion, was the same that had contained the ill-omened treasure of\nthe Sholtos. There was no key, but it was of considerable weight, so\nwe transferred it carefully to our own little cabin. As we steamed\nslowly up-stream again, we flashed our search-light in every direction,\nbut there was no sign of the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at\nthe bottom of the Thames lie the bones of that strange visitor to our\nshores.\n\n\n\"See here,\" said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. \"We were\nhardly quick enough with our pistols.\" There, sure enough, just behind\nwhere we had been standing, stuck one of those murderous darts which we\nknew so well. It must have whizzed between us at the instant that we\nfired. Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his easy\nfashion, but I confess that it turned me sick to think of the horrible\ndeath which had passed so close to us that night.\n\n\n\nChapter XI\n\nThe Great Agra Treasure\n\nOur captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which he had done\nso much and waited so long to gain. He was a sunburned, reckless-eyed\nfellow, with a net-work of lines and wrinkles all over his mahogany\nfeatures, which told of a hard, open-air life. There was a singular\nprominence about his bearded chin which marked a man who was not to be\neasily turned from his purpose. His age may have been fifty or\nthereabouts, for his black, curly hair was thickly shot with gray. His\nface in repose was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy brows and\naggressive chin gave him, as I had lately seen, a terrible expression\nwhen moved to anger. He sat now with his handcuffed hands upon his\nlap, and his head sunk upon his breast, while he looked with his keen,\ntwinkling eyes at the box which had been the cause of his ill-doings.\nIt seemed to me that there was more sorrow than anger in his rigid and\ncontained countenance. Once he looked up at me with a gleam of\nsomething like humor in his eyes.\n\n\"Well, Jonathan Small,\" said Holmes, lighting a cigar, \"I am sorry that\nit has come to this.\"\n\n\"And so am I, sir,\" he answered, frankly. \"I don\'t believe that I can\nswing over the job. I give you my word on the book that I never raised\nhand against Mr. Sholto. It was that little hell-hound Tonga who shot\none of his cursed darts into him. I had no part in it, sir. I was as\ngrieved as if it had been my blood-relation. I welted the little devil\nwith the slack end of the rope for it, but it was done, and I could not\nundo it again.\"\n\n\"Have a cigar,\" said Holmes; \"and you had best take a pull out of my\nflask, for you are very wet. How could you expect so small and weak a\nman as this black fellow to overpower Mr. Sholto and hold him while you\nwere climbing the rope?\"\n\n\"You seem to know as much about it as if you were there, sir. The truth\nis that I hoped to find the room clear. I knew the habits of the house\npretty well, and it was the time when Mr. Sholto usually went down to\nhis supper. I shall make no secret of the business. The best defence\nthat I can make is just the simple truth. Now, if it had been the old\nmajor I would have swung for him with a light heart. I would have\nthought no more of knifing him than of smoking this cigar. But it\'s\ncursed hard that I should be lagged over this young Sholto, with whom I\nhad no quarrel whatever.\"\n\n\"You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard. He\nis going to bring you up to my rooms, and I shall ask you for a true\naccount of the matter. You must make a clean breast of it, for if you\ndo I hope that I may be of use to you. I think I can prove that the\npoison acts so quickly that the man was dead before ever you reached\nthe room.\"\n\n\"That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my life as when I saw\nhim grinning at me with his head on his shoulder as I climbed through\nthe window. It fairly shook me, sir. I\'d have half killed Tonga for\nit if he had not scrambled off. That was how he came to leave his\nclub, and some of his darts too, as he tells me, which I dare say\nhelped to put you on our track; though how you kept on it is more than\nI can tell. I don\'t feel no malice against you for it. But it does\nseem a queer thing,\" he added, with a bitter smile, \"that I who have a\nfair claim to nigh upon half a million of money should spend the first\nhalf of my life building a breakwater in the Andamans, and am like to\nspend the other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It was an evil day\nfor me when first I clapped eyes upon the merchant Achmet and had to do\nwith the Agra treasure, which never brought anything but a curse yet\nupon the man who owned it. To him it brought murder, to Major Sholto\nit brought fear and guilt, to me it has meant slavery for life.\"\n\nAt this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad face and heavy shoulders\ninto the tiny cabin. \"Quite a family party,\" he remarked. \"I think I\nshall have a pull at that flask, Holmes. Well, I think we may all\ncongratulate each other. Pity we didn\'t take the other alive; but\nthere was no choice. I say, Holmes, you must confess that you cut it\nrather fine. It was all we could do to overhaul her.\"\n\n\"All is well that ends well,\" said Holmes. \"But I certainly did not\nknow that the Aurora was such a clipper.\"\n\n\"Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the river, and that\nif he had had another man to help him with the engines we should never\nhave caught her. He swears he knew nothing of this Norwood business.\"\n\n\"Neither he did,\" cried our prisoner,--\"not a word. I chose his launch\nbecause I heard that she was a flier. We told him nothing, but we paid\nhim well, and he was to get something handsome if we reached our\nvessel, the Esmeralda, at Gravesend, outward bound for the Brazils.\"\n\n\"Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no wrong comes to him.\nIf we are pretty quick in catching our men, we are not so quick in\ncondemning them.\" It was amusing to notice how the consequential Jones\nwas already beginning to give himself airs on the strength of the\ncapture. From the slight smile which played over Sherlock Holmes\'s\nface, I could see that the speech had not been lost upon him.\n\n\"We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently,\" said Jones, \"and shall land\nyou, Dr. Watson, with the treasure-box. I need hardly tell you that I\nam taking a very grave responsibility upon myself in doing this. It is\nmost irregular; but of course an agreement is an agreement. I must,\nhowever, as a matter of duty, send an inspector with you, since you\nhave so valuable a charge. You will drive, no doubt?\"\n\n\"Yes, I shall drive.\"\n\n\"It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inventory first.\nYou will have to break it open. Where is the key, my man?\"\n\n\"At the bottom of the river,\" said Small, shortly.\n\n\"Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary trouble. We have\nhad work enough already through you. However, doctor, I need not warn\nyou to be careful. Bring the box back with you to the Baker Street\nrooms. You will find us there, on our way to the station.\"\n\nThey landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with a bluff,\ngenial inspector as my companion. A quarter of an hour\'s drive brought\nus to Mrs. Cecil Forrester\'s. The servant seemed surprised at so late\na visitor. Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out for the evening, she\nexplained, and likely to be very late. Miss Morstan, however, was in\nthe drawing-room: so to the drawing-room I went, box in hand, leaving\nthe obliging inspector in the cab.\n\nShe was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort of white\ndiaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck and\nwaist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as she leaned\nback in the basket chair, playing over her sweet, grave face, and\ntinting with a dull, metallic sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant\nhair. One white arm and hand drooped over the side of the chair, and\nher whole pose and figure spoke of an absorbing melancholy. At the\nsound of my foot-fall she sprang to her feet, however, and a bright\nflush of surprise and of pleasure colored her pale cheeks.\n\n\"I heard a cab drive up,\" she said. \"I thought that Mrs. Forrester had\ncome back very early, but I never dreamed that it might be you. What\nnews have you brought me?