"'MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES\n\nby Sir Arthur Conan Doyle\n\n\n\n\nAdventure I. Silver Blaze\n\n\n\"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go,\" said Holmes, as we sat\ndown together to our breakfast one morning.\n\n\"Go! Where to?\"\n\n\"To Dartmoor; to King\'s Pyland.\"\n\nI was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already\nbeen mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of\nconversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day\nmy companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and\nhis brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest\nblack tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks.\nFresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only\nto be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was,\nI knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was\nbut one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of\nanalysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for\nthe Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore,\nhe suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the\ndrama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.\n\n\"I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the\nway,\" said I.\n\n\"My dear Watson, you would confer a great favor upon me by coming. And\nI think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about\nthe case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We have, I\nthink, just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will go further\ninto the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with\nyou your very excellent field-glass.\"\n\nAnd so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the\ncorner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while\nSherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped\ntravelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he\nhad procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before\nhe thrust the last one of them under the seat, and offered me his\ncigar-case.\n\n\"We are going well,\" said he, looking out the window and glancing at his\nwatch. \"Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an hour.\"\n\n\"I have not observed the quarter-mile posts,\" said I.\n\n\"Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards\napart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that you\nhave looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker and the\ndisappearance of Silver Blaze?\"\n\n\"I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say.\"\n\n\"It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be\nused rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh\nevidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such\npersonal importance to so many people, that we are suffering from a\nplethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to\ndetach the framework of fact--of absolute undeniable fact--from the\nembellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having established\nourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences\nmay be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole\nmystery turns. On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel\nRoss, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking\nafter the case, inviting my cooperation.\"\n\n\"Tuesday evening!\" I exclaimed. \"And this is Thursday morning. Why\ndidn\'t you go down yesterday?\"\n\n\"Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson--which is, I am afraid, a more\ncommon occurrence than any one would think who only knew me through your\nmemoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible that the most\nremarkable horse in England could long remain concealed, especially in\nso sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to\nhour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and that\nhis abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, another\nmorning had come, and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy\nSimpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take\naction. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been wasted.\"\n\n\"You have formed a theory, then?\"\n\n\"At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I shall\nenumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating\nit to another person, and I can hardly expect your co-operation if I do\nnot show you the position from which we start.\"\n\nI lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while Holmes,\nleaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the points\nupon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which had\nled to our journey.\n\n\"Silver Blaze,\" said he, \"is from the Somomy stock, and holds as\nbrilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year,\nand has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross,\nhis fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first\nfavorite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He\nhas always, however, been a prime favorite with the racing public, and\nhas never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous\nsums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that\nthere were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing\nSilver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday.\n\n\"The fact was, of course, appreciated at King\'s Pyland, where the\nColonel\'s training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to\nguard the favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey\nwho rode in Colonel Ross\'s colors before he became too heavy for the\nweighing-chair. He has served the Colonel for five years as jockey and\nfor seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and\nhonest servant. Under him were three lads; for the establishment was a\nsmall one, containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up\neach night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three\nbore excellent characters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived\nin a small villa about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no\nchildren, keeps one maid-servant, and is comfortably off. The country\nround is very lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a\nsmall cluster of villas which have been built by a Tavistock contractor\nfor the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pure\nDartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, while\nacross the moor, also about two miles distant, is the larger training\nestablishment of Mapleton, which belongs to Lord Backwater, and is\nmanaged by Silas Brown. In every other direction the moor is a complete\nwilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. Such was the\ngeneral situation last Monday night when the catastrophe occurred.\n\n\"On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual, and\nthe stables were locked up at nine o\'clock. Two of the lads walked up\nto the trainer\'s house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while the\nthird, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine\nthe maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, which\nconsisted of a dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as there was\na water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty\nshould drink nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it\nwas very dark and the path ran across the open moor.\n\n\"Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables, when a man\nappeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As he stepped\ninto the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he\nwas a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds,\nwith a cloth cap. He wore gaiters, and carried a heavy stick with a knob\nto it. She was most impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his\nface and by the nervousness of his manner. His age, she thought, would\nbe rather over thirty than under it.\n\n\"\'Can you tell me where I am?\' he asked. \'I had almost made up my mind\nto sleep on the moor, when I saw the light of your lantern.\'\n\n\"\'You are close to the King\'s Pyland training-stables,\' said she.\n\n\"\'Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!\' he cried. \'I understand that a\nstable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper\nwhich you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too\nproud to earn the price of a new dress, would you?\' He took a piece of\nwhite paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. \'See that the boy\nhas this to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can\nbuy.\'\n\n\"She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ran past him\nto the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It was\nalready opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. She had\nbegun to tell him of what had happened, when the stranger came up again.\n\n\"\'Good-evening,\' said he, looking through the window. \'I wanted to have\na word with you.\' The girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the\ncorner of the little paper packet protruding from his closed hand.\n\n\"\'What business have you here?\' asked the lad.\n\n\"\'It\'s business that may put something into your pocket,\' said the\nother. \'You\'ve two horses in for the Wessex Cup--Silver Blaze and\nBayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won\'t be a loser. Is it a\nfact that at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred yards in\nfive furlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?\'\n\n\"\'So, you\'re one of those damned touts!\' cried the lad. \'I\'ll show you\nhow we serve them in King\'s Pyland.\' He sprang up and rushed across the\nstable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as she\nran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through the\nwindow. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound\nhe was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed to find\nany trace of him.\"\n\n\"One moment,\" I asked. \"Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the\ndog, leave the door unlocked behind him?\"\n\n\"Excellent, Watson, excellent!\" murmured my companion. \"The importance\nof the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a special wire to\nDartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The boy locked the door\nbefore he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough for a man\nto get through.\n\n\"Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent a\nmessage to the trainer and told him what had occurred. Straker was\nexcited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quite\nrealized its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely uneasy,\nand Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he was\ndressing. In reply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on\naccount of his anxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk\ndown to the stables to see that all was well. She begged him to remain\nat home, as she could hear the rain pattering against the window, but in\nspite of her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and left the\nhouse.\n\n\"Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find that her husband\nhad not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called the maid, and\nset off for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together\nupon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the\nfavorite\'s stall was empty, and there were no signs of his trainer.\n\n\"The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the harness-room\nwere quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the night, for they\nare both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the influence of\nsome powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him, he was left\nto sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out in search\nof the absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for some\nreason taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the\nknoll near the house, from which all the neighboring moors were visible,\nthey not only could see no signs of the missing favorite, but they\nperceived something which warned them that they were in the presence of\na tragedy.\n\n\"About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker\'s overcoat was\nflapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped\ndepression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the dead\nbody of the unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage\nblow from some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where\nthere was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp\ninstrument. It was clear, however, that Straker had defended himself\nvigorously against his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small\nknife, which was clotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left\nhe clasped a red and black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid\nas having been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had\nvisited the stables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also\nquite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain\nthat the same stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his\ncurried mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchman. As to the\nmissing horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud which lay at the\nbottom of the fatal hollow that he had been there at the time of the\nstruggle. But from that morning he has disappeared, and although a large\nreward has been offered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the\nalert, no news has come of him. Finally, an analysis has shown that\nthe remains of his supper left by the stable-lad contain an appreciable\nquantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the\nsame dish on the same night without any ill effect.\n\n\"Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and\nstated as baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the police\nhave done in the matter.\n\n\"Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is an extremely\ncompetent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination he might rise to\ngreat heights in his profession. On his arrival he promptly found and\narrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally rested. There was little\ndifficulty in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villas which I\nhave mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson. He was a man\nof excellent birth and education, who had squandered a fortune upon the\nturf, and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel book-making\nin the sporting clubs of London. An examination of his betting-book\nshows that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had been\nregistered by him against the favorite. On being arrested he volunteered\nthe statement that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of\ngetting some information about the King\'s Pyland horses, and also about\nDesborough, the second favorite, which was in charge of Silas Brown at\nthe Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted as\ndescribed upon the evening before, but declared that he had no sinister\ndesigns, and had simply wished to obtain first-hand information. When\nconfronted with his cravat, he turned very pale, and was utterly unable\nto account for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. His wet\nclothing showed that he had been out in the storm of the night before,\nand his stick, which was a Penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just\nsuch a weapon as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible\ninjuries to which the trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there\nwas no wound upon his person, while the state of Straker\'s knife would\nshow that one at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him.