\"\n\n\"I have brought something better than news,\" said I, putting down the\nbox upon the table and speaking jovially and boisterously, though my\nheart was heavy within me. \"I have brought you something which is\nworth all the news in the world. I have brought you a fortune.\"\n\nShe glanced at the iron box. \"Is that the treasure, then?\" she asked,\ncoolly enough.\n\n\"Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is yours and half is\nThaddeus Sholto\'s. You will have a couple of hundred thousand each.\nThink of that! An annuity of ten thousand pounds. There will be few\nricher young ladies in England. Is it not glorious?\"\n\nI think that I must have been rather overacting my delight, and that\nshe detected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for I saw her\neyebrows rise a little, and she glanced at me curiously.\n\n\"If I have it,\" said she, \"I owe it to you.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" I answered, \"not to me, but to my friend Sherlock Holmes.\nWith all the will in the world, I could never have followed up a clue\nwhich has taxed even his analytical genius. As it was, we very nearly\nlost it at the last moment.\"\n\n\"Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr. Watson,\" said she.\n\nI narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her\nlast,--Holmes\'s new method of search, the discovery of the Aurora, the\nappearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition in the evening, and the\nwild chase down the Thames. She listened with parted lips and shining\neyes to my recital of our adventures. When I spoke of the dart which\nhad so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that I feared that she\nwas about to faint.\n\n\"It is nothing,\" she said, as I hastened to pour her out some water.\n\"I am all right again. It was a shock to me to hear that I had placed\nmy friends in such horrible peril.\"\n\n\"That is all over,\" I answered. \"It was nothing. I will tell you no\nmore gloomy details. Let us turn to something brighter. There is the\ntreasure. What could be brighter than that? I got leave to bring it\nwith me, thinking that it would interest you to be the first to see it.\"\n\n\"It would be of the greatest interest to me,\" she said. There was no\neagerness in her voice, however. It had struck her, doubtless, that it\nmight seem ungracious upon her part to be indifferent to a prize which\nhad cost so much to win.\n\n\"What a pretty box!\" she said, stooping over it. \"This is Indian work,\nI suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes; it is Benares metal-work.\"\n\n\"And so heavy!\" she exclaimed, trying to raise it. \"The box alone must\nbe of some value. Where is the key?\"\n\n\"Small threw it into the Thames,\" I answered. \"I must borrow Mrs.\nForrester\'s poker.\" There was in the front a thick and broad hasp,\nwrought in the image of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the end\nof the poker and twisted it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open\nwith a loud snap. With trembling fingers I flung back the lid. We\nboth stood gazing in astonishment. The box was empty!\n\nNo wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work was two-thirds of an inch\nthick all round. It was massive, well made, and solid, like a chest\nconstructed to carry things of great price, but not one shred or crumb\nof metal or jewelry lay within it. It was absolutely and completely\nempty.\n\n\"The treasure is lost,\" said Miss Morstan, calmly.\n\nAs I listened to the words and realized what they meant, a great shadow\nseemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agra treasure had\nweighed me down, until now that it was finally removed. It was\nselfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realize nothing save\nthat the golden barrier was gone from between us. \"Thank God!\" I\nejaculated from my very heart.\n\nShe looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. \"Why do you say\nthat?\" she asked.\n\n\"Because you are within my reach again,\" I said, taking her hand. She\ndid not withdraw it. \"Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a man\nloved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my lips.\nNow that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is why I\nsaid, \'Thank God.\'\"\n\n\"Then I say, \'Thank God,\' too,\" she whispered, as I drew her to my\nside. Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I had gained\none.\n\n\n\nChapter XII\n\nThe Strange Story of Jonathan Small\n\nA very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was a weary\ntime before I rejoined him. His face clouded over when I showed him\nthe empty box.\n\n\"There goes the reward!\" said he, gloomily. \"Where there is no money\nthere is no pay. This night\'s work would have been worth a tenner each\nto Sam Brown and me if the treasure had been there.\"\n\n\"Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man,\" I said. \"He will see that you are\nrewarded, treasure or no.\"\n\nThe inspector shook his head despondently, however. \"It\'s a bad job,\"\nhe repeated; \"and so Mr. Athelney Jones will think.\"\n\nHis forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked blank\nenough when I got to Baker Street and showed him the empty box. They\nhad only just arrived, Holmes, the prisoner, and he, for they had\nchanged their plans so far as to report themselves at a station upon\nthe way. My companion lounged in his arm-chair with his usual listless\nexpression, while Small sat stolidly opposite to him with his wooden\nleg cocked over his sound one. As I exhibited the empty box he leaned\nback in his chair and laughed aloud.\n\n\"This is your doing, Small,\" said Athelney Jones, angrily.\n\n\"Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand upon it,\" he\ncried, exultantly. \"It is my treasure; and if I can\'t have the loot\nI\'ll take darned good care that no one else does. I tell you that no\nliving man has any right to it, unless it is three men who are in the\nAndaman convict-barracks and myself. I know now that I cannot have the\nuse of it, and I know that they cannot. I have acted all through for\nthem as much as for myself. It\'s been the sign of four with us always.\nWell I know that they would have had me do just what I have done, and\nthrow the treasure into the Thames rather than let it go to kith or kin\nof Sholto or of Morstan. It was not to make them rich that we did for\nAchmet. You\'ll find the treasure where the key is, and where little\nTonga is. When I saw that your launch must catch us, I put the loot\naway in a safe place. There are no rupees for you this journey.\"\n\n\"You are deceiving us, Small,\" said Athelney Jones, sternly. \"If you\nhad wished to throw the treasure into the Thames it would have been\neasier for you to have thrown box and all.\"\n\n\"Easier for me to throw, and easier for you to recover,\" he answered,\nwith a shrewd, sidelong look. \"The man that was clever enough to hunt\nme down is clever enough to pick an iron box from the bottom of a\nriver. Now that they are scattered over five miles or so, it may be a\nharder job. It went to my heart to do it, though. I was half mad when\nyou came up with us. However, there\'s no good grieving over it. I\'ve\nhad ups in my life, and I\'ve had downs, but I\'ve learned not to cry\nover spilled milk.\"\n\n\"This is a very serious matter, Small,\" said the detective. \"If you\nhad helped justice, instead of thwarting it in this way, you would have\nhad a better chance at your trial.\"\n\n\"Justice!\" snarled the ex-convict. \"A pretty justice! Whose loot is\nthis, if it is not ours? Where is the justice that I should give it up\nto those who have never earned it? Look how I have earned it! Twenty\nlong years in that fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under the\nmangrove-tree, all night chained up in the filthy convict-huts, bitten\nby mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursed black-faced\npoliceman who loved to take it out of a white man. That was how I\nearned the Agra treasure; and you talk to me of justice because I\ncannot bear to feel that I have paid this price only that another may\nenjoy it! I would rather swing a score of times, or have one of\nTonga\'s darts in my hide, than live in a convict\'s cell and feel that\nanother man is at his ease in a palace with the money that should be\nmine.\" Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this came out in\na wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed, and the handcuffs clanked\ntogether with the impassioned movement of his hands. I could\nunderstand, as I saw the fury and the passion of the man, that it was\nno groundless or unnatural terror which had possessed Major Sholto when\nhe first learned that the injured convict was upon his track.\n\n\"You forget that we know nothing of all this,\" said Holmes quietly.\n\"We have not heard your story, and we cannot tell how far justice may\noriginally have been on your side.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though I can see that\nI have you to thank that I have these bracelets upon my wrists. Still,\nI bear no grudge for that. It is all fair and above-board. If you\nwant to hear my story I have no wish to hold it back. What I say to you\nis God\'s truth, every word of it. Thank you; you can put the glass\nbeside me here, and I\'ll put my lips to it if I am dry.\n\n\"I am a Worcestershire man myself,--born near Pershore. I dare say you\nwould find a heap of Smalls living there now if you were to look. I\nhave often thought of taking a look round there, but the truth is that\nI was never much of a credit to the family, and I doubt if they would\nbe so very glad to see me. They were all steady, chapel-going folk,\nsmall farmers, well known and respected over the country-side, while I\nwas always a bit of a rover. At last, however, when I was about\neighteen, I gave them no more trouble, for I got into a mess over a\ngirl, and could only get out of it again by taking the queen\'s shilling\nand joining the 3d Buffs, which was just starting for India.\n\n\"I wasn\'t destined to do much soldiering, however. I had just got past\nthe goose-step, and learned to handle my musket, when I was fool enough\nto go swimming in the Ganges. Luckily for me, my company sergeant,\nJohn Holder, was in the water at the same time, and he was one of the\nfinest swimmers in the service. A crocodile took me, just as I was\nhalf-way across, and nipped off my right leg as clean as a surgeon\ncould have done it, just above the knee. What with the shock and the\nloss of blood, I fainted, and should have drowned if Holder had not\ncaught hold of me and paddled for the bank. I was five months in\nhospital over it, and when at last I was able to limp out of it with\nthis timber toe strapped to my stump I found myself invalided out of\nthe army and unfitted for any active occupation.\n\n\"I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at this time, for I\nwas a useless cripple though not yet in my twentieth year. However, my\nmisfortune soon proved to be a blessing in disguise. A man named\nAbelwhite, who had come out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an\noverseer to look after his coolies and keep them up to their work. He\nhappened to be a friend of our colonel\'s, who had taken an interest in\nme since the accident. To make a long story short, the colonel\nrecommended me strongly for the post and, as the work was mostly to be\ndone on horseback, my leg was no great obstacle, for I had enough knee\nleft to keep good grip on the saddle. What I had to do was to ride\nover the plantation, to keep an eye on the men as they worked, and to\nreport the idlers. The pay was fair, I had comfortable quarters, and\naltogether I was content to spend the remainder of my life in\nindigo-planting. Mr. Abelwhite was a kind man, and he would often drop\ninto my little shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for white folk out\nthere feel their hearts warm to each other as they never do here at\nhome.\n\n\"Well, I was never in luck\'s way long. Suddenly, without a note of\nwarning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One month India lay as still\nand peaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey or Kent; the next there were\ntwo hundred thousand black devils let loose, and the country was a\nperfect hell. Of course you know all about it, gentlemen,--a deal more\nthan I do, very like, since reading is not in my line. I only know\nwhat I saw with my own eyes. Our plantation was at a place called\nMuttra, near the border of the Northwest Provinces. Night after night\nthe whole sky was alight with the burning bungalows, and day after day\nwe had small companies of Europeans passing through our estate with\ntheir wives and children, on their way to Agra, where were the nearest\ntroops. Mr. Abelwhite was an obstinate man. He had it in his head\nthat the affair had been exaggerated, and that it would blow over as\nsuddenly as it had sprung up. There he sat on his veranda, drinking\nwhiskey-pegs and smoking cheroots, while the country was in a blaze\nabout him. Of course we stuck by him, I and Dawson, who, with his\nwife, used to do the book-work and the managing. Well, one fine day\nthe crash came. I had been away on a distant plantation, and was\nriding slowly home in the evening, when my eye fell upon something all\nhuddled together at the bottom of a steep nullah. I rode down to see\nwhat it was, and the cold struck through my heart when I found it was\nDawson\'s wife, all cut into ribbons, and half eaten by jackals and\nnative dogs. A little further up the road Dawson himself was lying on\nhis face, quite dead, with an empty revolver in his hand and four\nSepoys lying across each other in front of him. I reined up my horse,\nwondering which way I should turn, but at that moment I saw thick smoke\ncurling up from Abelwhite\'s bungalow and the flames beginning to burst\nthrough the roof. I knew then that I could do my employer no good, but\nwould only throw my own life away if I meddled in the matter. From\nwhere I stood I could see hundreds of the black fiends, with their red\ncoats still on their backs, dancing and howling round the burning\nhouse. Some of them pointed at me, and a couple of bullets sang past\nmy head; so I broke away across the paddy-fields, and found myself late\nat night safe within the walls at Agra.\n\n\"As it proved, however, there was no great safety there, either. The\nwhole country was up like a swarm of bees. Wherever the English could\ncollect in little bands they held just the ground that their guns\ncommanded. Everywhere else they were helpless fugitives. It was a\nfight of the millions against the hundreds; and the cruellest part of\nit was that these men that we fought against, foot, horse, and gunners,\nwere our own picked troops, whom we had taught and trained, handling\nour own weapons, and blowing our own bugle-calls. At Agra there were\nthe 3d Bengal Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery\nof artillery. A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants had been\nformed, and this I joined, wooden leg and all. We went out to meet the\nrebels at Shahgunge early in July, and we beat them back for a time,\nbut our powder gave out, and we had to fall back upon the city.\nNothing but the worst news came to us from every side,--which is not to\nbe wondered at, for if you look at the map you will see that we were\nright in the heart of it. Lucknow is rather better than a hundred\nmiles to the east, and Cawnpore about as far to the south. From every\npoint on the compass there was nothing but torture and murder and\noutrage.\n\n\"The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics and fierce\ndevil-worshippers of all sorts. Our handful of men were lost among the\nnarrow, winding streets. Our leader moved across the river, therefore,\nand took up his position in the old fort at Agra. I don\'t know if any\nof you gentlemen have ever read or heard anything of that old fort. It\nis a very queer place,--the queerest that ever I was in, and I have\nbeen in some rum corners, too. First of all, it is enormous in size.\nI should think that the enclosure must be acres and acres. There is a\nmodern part, which took all our garrison, women, children, stores, and\neverything else, with plenty of room over. But the modern part is\nnothing like the size of the old quarter, where nobody goes, and which\nis given over to the scorpions and the centipedes. It is all full of\ngreat deserted halls, and winding passages, and long corridors twisting\nin and out, so that it is easy enough for folk to get lost in it. For\nthis reason it was seldom that any one went into it, though now and\nagain a party with torches might go exploring.