\nThere you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me any\nlight I shall be infinitely obliged to you.\"\n\nI had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which Holmes,\nwith characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Though most of the\nfacts were familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated their\nrelative importance, nor their connection to each other.\n\n\"Is it not possible,\" I suggested, \"that the incised wound upon Straker\nmay have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles which\nfollow any brain injury?\"\n\n\"It is more than possible; it is probable,\" said Holmes. \"In that case\none of the main points in favor of the accused disappears.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said I, \"even now I fail to understand what the theory of the\npolice can be.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections to\nit,\" returned my companion. \"The police imagine, I take it, that this\nFitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some way obtained\na duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the horse, with\nthe intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether. His bridle is\nmissing, so that Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left the\ndoor open behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor, when\nhe was either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally ensued.\nSimpson beat out the trainer\'s brains with his heavy stick without\nreceiving any injury from the small knife which Straker used in\nself-defence, and then the thief either led the horse on to some secret\nhiding-place, or else it may have bolted during the struggle, and be\nnow wandering out on the moors. That is the case as it appears to\nthe police, and improbable as it is, all other explanations are more\nimprobable still. However, I shall very quickly test the matter when I\nam once upon the spot, and until then I cannot really see how we can get\nmuch further than our present position.\"\n\nIt was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock, which\nlies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of\nDartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the station--the one a tall,\nfair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light\nblue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a\nfrock-coat and gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers and an eye-glass.\nThe latter was Colonel Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other,\nInspector Gregory, a man who was rapidly making his name in the English\ndetective service.\n\n\"I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes,\" said the Colonel.\n\"The Inspector here has done all that could possibly be suggested, but I\nwish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor Straker and in\nrecovering my horse.\"\n\n\"Have there been any fresh developments?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress,\" said the\nInspector. \"We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubt\nlike to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it over as\nwe drive.\"\n\nA minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau, and were\nrattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector Gregory was\nfull of his case, and poured out a stream of remarks, while Holmes threw\nin an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back with\nhis arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with\ninterest to the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating\nhis theory, which was almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the\ntrain.\n\n\"The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson,\" he remarked, \"and\nI believe myself that he is our man. At the same time I recognize that\nthe evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some new development may\nupset it.\"\n\n\"How about Straker\'s knife?\"\n\n\"We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his\nfall.\"\n\n\"My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. If so,\nit would tell against this man Simpson.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound. The\nevidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest\nin the disappearance of the favorite. He lies under suspicion of having\npoisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out in the storm, he was\narmed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man\'s\nhand. I really think we have enough to go before a jury.\"\n\nHolmes shook his head. \"A clever counsel would tear it all to rags,\"\nsaid he. \"Why should he take the horse out of the stable? If he wished\nto injure it why could he not do it there? Has a duplicate key been\nfound in his possession? What chemist sold him the powdered opium? Above\nall, where could he, a stranger to the district, hide a horse, and such\na horse as this? What is his own explanation as to the paper which he\nwished the maid to give to the stable-boy?\"\n\n\"He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his purse. But\nyour other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. He is not\na stranger to the district. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the\nsummer. The opium was probably brought from London. The key, having\nserved its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the bottom\nof one of the pits or old mines upon the moor.\"\n\n\"What does he say about the cravat?\"\n\n\"He acknowledges that it is his, and declares that he had lost it. But a\nnew element has been introduced into the case which may account for his\nleading the horse from the stable.\"\n\nHolmes pricked up his ears.\n\n\"We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on\nMonday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place. On\nTuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was some understanding\nbetween Simpson and these gypsies, might he not have been leading the\nhorse to them when he was overtaken, and may they not have him now?\"\n\n\"It is certainly possible.\"\n\n\"The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined every\nstable and out-house in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles.\"\n\n\"There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. As\nDesborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest\nin the disappearance of the favorite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known\nto have had large bets upon the event, and he was no friend to poor\nStraker. We have, however, examined the stables, and there is nothing to\nconnect him with the affair.\"\n\n\"And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of the\nMapleton stables?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all.\"\n\nHolmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A few\nminutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa with\noverhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance off, across a\npaddock, lay a long gray-tiled out-building. In every other direction\nthe low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from the fading ferns,\nstretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of\nTavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the westward which marked\nthe Mapleton stables. We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes,\nwho continued to lean back with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of\nhim, entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. It was only when I touched\nhis arm that he roused himself with a violent start and stepped out of\nthe carriage.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at him in\nsome surprise. \"I was day-dreaming.\" There was a gleam in his eyes and a\nsuppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as I was\nto his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could not imagine\nwhere he had found it.\n\n\"Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime,\nMr. Holmes?\" said Gregory.\n\n\"I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go into one or\ntwo questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, I presume?\"\n\n\"Yes; he lies upstairs. The inquest is to-morrow.\"\n\n\"He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?\"\n\n\"I have always found him an excellent servant.\"\n\n\"I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in his pockets at\nthe time of his death, Inspector?\"\n\n\"I have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if you would care to\nsee them.\"\n\n\"I should be very glad.\" We all filed into the front room and sat round\nthe central table while the Inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid\na small heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas, two inches\nof tallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of seal-skin with\nhalf an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain,\nfive sovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few papers, and an\nivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss\n& Co., London.\n\n\"This is a very singular knife,\" said Holmes, lifting it up and\nexamining it minutely. \"I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it, that\nit is the one which was found in the dead man\'s grasp. Watson, this\nknife is surely in your line?\"\n\n\"It is what we call a cataract knife,\" said I.\n\n\"I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work.\nA strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough expedition,\nespecially as it would not shut in his pocket.\"\n\n\"The tip was guarded by a disk of cork which we found beside his body,\"\nsaid the Inspector. \"His wife tells us that the knife had lain upon the\ndressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the room. It was\na poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at\nthe moment.\"\n\n\"Very possible. How about these papers?\"\n\n\"Three of them are receipted hay-dealers\' accounts. One of them is a\nletter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a milliner\'s\naccount for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier,\nof Bond Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that\nDerbyshire was a friend of her husband\'s and that occasionally his\nletters were addressed here.\"\n\n\"Madam Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes,\" remarked Holmes,\nglancing down the account. \"Twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for a\nsingle costume. However there appears to be nothing more to learn, and\nwe may now go down to the scene of the crime.\"\n\nAs we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been waiting in\nthe passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the Inspector\'s\nsleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the print\nof a recent horror.\n\n\"Have you got them? Have you found them?\" she panted.\n\n\"No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from London to help us,\nand we shall do all that is possible.\"\n\n\"Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little time ago,\nMrs. Straker?\" said Holmes.\n\n\"No, sir; you are mistaken.\"\n\n\"Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume of\ndove-colored silk with ostrich-feather trimming.\"\n\n\"I never had such a dress, sir,\" answered the lady.\n\n\"Ah, that quite settles it,\" said Holmes. And with an apology he\nfollowed the Inspector outside. A short walk across the moor took us to\nthe hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it was the\nfurze-bush upon which the coat had been hung.\n\n\"There was no wind that night, I understand,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"None; but very heavy rain.\"\n\n\"In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush, but\nplaced there.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was laid across the bush.\"\n\n\"You fill me with interest, I perceive that the ground has been trampled\nup a good deal. No doubt many feet have been here since Monday night.\"\n\n\"A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all\nstood upon that.\"\n\n\"Excellent.\"\n\n\"In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one of Fitzroy\nSimpson\'s shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze.\"\n\n\"My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!\" Holmes took the bag, and,\ndescending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a more central\nposition. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin\nupon his hands, he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of\nhim. \"Hullo!\" said he, suddenly. \"What\'s this?\" It was a wax vesta half\nburned, which was so coated with mud that it looked at first like a\nlittle chip of wood.\n\n\"I cannot think how I came to overlook it,\" said the Inspector, with an\nexpression of annoyance.\n\n\"It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was\nlooking for it.\"\n\n\"What! You expected to find it?\"\n\n\"I thought it not unlikely.\"\n\nHe took the boots from the bag, and compared the impressions of each of\nthem with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim of the\nhollow, and crawled about among the ferns and bushes.\n\n\"I am afraid that there are no more tracks,\" said the Inspector. \"I\nhave examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each\ndirection.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said Holmes, rising. \"I should not have the impertinence to\ndo it again after what you say. But I should like to take a little walk\nover the moor before it grows dark, that I may know my ground to-morrow,\nand I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my pocket for luck.\"\n\nColonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my companion\'s\nquiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch. \"I wish you\nwould come back with me, Inspector,\" said he. \"There are several points\non which I should like your advice, and especially as to whether we do\nnot owe it to the public to remove our horse\'s name from the entries for\nthe Cup.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" cried Holmes, with decision. \"I should let the name\nstand.\"\n\nThe Colonel bowed. \"I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir,\" said\nhe. \"You will find us at poor Straker\'s house when you have finished\nyour walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock.\"\n\nHe turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowly\nacross the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stables of\nMapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with\ngold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and\nbrambles caught the evening light. But the glories of the landscape were\nall wasted upon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought.\n\n\"It\'s this way, Watson,\" said he at last. \"We may leave the question\nof who killed John Straker for the instant, and confine ourselves to\nfinding out what has become of the horse. Now, supposing that he broke\naway during or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse\nis a very gregarious creature. If left to himself his instincts would\nhave been either to return to King\'s Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why\nshould he run wild upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now.\nAnd why should gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out when\nthey hear of trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the police.\nThey could not hope to sell such a horse. They would run a great risk\nand gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear.\"\n\n\"Where is he, then?\"\n\n\"I have already said that he must have gone to King\'s Pyland or to\nMapleton. He is not at King\'s Pyland. Therefore he is at Mapleton. Let\nus take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. This\npart of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. But\nit falls away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here that there\nis a long hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday\nnight. If our supposition is correct, then the horse must have crossed\nthat, and there is the point where we should look for his tracks.\"\n\nWe had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few more\nminutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes\' request I\nwalked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but I had not\ntaken fifty paces before I heard him give a shout, and saw him waving\nhis hand to me. The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft\nearth in front of him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket\nexactly fitted the impression.\n\n\"See the value of imagination,\" said Holmes. \"It is the one quality\nwhich Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, acted upon\nthe supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed.\"\n\nWe crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of dry,\nhard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we came on the tracks.\nThen we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more\nquite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stood\npointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A man\'s track was visible\nbeside the horse\'s.\n\n\"The horse was alone before,\" I cried.\n\n\"Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?\"\n\nThe double track turned sharp off and took the direction of King\'s\nPyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyes\nwere on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side, and\nsaw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite\ndirection.\n\n\"One for you, Watson,\" said Holmes, when I pointed it out. \"You have\nsaved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own\ntraces. Let us follow the return track.\"\n\nWe had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up\nto the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out\nfrom them.\n\n\"We don\'t want any loiterers about here,\" said he.\n\n\"I only wished to ask a question,\" said Holmes, with his finger and\nthumb in his waistcoat pocket. \"Should I be too early to see your\nmaster, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o\'clock to-morrow\nmorning?\"\n\n\"Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for he is always\nthe first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your questions for\nhimself. No, sir, no; it is as much as my place is worth to let him see\nme touch your money. Afterwards, if you like.\"\n\nAs Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from his\npocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a\nhunting-crop swinging in his hand.\n\n\"What\'s this, Dawson!\" he cried. \"No gossiping! Go about your business!\nAnd you, what the devil do you want here?\"\n\n\"Ten minutes\' talk with you, my good sir,\" said Holmes in the sweetest\nof voices.\n\n\"I\'ve no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no stranger here. Be\noff, or you may find a dog at your heels.\"\n\nHolmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer\'s ear. He\nstarted violently and flushed to the temples.\n\n\"It\'s a lie!\" he shouted, \"an infernal lie!\"\n\n\"Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in\nyour parlor?\"\n\n\"Oh, come in if you wish to.\"\n\nHolmes smiled. \"I shall not keep you more than a few minutes, Watson,\"\nsaid he. \"Now, Mr. Brown, I am quite at your disposal.\"\n\nIt was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays before\nHolmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change as\nhad been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face was\nashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his hands\nshook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. His\nbullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed along at\nmy companion\'s side like a dog with its master.\n\n\"Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done,\" said he.\n\n\"There must be no mistake,\" said Holmes, looking round at him. The other\nwinced as he read the menace in his eyes.\n\n\"Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change it\nfirst or not?\"\n\nHolmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. \"No, don\'t,\" said\nhe; \"I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now, or--\"\n\n\"Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!\"\n\n\"Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow.\" He turned\nupon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other held out\nto him, and we set off for King\'s Pyland.\n\n\"A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than Master\nSilas Brown I have seldom met with,\" remarked Holmes as we trudged along\ntogether.\n\n\"He has the horse, then?\"\n\n\"He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what\nhis actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I was\nwatching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in the\nimpressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them.\nAgain, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing.\nI described to him how, when according to his custom he was the first\ndown, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor. How he went\nout to it, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead\nwhich has given the favorite its name, that chance had put in his power\nthe only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money.\nThen I described how his first impulse had been to lead him back to\nKing\'s Pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the\nhorse until the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed\nit at Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought\nonly of saving his own skin.\"\n\n\"But his stables had been searched?\"\n\n\"Oh, an old horse-faker like him has many a dodge.\"\n\n\"But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he\nhas every interest in injuring it?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows that\nhis only hope of mercy is to produce it safe.\"\n\n\"Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show\nmuch mercy in any case.\"\n\n\"The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methods,\nand tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of\nbeing unofficial. I don\'t know whether you observed it, Watson, but the\nColonel\'s manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I am inclined\nnow to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about\nthe horse.\"\n\n\"Certainly not without your permission.\"\n\n\"And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the question\nof who killed John Straker.\"\n\n\"And you will devote yourself to that?