\n\n\"The river washes along the front of the old fort, and so protects it,\nbut on the sides and behind there are many doors, and these had to be\nguarded, of course, in the old quarter as well as in that which was\nactually held by our troops. We were short-handed, with hardly men\nenough to man the angles of the building and to serve the guns. It was\nimpossible for us, therefore, to station a strong guard at every one of\nthe innumerable gates. What we did was to organize a central\nguard-house in the middle of the fort, and to leave each gate under the\ncharge of one white man and two or three natives. I was selected to\ntake charge during certain hours of the night of a small isolated door\nupon the southwest side of the building. Two Sikh troopers were placed\nunder my command, and I was instructed if anything went wrong to fire\nmy musket, when I might rely upon help coming at once from the central\nguard. As the guard was a good two hundred paces away, however, and as\nthe space between was cut up into a labyrinth of passages and\ncorridors, I had great doubts as to whether they could arrive in time\nto be of any use in case of an actual attack.\n\n\"Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command given me, since\nI was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one at that. For two nights I\nkept the watch with my Punjaubees. They were tall, fierce-looking\nchaps, Mahomet Singh and Abdullah Khan by name, both old fighting-men\nwho had borne arms against us at Chilian-wallah. They could talk\nEnglish pretty well, but I could get little out of them. They\npreferred to stand together and jabber all night in their queer Sikh\nlingo. For myself, I used to stand outside the gate-way, looking down\non the broad, winding river and on the twinkling lights of the great\ncity. The beating of drums, the rattle of tomtoms, and the yells and\nhowls of the rebels, drunk with opium and with bang, were enough to\nremind us all night of our dangerous neighbors across the stream.\nEvery two hours the officer of the night used to come round to all the\nposts, to make sure that all was well.\n\n\"The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a small, driving\nrain. It was dreary work standing in the gate-way hour after hour in\nsuch weather. I tried again and again to make my Sikhs talk, but\nwithout much success. At two in the morning the rounds passed, and\nbroke for a moment the weariness of the night. Finding that my\ncompanions would not be led into conversation, I took out my pipe, and\nlaid down my musket to strike the match. In an instant the two Sikhs\nwere upon me. One of them snatched my firelock up and levelled it at\nmy head, while the other held a great knife to my throat and swore\nbetween his teeth that he would plunge it into me if I moved a step.\n\n\"My first thought was that these fellows were in league with the\nrebels, and that this was the beginning of an assault. If our door\nwere in the hands of the Sepoys the place must fall, and the women and\nchildren be treated as they were in Cawnpore. Maybe you gentlemen\nthink that I am just making out a case for myself, but I give you my\nword that when I thought of that, though I felt the point of the knife\nat my throat, I opened my mouth with the intention of giving a scream,\nif it was my last one, which might alarm the main guard. The man who\nheld me seemed to know my thoughts; for, even as I braced myself to it,\nhe whispered, \'Don\'t make a noise. The fort is safe enough. There are\nno rebel dogs on this side of the river.\' There was the ring of truth\nin what he said, and I knew that if I raised my voice I was a dead man.\nI could read it in the fellow\'s brown eyes. I waited, therefore, in\nsilence, to see what it was that they wanted from me.\n\n\"\'Listen to me, Sahib,\' said the taller and fiercer of the pair, the\none whom they called Abdullah Khan. \'You must either be with us now or\nyou must be silenced forever. The thing is too great a one for us to\nhesitate. Either you are heart and soul with us on your oath on the\ncross of the Christians, or your body this night shall be thrown into\nthe ditch and we shall pass over to our brothers in the rebel army.\nThere is no middle way. Which is it to be, death or life? We can only\ngive you three minutes to decide, for the time is passing, and all must\nbe done before the rounds come again.\'\n\n\"\'How can I decide?\' said I. \'You have not told me what you want of\nme. But I tell you now that if it is anything against the safety of\nthe fort I will have no truck with it, so you can drive home your knife\nand welcome.\'\n\n\"\'It is nothing against the fort,\' said he. \'We only ask you to do\nthat which your countrymen come to this land for. We ask you to be\nrich. If you will be one of us this night, we will swear to you upon\nthe naked knife, and by the threefold oath which no Sikh was ever known\nto break, that you shall have your fair share of the loot. A quarter\nof the treasure shall be yours. We can say no fairer.\'\n\n\"\'But what is the treasure, then?\' I asked. \'I am as ready to be rich\nas you can be, if you will but show me how it can be done.\'\n\n\"\'You will swear, then,\' said he, \'by the bones of your father, by the\nhonor of your mother, by the cross of your faith, to raise no hand and\nspeak no word against us, either now or afterwards?\'\n\n\"\'I will swear it,\' I answered, \'provided that the fort is not\nendangered.\'\n\n\"\'Then my comrade and I will swear that you shall have a quarter of the\ntreasure which shall be equally divided among the four of us.\'\n\n\"\'There are but three,\' said I.\n\n\"\'No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the tale to you\nwhile we await them. Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet Singh, and give\nnotice of their coming. The thing stands thus, Sahib, and I tell it to\nyou because I know that an oath is binding upon a Feringhee, and that\nwe may trust you. Had you been a lying Hindoo, though you had sworn by\nall the gods in their false temples, your blood would have been upon\nthe knife, and your body in the water. But the Sikh knows the\nEnglishman, and the Englishman knows the Sikh. Hearken, then, to what\nI have to say.\n\n\"\'There is a rajah in the northern provinces who has much wealth,\nthough his lands are small. Much has come to him from his father, and\nmore still he has set by himself, for he is of a low nature and hoards\nhis gold rather than spend it. When the troubles broke out he would be\nfriends both with the lion and the tiger,--with the Sepoy and with the\nCompany\'s Raj. Soon, however, it seemed to him that the white men\'s\nday was come, for through all the land he could hear of nothing but of\ntheir death and their overthrow. Yet, being a careful man, he made\nsuch plans that, come what might, half at least of his treasure should\nbe left to him. That which was in gold and silver he kept by him in\nthe vaults of his palace, but the most precious stones and the choicest\npearls that he had he put in an iron box, and sent it by a trusty\nservant who, under the guise of a merchant, should take it to the fort\nat Agra, there to lie until the land is at peace. Thus, if the rebels\nwon he would have his money, but if the Company conquered his jewels\nwould be saved to him. Having thus divided his hoard, he threw himself\ninto the cause of the Sepoys, since they were strong upon his borders.\nBy doing this, mark you, Sahib, his property becomes the due of those\nwho have been true to their salt.\n\n\"\'This pretended merchant, who travels under the name of Achmet, is now\nin the city of Agra, and desires to gain his way into the fort. He has\nwith him as travelling-companion my foster-brother Dost Akbar, who\nknows his secret. Dost Akbar has promised this night to lead him to a\nside-postern of the fort, and has chosen this one for his purpose.\nHere he will come presently, and here he will find Mahomet Singh and\nmyself awaiting him. The place is lonely, and none shall know of his\ncoming. The world shall know of the merchant Achmet no more, but the\ngreat treasure of the rajah shall be divided among us. What say you to\nit, Sahib?