\"\n\n\"On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night train.\"\n\nI was thunderstruck by my friend\'s words. We had only been a few hours\nin Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which he had\nbegun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a word more\ncould I draw from him until we were back at the trainer\'s house. The\nColonel and the Inspector were awaiting us in the parlor.\n\n\"My friend and I return to town by the night-express,\" said Holmes. \"We\nhave had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor air.\"\n\nThe Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel\'s lip curled in a sneer.\n\n\"So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker,\" said he.\n\nHolmes shrugged his shoulders. \"There are certainly grave difficulties\nin the way,\" said he. \"I have every hope, however, that your horse\nwill start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your jockey in\nreadiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John Straker?\"\n\nThe Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him.\n\n\"My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask you to\nwait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put\nto the maid.\"\n\n\"I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London consultant,\"\nsaid Colonel Ross, bluntly, as my friend left the room. \"I do not see\nthat we are any further than when he came.\"\n\n\"At least you have his assurance that your horse will run,\" said I.\n\n\"Yes, I have his assurance,\" said the Colonel, with a shrug of his\nshoulders. \"I should prefer to have the horse.\"\n\nI was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he entered\nthe room again.\n\n\"Now, gentlemen,\" said he, \"I am quite ready for Tavistock.\"\n\nAs we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door\nopen for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned\nforward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.\n\n\"You have a few sheep in the paddock,\" he said. \"Who attends to them?\"\n\n\"I do, sir.\"\n\n\"Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them have gone lame, sir.\"\n\nI could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and\nrubbed his hands together.\n\n\"A long shot, Watson; a very long shot,\" said he, pinching my arm.\n\"Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic\namong the sheep. Drive on, coachman!\"\n\nColonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion\nwhich he had formed of my companion\'s ability, but I saw by the\nInspector\'s face that his attention had been keenly aroused.\n\n\"You consider that to be important?\" he asked.\n\n\"Exceedingly so.\"\n\n\"Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?\"\n\n\"To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.\"\n\n\"The dog did nothing in the night-time.\"\n\n\"That was the curious incident,\" remarked Sherlock Holmes.\n\n\nFour days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for\nWinchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us by\nappointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the course\nbeyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold in the\nextreme.\n\n\"I have seen nothing of my horse,\" said he.\n\n\"I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?\" asked Holmes.\n\nThe Colonel was very angry. \"I have been on the turf for twenty years,\nand never was asked such a question as that before,\" said he. \"A\nchild would know Silver Blaze, with his white forehead and his mottled\noff-foreleg.\"\n\n\"How is the betting?\"\n\n\"Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got fifteen to one\nyesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you can\nhardly get three to one now.\"\n\n\"Hum!\" said Holmes. \"Somebody knows something, that is clear.\"\n\nAs the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand stand I glanced at\nthe card to see the entries.\n\nWessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs each h ft with 1000 sovs added for four\nand five year olds. Second, L300. Third, L200. New course (one mile and\nfive furlongs). Mr. Heath Newton\'s The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket.\nColonel Wardlaw\'s Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket. Lord\nBackwater\'s Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves. Colonel Ross\'s Silver\nBlaze. Black cap. Red jacket. Duke of Balmoral\'s Iris. Yellow and black\nstripes. Lord Singleford\'s Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves.\n\n\"We scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your word,\" said the\nColonel. \"Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favorite?\"\n\n\"Five to four against Silver Blaze!\" roared the ring. \"Five to four\nagainst Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four\non the field!\"\n\n\"There are the numbers up,\" I cried. \"They are all six there.\"\n\n\"All six there? Then my horse is running,\" cried the Colonel in great\nagitation. \"But I don\'t see him. My colors have not passed.\"\n\n\"Only five have passed. This must be he.\"\n\nAs I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing enclosure\nand cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red\nof the Colonel.\n\n\"That\'s not my horse,\" cried the owner. \"That beast has not a white hair\nupon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"Well, well, let us see how he gets on,\" said my friend, imperturbably.\nFor a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass. \"Capital! An\nexcellent start!\" he cried suddenly. \"There they are, coming round the\ncurve!\"\n\nFrom our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The six\nhorses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them,\nbut half way up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front.\nBefore they reached us, however, Desborough\'s bolt was shot, and the\nColonel\'s horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six\nlengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral\'s Iris making a bad\nthird.\n\n\"It\'s my race, anyhow,\" gasped the Colonel, passing his hand over his\neyes. \"I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don\'t you\nthink that you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round and\nhave a look at the horse together. Here he is,\" he continued, as we made\nour way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and their friends\nfind admittance. \"You have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits\nof wine, and you will find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as\never.\"\n\n\"You take my breath away!\"\n\n\"I found him in the hands of a faker, and took the liberty of running\nhim just as he was sent over.\"\n\n\"My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit and well.\nIt never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies\nfor having doubted your ability. You have done me a great service by\nrecovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could lay\nyour hands on the murderer of John Straker.\"\n\n\"I have done so,\" said Holmes quietly.\n\nThe Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. \"You have got him! Where\nis he, then?\"\n\n\"He is here.\"\n\n\"Here! Where?\"\n\n\"In my company at the present moment.\"\n\nThe Colonel flushed angrily. \"I quite recognize that I am under\nobligations to you, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, \"but I must regard what you\nhave just said as either a very bad joke or an insult.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes laughed. \"I assure you that I have not associated\nyou with the crime, Colonel,\" said he. \"The real murderer is standing\nimmediately behind you.