\'\n\n\"In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and a sacred thing;\nbut it is very different when there is fire and blood all round you and\nyou have been used to meeting death at every turn. Whether Achmet the\nmerchant lived or died was a thing as light as air to me, but at the\ntalk about the treasure my heart turned to it, and I thought of what I\nmight do in the old country with it, and how my folk would stare when\nthey saw their ne\'er-do-well coming back with his pockets full of gold\nmoidores. I had, therefore, already made up my mind. Abdullah Khan,\nhowever, thinking that I hesitated, pressed the matter more closely.\n\n\"\'Consider, Sahib,\' said he, \'that if this man is taken by the\ncommandant he will be hung or shot, and his jewels taken by the\ngovernment, so that no man will be a rupee the better for them. Now,\nsince we do the taking of him, why should we not do the rest as well?\nThe jewels will be as well with us as in the Company\'s coffers. There\nwill be enough to make every one of us rich men and great chiefs. No\none can know about the matter, for here we are cut off from all men.\nWhat could be better for the purpose? Say again, then, Sahib, whether\nyou are with us, or if we must look upon you as an enemy.\'\n\n\"\'I am with you heart and soul,\' said I.\n\n\"\'It is well,\' he answered, handing me back my firelock. \'You see that\nwe trust you, for your word, like ours, is not to be broken. We have\nnow only to wait for my brother and the merchant.\'\n\n\"\'Does your brother know, then, of what you will do?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'The plan is his. He has devised it. We will go to the gate and\nshare the watch with Mahomet Singh.\'\n\n\"The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the beginning of\nthe wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were drifting across the sky, and\nit was hard to see more than a stone-cast. A deep moat lay in front of\nour door, but the water was in places nearly dried up, and it could\neasily be crossed. It was strange to me to be standing there with\nthose two wild Punjaubees waiting for the man who was coming to his\ndeath.\n\n\"Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at the other side\nof the moat. It vanished among the mound-heaps, and then appeared\nagain coming slowly in our direction.\n\n\"\'Here they are!\' I exclaimed.\n\n\"\'You will challenge him, Sahib, as usual,\' whispered Abdullah. \'Give\nhim no cause for fear. Send us in with him, and we shall do the rest\nwhile you stay here on guard. Have the lantern ready to uncover, that\nwe may be sure that it is indeed the man.\'\n\n\"The light had flickered onwards, now stopping and now advancing, until\nI could see two dark figures upon the other side of the moat. I let\nthem scramble down the sloping bank, splash through the mire, and climb\nhalf-way up to the gate, before I challenged them.\n\n\"\'Who goes there?\' said I, in a subdued voice.\n\n\"\'Friends,\' came the answer. I uncovered my lantern and threw a flood\nof light upon them. The first was an enormous Sikh, with a black beard\nwhich swept nearly down to his cummerbund. Outside of a show I have\nnever seen so tall a man. The other was a little, fat, round fellow,\nwith a great yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand, done up in a\nshawl. He seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his hands\ntwitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept turning to left and\nright with two bright little twinkling eyes, like a mouse when he\nventures out from his hole. It gave me the chills to think of killing\nhim, but I thought of the treasure, and my heart set as hard as a flint\nwithin me. When he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup of joy\nand came running up towards me.\n\n\"\'Your protection, Sahib,\' he panted,--\'your protection for the unhappy\nmerchant Achmet. I have travelled across Rajpootana that I might seek\nthe shelter of the fort at Agra. I have been robbed and beaten and\nabused because I have been the friend of the Company. It is a blessed\nnight this when I am once more in safety,--I and my poor possessions.\'\n\n\"\'What have you in the bundle?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'An iron box,\' he answered, \'which contains one or two little family\nmatters which are of no value to others, but which I should be sorry to\nlose. Yet I am not a beggar; and I shall reward you, young Sahib, and\nyour governor also, if he will give me the shelter I ask.\'\n\n\"I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man. The more I\nlooked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did it seem that we\nshould slay him in cold blood. It was best to get it over.\n\n\"\'Take him to the main guard,\' said I. The two Sikhs closed in upon\nhim on each side, and the giant walked behind, while they marched in\nthrough the dark gate-way. Never was a man so compassed round with\ndeath. I remained at the gate-way with the lantern.\n\n\"I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps sounding through\nthe lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased, and I heard voices, and a\nscuffle, with the sound of blows. A moment later there came, to my\nhorror, a rush of footsteps coming in my direction, with the loud\nbreathing of a running man. I turned my lantern down the long,\nstraight passage, and there was the fat man, running like the wind,\nwith a smear of blood across his face, and close at his heels, bounding\nlike a tiger, the great black-bearded Sikh, with a knife flashing in\nhis hand. I have never seen a man run so fast as that little merchant.\nHe was gaining on the Sikh, and I could see that if he once passed me\nand got to the open air he would save himself yet. My heart softened\nto him, but again the thought of his treasure turned me hard and\nbitter. I cast my firelock between his legs as he raced past, and he\nrolled twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere he could stagger to his feet\nthe Sikh was upon him, and buried his knife twice in his side. The man\nnever uttered moan nor moved muscle, but lay were he had fallen. I\nthink myself that he may have broken his neck with the fall. You see,\ngentlemen, that I am keeping my promise. I am telling you every work\nof the business just exactly as it happened, whether it is in my favor\nor not.\"\n\nHe stopped, and held out his manacled hands for the whiskey-and-water\nwhich Holmes had brewed for him. For myself, I confess that I had now\nconceived the utmost horror of the man, not only for this cold-blooded\nbusiness in which he had been concerned, but even more for the somewhat\nflippant and careless way in which he narrated it. Whatever punishment\nwas in store for him, I felt that he might expect no sympathy from me.\nSherlock Holmes and Jones sat with their hands upon their knees, deeply\ninterested in the story, but with the same disgust written upon their\nfaces. He may have observed it, for there was a touch of defiance in\nhis voice and manner as he proceeded.\n\n\"It was all very bad, no doubt,\" said he. \"I should like to know how\nmany fellows in my shoes would have refused a share of this loot when\nthey knew that they would have their throats cut for their pains.\nBesides, it was my life or his when once he was in the fort. If he had\ngot out, the whole business would come to light, and I should have been\ncourt-martialled and shot as likely as not; for people were not very\nlenient at a time like that.\"\n\n\"Go on with your story,\" said Holmes, shortly.\n\n\"Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I. A fine weight he\nwas, too, for all that he was so short. Mahomet Singh was left to\nguard the door. We took him to a place which the Sikhs had already\nprepared. It was some distance off, where a winding passage leads to a\ngreat empty hall, the brick walls of which were all crumbling to\npieces. The earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural\ngrave, so we left Achmet the merchant there, having first covered him\nover with loose bricks. This done, we all went back to the treasure.\n\n\"It lay where he had dropped it when he was first attacked. The box\nwas the same which now lies open upon your table. A key was hung by a\nsilken cord to that carved handle upon the top. We opened it, and the\nlight of the lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems such as I have\nread of and thought about when I was a little lad at Pershore. It was\nblinding to look upon them. When we had feasted our eyes we took them\nall out and made a list of them. There were one hundred and\nforty-three diamonds of the first water, including one which has been\ncalled, I believe, \'the Great Mogul\' and is said to be the second\nlargest stone in existence. Then there were ninety-seven very fine\nemeralds, and one hundred and seventy rubies, some of which, however,\nwere small. There were forty carbuncles, two hundred and ten\nsapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great quantity of beryls, onyxes,\ncats\'-eyes, turquoises, and other stones, the very names of which I did\nnot know at the time, though I have become more familiar with them\nsince. Besides this, there were nearly three hundred very fine pearls,\ntwelve of which were set in a gold coronet. By the way, these last had\nbeen taken out of the chest and were not there when I recovered it.\n\n\"After we had counted our treasures we put them back into the chest and\ncarried them to the gate-way to show them to Mahomet Singh. Then we\nsolemnly renewed our oath to stand by each other and be true to our\nsecret. We agreed to conceal our loot in a safe place until the\ncountry should be at peace again, and then to divide it equally among\nourselves. There was no use dividing it at present, for if gems of\nsuch value were found upon us it would cause suspicion, and there was\nno privacy in the fort nor any place where we could keep them. We\ncarried the box, therefore, into the same hall where we had buried the\nbody, and there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved wall, we\nmade a hollow and put our treasure. We made careful note of the place,\nand next day I drew four plans, one for each of us, and put the sign of\nthe four of us at the bottom, for we had sworn that we should each\nalways act for all, so that none might take advantage. That is an oath\nthat I can put my hand to my heart and swear that I have never broken.\n\n\"Well, there\'s no use my telling you gentlemen what came of the Indian\nmutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and Sir Colin relieved Lucknow the\nback of the business was broken. Fresh troops came pouring in, and\nNana Sahib made himself scarce over the frontier. A flying column under\nColonel Greathed came round to Agra and cleared the Pandies away from\nit. Peace seemed to be settling upon the country, and we four were\nbeginning to hope that the time was at hand when we might safely go off\nwith our shares of the plunder. In a moment, however, our hopes were\nshattered by our being arrested as the murderers of Achmet.\n\n\"It came about in this way. When the rajah put his jewels into the\nhands of Achmet he did it because he knew that he was a trusty man.\nThey are suspicious folk in the East, however: so what does this rajah\ndo but take a second even more trusty servant and set him to play the\nspy upon the first? This second man was ordered never to let Achmet\nout of his sight, and he followed him like his shadow. He went after\nhim that night and saw him pass through the doorway. Of course he\nthought he had taken refuge in the fort, and applied for admission\nthere himself next day, but could find no trace of Achmet. This seemed\nto him so strange that he spoke about it to a sergeant of guides, who\nbrought it to the ears of the commandant. A thorough search was\nquickly made, and the body was discovered. Thus at the very moment\nthat we thought that all was safe we were all four seized and brought\nto trial on a charge of murder,--three of us because we had held the\ngate that night, and the fourth because he was known to have been in\nthe company of the murdered man. Not a word about the jewels came out\nat the trial, for the rajah had been deposed and driven out of India:\nso no one had any particular interest in them. The murder, however,\nwas clearly made out, and it was certain that we must all have been\nconcerned in it. The three Sikhs got penal servitude for life, and I\nwas condemned to death, though my sentence was afterwards commuted into\nthe same as the others.\n\n\"It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves in then. There\nwe were all four tied by the leg and with precious little chance of\never getting out again, while we each held a secret which might have\nput each of us in a palace if we could only have made use of it. It\nwas enough to make a man eat his heart out to have to stand the kick\nand the cuff of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice to eat and\nwater to drink, when that gorgeous fortune was ready for him outside,\njust waiting to be picked up. It might have driven me mad; but I was\nalways a pretty stubborn one, so I just held on and bided my time.\n\n\"At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed from Agra to\nMadras, and from there to Blair Island in the Andamans. There are very\nfew white convicts at this settlement, and, as I had behaved well from\nthe first, I soon found myself a sort of privileged person. I was\ngiven a hut in Hope Town, which is a small place on the slopes of Mount\nHarriet, and I was left pretty much to myself. It is a dreary,\nfever-stricken place, and all beyond our little clearings was infested\nwith wild cannibal natives, who were ready enough to blow a poisoned\ndart at us if they saw a chance. There was digging, and ditching, and\nyam-planting, and a dozen other things to be done, so we were busy\nenough all day; though in the evening we had a little time to\nourselves. Among other things, I learned to dispense drugs for the\nsurgeon, and picked up a smattering of his knowledge. All the time I\nwas on the lookout for a chance of escape; but it is hundreds of miles\nfrom any other land, and there is little or no wind in those seas: so\nit was a terribly difficult job to get away.\n\n\"The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting young chap, and the\nother young officers would meet in his rooms of an evening and play\ncards. The surgery, where I used to make up my drugs, was next to his\nsitting-room, with a small window between us. Often, if I felt\nlonesome, I used to turn out the lamp in the surgery, and then,\nstanding there, I could hear their talk and watch their play. I am\nfond of a hand at cards myself, and it was almost as good as having one\nto watch the others. There was Major Sholto, Captain Morstan, and\nLieutenant Bromley Brown, who were in command of the native troops, and\nthere was the surgeon himself, and two or three prison-officials,\ncrafty old hands who played a nice sly safe game. A very snug little\nparty they used to make.\n\n\"Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me, and that was that\nthe soldiers used always to lose and the civilians to win. Mind, I\ndon\'t say that there was anything unfair, but so it was. These\nprison-chaps had done little else than play cards ever since they had\nbeen at the Andamans, and they knew each other\'s game to a point, while\nthe others just played to pass the time and threw their cards down\nanyhow. Night after night the soldiers got up poorer men, and the\npoorer they got the more keen they were to play. Major Sholto was the\nhardest hit. He used to pay in notes and gold at first, but soon it\ncame to notes of hand and for big sums. He sometimes would win for a\nfew deals, just to give him heart, and then the luck would set in\nagainst him worse than ever. All day he would wander about as black as\nthunder, and he took to drinking a deal more than was good for him.\n\n\"One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was sitting in my\nhut when he and Captain Morstan came stumbling along on the way to\ntheir quarters. They were bosom friends, those two, and never far\napart. The major was raving about his losses.\n\n\"\'It\'s all up, Morstan,\' he was saying, as they passed my hut. \'I shall\nhave to send in my papers. I am a ruined man.\'\n\n\"\'Nonsense, old chap!\' said the other, slapping him upon the shoulder.\n\'I\'ve had a nasty facer myself, but--\' That was all I could hear, but\nit was enough to set me thinking.\n\n\"A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on the beach: so I\ntook the chance of speaking to him.\n\n\"\'I wish to have your advice, major,\' said I.\n\n\"\'Well, Small, what is it?\' he asked, taking his cheroot from his lips.\n\n\"\'I wanted to ask you, sir,\' said I, \'who is the proper person to whom\nhidden treasure should be handed over. I know where half a million\nworth lies, and, as I cannot use it myself, I thought perhaps the best\nthing that I could do would be to hand it over to the proper\nauthorities, and then perhaps they would get my sentence shortened for\nme.