\" He stepped past and laid his hand upon the\nglossy neck of the thoroughbred.\n\n\"The horse!\" cried both the Colonel and myself.\n\n\"Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was\ndone in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely\nunworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as I stand\nto win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation\nuntil a more fitting time.\"\n\n\n\nWe had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we\nwhirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one\nto Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we listened to our\ncompanion\'s narrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor\ntraining-stables upon the Monday night, and the means by which he had\nunravelled them.\n\n\"I confess,\" said he, \"that any theories which I had formed from\nthe newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there were\nindications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which\nconcealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction\nthat Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw\nthat the evidence against him was by no means complete. It was while I\nwas in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer\'s house, that the\nimmense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may\nremember that I was distrait, and remained sitting after you had all\nalighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have\noverlooked so obvious a clue.\"\n\n\"I confess,\" said the Colonel, \"that even now I cannot see how it helps\nus.\"\n\n\"It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by no\nmeans tasteless. The flavor is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible.\nWere it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect\nit, and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the medium\nwhich would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could\nthis stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in\nthe trainer\'s family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a\ncoincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered\nopium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would\ndisguise the flavor. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes\neliminated from the case, and our attention centers upon Straker and\nhis wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for\nsupper that night. The opium was added after the dish was set aside\nfor the stable-boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill\neffects. Which of them, then, had access to that dish without the maid\nseeing them?\n\n\"Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance of the\nsilence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others.\nThe Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables,\nand yet, though some one had been in and had fetched out a horse, he\nhad not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the\nmidnight visitor was some one whom the dog knew well.\n\n\"I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker went\ndown to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver Blaze.\nFor what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug\nhis own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been\ncases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money\nby laying against their own horses, through agents, and then preventing\nthem from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes\nit is some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that the\ncontents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion.\n\n\"And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife which was\nfound in the dead man\'s hand, a knife which certainly no sane man would\nchoose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife\nwhich is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. And it\nwas to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, with\nyour wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible\nto make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse\'s ham, and to do it\nsubcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated\nwould develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain in\nexercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play.\"\n\n\"Villain! Scoundrel!\" cried the Colonel.\n\n\"We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to take the\nhorse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainly\nroused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It\nwas absolutely necessary to do it in the open air.\"\n\n\"I have been blind!\" cried the Colonel. \"Of course that was why he\nneeded the candle, and struck the match.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enough to\ndiscover not only the method of the crime, but even its motives. As a\nman of the world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other people\'s\nbills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite enough to do to\nsettle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double\nlife, and keeping a second establishment. The nature of the bill showed\nthat there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes.\nLiberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they\ncan buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned\nMrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and having\nsatisfied myself that it had never reached her, I made a note of the\nmilliner\'s address, and felt that by calling there with Straker\'s\nphotograph I could easily dispose of the mythical Derbyshire.\n\n\"From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to a\nhollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in his flight had\ndropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it up--with some idea,\nperhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse\'s leg. Once in the\nhollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light; but the\ncreature frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct\nof animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and\nthe steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already,\nin spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate\ntask, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it\nclear?\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\" cried the Colonel. \"Wonderful! You might have been there!\"\n\n\"My final shot was, I confess a very long one. It struck me that so\nastute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nicking\nwithout a little practice. What could he practice on? My eyes fell upon\nthe sheep, and I asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed\nthat my surmise was correct.\n\n\"When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who had\nrecognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire,\nwho had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for expensive\ndresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and\nears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot.\"\n\n\"You have explained all but one thing,\" cried the Colonel. \"Where was\nthe horse?\"\n\n\"Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbors. We must have\nan amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction, if I am\nnot mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. If\nyou care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to\ngive you any other details which might interest you.