\'\n\n\"\'Half a million, Small?\' he gasped, looking hard at me to see if I was\nin earnest.\n\n\"\'Quite that, sir,--in jewels and pearls. It lies there ready for any\none. And the queer thing about it is that the real owner is outlawed\nand cannot hold property, so that it belongs to the first comer.\'\n\n\"\'To government, Small,\' he stammered,--\'to government.\' But he said\nit in a halting fashion, and I knew in my heart that I had got him.\n\n\"\'You think, then, sir, that I should give the information to the\nGovernor-General?\' said I, quietly.\n\n\"\'Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that you might repent.\nLet me hear all about it, Small. Give me the facts.\'\n\n\"I told him the whole story, with small changes so that he could not\nidentify the places. When I had finished he stood stock still and full\nof thought. I could see by the twitch of his lip that there was a\nstruggle going on within him.\n\n\"\'This is a very important matter, Small,\' he said, at last. \'You must\nnot say a word to any one about it, and I shall see you again soon.\'\n\n\"Two nights later he and his friend Captain Morstan came to my hut in\nthe dead of the night with a lantern.\n\n\"\'I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that story from your own\nlips, Small,\' said he.\n\n\"I repeated it as I had told it before.\n\n\"\'It rings true, eh?\' said he. \'It\'s good enough to act upon?\'\n\n\"Captain Morstan nodded.\n\n\"\'Look here, Small,\' said the major. \'We have been talking it over, my\nfriend here and I, and we have come to the conclusion that this secret\nof yours is hardly a government matter, after all, but is a private\nconcern of your own, which of course you have the power of disposing of\nas you think best. Now, the question is, what price would you ask for\nit? We might be inclined to take it up, and at least look into it, if\nwe could agree as to terms.\' He tried to speak in a cool, careless\nway, but his eyes were shining with excitement and greed.\n\n\"\'Why, as to that, gentlemen,\' I answered, trying also to be cool, but\nfeeling as excited as he did, \'there is only one bargain which a man in\nmy position can make. I shall want you to help me to my freedom, and\nto help my three companions to theirs. We shall then take you into\npartnership, and give you a fifth share to divide between you.\'\n\n\"\'Hum!\' said he. \'A fifth share! That is not very tempting.\'\n\n\"\'It would come to fifty thousand apiece,\' said I.\n\n\"\'But how can we gain your freedom? You know very well that you ask an\nimpossibility.\'\n\n\"\'Nothing of the sort,\' I answered. \'I have thought it all out to the\nlast detail. The only bar to our escape is that we can get no boat fit\nfor the voyage, and no provisions to last us for so long a time. There\nare plenty of little yachts and yawls at Calcutta or Madras which would\nserve our turn well. Do you bring one over. We shall engage to get\naboard her by night, and if you will drop us on any part of the Indian\ncoast you will have done your part of the bargain.\'\n\n\"\'If there were only one,\' he said.\n\n\"\'None or all,\' I answered. \'We have sworn it. The four of us must\nalways act together.\'\n\n\"\'You see, Morstan,\' said he, \'Small is a man of his word. He does not\nflinch from his friend. I think we may very well trust him.\'\n\n\"\'It\'s a dirty business,\' the other answered. \'Yet, as you say, the\nmoney would save our commissions handsomely.\'\n\n\"\'Well, Small,\' said the major, \'we must, I suppose, try and meet you.\nWe must first, of course, test the truth of your story. Tell me where\nthe box is hid, and I shall get leave of absence and go back to India\nin the monthly relief-boat to inquire into the affair.\'\n\n\"\'Not so fast,\' said I, growing colder as he got hot. \'I must have the\nconsent of my three comrades. I tell you that it is four or none with\nus.\'\n\n\"\'Nonsense!\' he broke in. \'What have three black fellows to do with\nour agreement?\'\n\n\"\'Black or blue,\' said I, \'they are in with me, and we all go together.\'\n\n\"Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which Mahomet Singh,\nAbdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were all present. We talked the matter\nover again, and at last we came to an arrangement. We were to provide\nboth the officers with charts of the part of the Agra fort and mark the\nplace in the wall where the treasure was hid. Major Sholto was to go\nto India to test our story. If he found the box he was to leave it\nthere, to send out a small yacht provisioned for a voyage, which was to\nlie off Rutland Island, and to which we were to make our way, and\nfinally to return to his duties. Captain Morstan was then to apply for\nleave of absence, to meet us at Agra, and there we were to have a final\ndivision of the treasure, he taking the major\'s share as well as his\nown. All this we sealed by the most solemn oaths that the mind could\nthink or the lips utter. I sat up all night with paper and ink, and by\nthe morning I had the two charts all ready, signed with the sign of\nfour,--that is, of Abdullah, Akbar, Mahomet, and myself.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and I know that my\nfriend Mr. Jones is impatient to get me safely stowed in chokey. I\'ll\nmake it as short as I can. The villain Sholto went off to India, but\nhe never came back again. Captain Morstan showed me his name among a\nlist of passengers in one of the mail-boats very shortly afterwards.\nHis uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and he had left the army,\nyet he could stoop to treat five men as he had treated us. Morstan\nwent over to Agra shortly afterwards, and found, as we expected, that\nthe treasure was indeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all, without\ncarrying out one of the conditions on which we had sold him the secret.\nFrom that day I lived only for vengeance. I thought of it by day and I\nnursed it by night. It became an overpowering, absorbing passion with\nme. I cared nothing for the law,--nothing for the gallows. To escape,\nto track down Sholto, to have my hand upon his throat,--that was my one\nthought. Even the Agra treasure had come to be a smaller thing in my\nmind than the slaying of Sholto.\n\n\"Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life, and never one\nwhich I did not carry out. But it was weary years before my time came.\nI have told you that I had picked up something of medicine. One day\nwhen Dr. Somerton was down with a fever a little Andaman Islander was\npicked up by a convict-gang in the woods. He was sick to death, and\nhad gone to a lonely place to die. I took him in hand, though he was\nas venomous as a young snake, and after a couple of months I got him\nall right and able to walk. He took a kind of fancy to me then, and\nwould hardly go back to his woods, but was always hanging about my hut.\nI learned a little of his lingo from him, and this made him all the\nfonder of me.\n\n\"Tonga--for that was his name--was a fine boatman, and owned a big,\nroomy canoe of his own. When I found that he was devoted to me and\nwould do anything to serve me, I saw my chance of escape. I talked it\nover with him. He was to bring his boat round on a certain night to an\nold wharf which was never guarded, and there he was to pick me up. I\ngave him directions to have several gourds of water and a lot of yams,\ncocoa-nuts, and sweet potatoes.\n\n\"He was stanch and true, was little Tonga. No man ever had a more\nfaithful mate. At the night named he had his boat at the wharf. As it\nchanced, however, there was one of the convict-guard down there,--a\nvile Pathan who had never missed a chance of insulting and injuring me.\nI had always vowed vengeance, and now I had my chance. It was as if\nfate had placed him in my way that I might pay my debt before I left\nthe island. He stood on the bank with his back to me, and his carbine\non his shoulder. I looked about for a stone to beat out his brains\nwith, but none could I see. Then a queer thought came into my head and\nshowed me where I could lay my hand on a weapon. I sat down in the\ndarkness and unstrapped my wooden leg. With three long hops I was on\nhim. He put his carbine to his shoulder, but I struck him full, and\nknocked the whole front of his skull in. You can see the split in the\nwood now where I hit him. We both went down together, for I could not\nkeep my balance, but when I got up I found him still lying quiet\nenough. I made for the boat, and in an hour we were well out at sea.\nTonga had brought all his earthly possessions with him, his arms and\nhis gods. Among other things, he had a long bamboo spear, and some\nAndaman cocoa-nut matting, with which I made a sort of sail. For ten\ndays we were beating about, trusting to luck, and on the eleventh we\nwere picked up by a trader which was going from Singapore to Jiddah\nwith a cargo of Malay pilgrims. They were a rum crowd, and Tonga and I\nsoon managed to settle down among them. They had one very good\nquality: they let you alone and asked no questions.\n\n\"Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my little chum and\nI went through, you would not thank me, for I would have you here until\nthe sun was shining. Here and there we drifted about the world,\nsomething always turning up to keep us from London. All the time,\nhowever, I never lost sight of my purpose. I would dream of Sholto at\nnight. A hundred times I have killed him in my sleep. At last,\nhowever, some three or four years ago, we found ourselves in England.\nI had no great difficulty in finding where Sholto lived, and I set to\nwork to discover whether he had realized the treasure, or if he still\nhad it. I made friends with someone who could help me,--I name no\nnames, for I don\'t want to get any one else in a hole,--and I soon\nfound that he still had the jewels. Then I tried to get at him in many\nways; but he was pretty sly, and had always two prize-fighters, besides\nhis sons and his khitmutgar, on guard over him.\n\n\"One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I hurried at once to\nthe garden, mad that he should slip out of my clutches like that, and,\nlooking through the window, I saw him lying in his bed, with his sons\non each side of him. I\'d have come through and taken my chance with\nthe three of them, only even as I looked at him his jaw dropped, and I\nknew that he was gone. I got into his room that same night, though,\nand I searched his papers to see if there was any record of where he\nhad hidden our jewels. There was not a line, however: so I came away,\nbitter and savage as a man could be. Before I left I bethought me that\nif I ever met my Sikh friends again it would be a satisfaction to know\nthat I had left some mark of our hatred: so I scrawled down the sign\nof the four of us, as it had been on the chart, and I pinned it on his\nbosom. It was too much that he should be taken to the grave without\nsome token from the men whom he had robbed and befooled.\n\n\"We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor Tonga at fairs\nand other such places as the black cannibal. He would eat raw meat and\ndance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful of pennies after a\nday\'s work. I still heard all the news from Pondicherry Lodge, and for\nsome years there was no news to hear, except that they were hunting for\nthe treasure. At last, however, came what we had waited for so long.\nThe treasure had been found. It was up at the top of the house, in Mr.\nBartholomew Sholto\'s chemical laboratory. I came at once and had a\nlook at the place, but I could not see how with my wooden leg I was to\nmake my way up to it. I learned, however, about a trap-door in the\nroof, and also about Mr. Sholto\'s supper-hour. It seemed to me that I\ncould manage the thing easily through Tonga. I brought him out with me\nwith a long rope wound round his waist. He could climb like a cat, and\nhe soon made his way through the roof, but, as ill luck would have it,\nBartholomew Sholto was still in the room, to his cost. Tonga thought\nhe had done something very clever in killing him, for when I came up by\nthe rope I found him strutting about as proud as a peacock. Very much\nsurprised was he when I made at him with the rope\'s end and cursed him\nfor a little blood-thirsty imp. I took the treasure-box and let it\ndown, and then slid down myself, having first left the sign of the four\nupon the table, to show that the jewels had come back at last to those\nwho had most right to them. Tonga then pulled up the rope, closed the\nwindow, and made off the way that he had come.\n\n\"I don\'t know that I have anything else to tell you. I had heard a\nwaterman speak of the speed of Smith\'s launch the Aurora, so I thought\nshe would be a handy craft for our escape. I engaged with old Smith,\nand was to give him a big sum if he got us safe to our ship. He knew,\nno doubt, that there was some screw loose, but he was not in our\nsecrets. All this is the truth, and if I tell it to you, gentlemen, it\nis not to amuse you,--for you have not done me a very good turn,--but\nit is because I believe the best defence I can make is just to hold\nback nothing, but let all the world know how badly I have myself been\nserved by Major Sholto, and how innocent I am of the death of his son.\"\n\n\"A very remarkable account,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"A fitting wind-up\nto an extremely interesting case. There is nothing at all new to me in\nthe latter part of your narrative, except that you brought your own\nrope. That I did not know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had\nlost all his darts; yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat.\"\n\n\"He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in his blow-pipe\nat the time.\"\n\n\"Ah, of course,\" said Holmes. \"I had not thought of that.\"\n\n\"Is there any other point which you would like to ask about?\" asked the\nconvict, affably.\n\n\"I think not, thank you,\" my companion answered.\n\n\"Well, Holmes,\" said Athelney Jones, \"You are a man to be humored, and\nwe all know that you are a connoisseur of crime, but duty is duty, and\nI have gone rather far in doing what you and your friend asked me. I\nshall feel more at ease when we have our story-teller here safe under\nlock and key. The cab still waits, and there are two inspectors\ndown-stairs. I am much obliged to you both for your assistance. Of\ncourse you will be wanted at the trial. Good-night to you.\"\n\n\"Good-night, gentlemen both,\" said Jonathan Small.\n\n\"You first, Small,\" remarked the wary Jones as they left the room.\n\"I\'ll take particular care that you don\'t club me with your wooden leg,\nwhatever you may have done to the gentleman at the Andaman Isles.\"\n\n\"Well, and there is the end of our little drama,\" I remarked, after we\nhad set some time smoking in silence. \"I fear that it may be the last\ninvestigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your\nmethods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept me as a husband\nin prospective.\"\n\nHe gave a most dismal groan. \"I feared as much,\" said he. \"I really\ncannot congratulate you.\"\n\nI was a little hurt. \"Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my\nchoice?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I\never met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been\ndoing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she\npreserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But\nlove is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to\nthat true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never\nmarry myself, lest I bias my judgment.\"\n\n\"I trust,\" said I, laughing, \"that my judgment may survive the ordeal.\nBut you look weary.\"\n\n\"Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for\na week.\"\n\n\"Strange,\" said I, \"how terms of what in another man I should call\nlaziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigor.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered, \"there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer\nand also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines\nof old Goethe,--\n\n Schade dass die Natur nur EINEN Mensch aus Dir schuf,\n Denn zum wuerdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.\n\n\"By the way, a propos of this Norwood business, you see that they had,\nas I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than\nLal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided honor of\nhaving caught one fish in his great haul.\"\n\n\"The division seems rather unfair,\" I remarked. \"You have done all the\nwork in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit,\npray what remains for you?\"\n\n\"For me,\" said Sherlock Holmes, \"there still remains the\ncocaine-bottle.\" And he stretched his long white hand up for it.'"