\"\n\n\n\n\nAdventure II. The Yellow Face\n\n\n[In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous cases in\nwhich my companion\'s singular gifts have made us the listeners to, and\neventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that I\nshould dwell rather upon his successes than upon his failures. And this\nnot so much for the sake of his reputation--for, indeed, it was when\nhe was at his wits\' end that his energy and his versatility were most\nadmirable--but because where he failed it happened too often that no one\nelse succeeded, and that the tale was left forever without a conclusion.\nNow and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred, the truth\nwas still discovered. I have noted of some half-dozen cases of the\nkind; the Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about to\nrecount are the two which present the strongest features of interest.]\n\nSherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise\'s sake.\nFew men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly\none of the finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but he\nlooked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom\nbestirred himself save when there was some professional object to be\nserved. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That he\nshould have kept himself in training under such circumstances is\nremarkable, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits\nwere simple to the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of\ncocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest\nagainst the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers\nuninteresting.\n\nOne day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk with\nme in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were breaking out\nupon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were just\nbeginning to burst into their five-fold leaves. For two hours we rambled\nabout together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know\neach other intimately. It was nearly five before we were back in Baker\nStreet once more.\n\n\"Beg pardon, sir,\" said our page-boy, as he opened the door. \"There\'s\nbeen a gentleman here asking for you, sir.\"\n\nHolmes glanced reproachfully at me. \"So much for afternoon walks!\" said\nhe. \"Has this gentleman gone, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Didn\'t you ask him in?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; he came in.\"\n\n\"How long did he wait?\"\n\n\"Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman, sir, a-walkin\'\nand a-stampin\' all the time he was here. I was waitin\' outside the door,\nsir, and I could hear him. At last he outs into the passage, and he\ncries, \'Is that man never goin\' to come?\' Those were his very words,\nsir. \'You\'ll only need to wait a little longer,\' says I. \'Then I\'ll wait\nin the open air, for I feel half choked,\' says he. \'I\'ll be back before\nlong.\' And with that he ups and he outs, and all I could say wouldn\'t\nhold him back.\"\n\n\"Well, well, you did your best,\" said Holmes, as we walked into our\nroom. \"It\'s very annoying, though, Watson. I was badly in need of\na case, and this looks, from the man\'s impatience, as if it were of\nimportance. Hullo! That\'s not your pipe on the table. He must have\nleft his behind him. A nice old brier with a good long stem of what the\ntobacconists call amber. I wonder how many real amber mouthpieces there\nare in London? Some people think that a fly in it is a sign. Well, he\nmust have been disturbed in his mind to leave a pipe behind him which he\nevidently values highly.\"\n\n\"How do you know that he values it highly?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at seven and sixpence.\nNow it has, you see, been twice mended, once in the wooden stem and once\nin the amber. Each of these mends, done, as you observe, with silver\nbands, must have cost more than the pipe did originally. The man must\nvalue the pipe highly when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a\nnew one with the same money.\"\n\n\"Anything else?\" I asked, for Holmes was turning the pipe about in his\nhand, and staring at it in his peculiar pensive way.\n\nHe held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin fore-finger, as a\nprofessor might who was lecturing on a bone.\n\n\"Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest,\" said he. \"Nothing\nhas more individuality, save perhaps watches and bootlaces. The\nindications here, however, are neither very marked nor very important.\nThe owner is obviously a muscular man, left-handed, with an excellent\nset of teeth, careless in his habits, and with no need to practise\neconomy.\"\n\nMy friend threw out the information in a very offhand way, but I saw\nthat he cocked his eye at me to see if I had followed his reasoning.\n\n\"You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a seven-shilling pipe,\"\nsaid I.\n\n\"This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce,\" Holmes answered,\nknocking a little out on his palm. \"As he might get an excellent smoke\nfor half the price, he has no need to practise economy.\"\n\n\"And the other points?\"\n\n\"He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps and gas-jets.\nYou can see that it is quite charred all down one side. Of course a\nmatch could not have done that. Why should a man hold a match to the\nside of his pipe? But you cannot light it at a lamp without getting the\nbowl charred. And it is all on the right side of the pipe. From that I\ngather that he is a left-handed man. You hold your own pipe to the lamp,\nand see how naturally you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the\nflame. You might do it once the other way, but not as a constancy. This\nhas always been held so. Then he has bitten through his amber. It takes\na muscular, energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to do\nthat. But if I am not mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall\nhave something more interesting than his pipe to study.\"\n\nAn instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered the room.\nHe was well but quietly dressed in a dark-gray suit, and carried a brown\nwide-awake in his hand. I should have put him at about thirty, though he\nwas really some years older.\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" said he, with some embarrassment; \"I suppose I\nshould have knocked. Yes, of course I should have knocked. The fact\nis that I am a little upset, and you must put it all down to that.\" He\npassed his hand over his forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then\nfell rather than sat down upon a chair.\n\n\"I can see that you have not slept for a night or two,\" said Holmes,\nin his easy, genial way. \"That tries a man\'s nerves more than work, and\nmore even than pleasure. May I ask how I can help you?\"\n\n\"I wanted your advice, sir. I don\'t know what to do and my whole life\nseems to have gone to pieces.\"\n\n\"You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?\"\n\n\"Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious man--as a man of the\nworld. I want to know what I ought to do next. I hope to God you\'ll be\nable to tell me.\"\n\nHe spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me that to\nspeak at all was very painful to him, and that his will all through was\noverriding his inclinations.\n\n\"It\'s a very delicate thing,\" said he. \"One does not like to speak of\none\'s domestic affairs to strangers. It seems dreadful to discuss the\nconduct of one\'s wife with two men whom I have never seen before. It\'s\nhorrible to have to do it. But I\'ve got to the end of my tether, and I\nmust have advice.\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Grant Munro--\" began Holmes.\n\nOur visitor sprang from his chair. \"What!\" he cried, \"you know my name?\"\n\n\"If you wish to preserve your incognito,\" said Holmes, smiling, \"I would\nsuggest that you cease to write your name upon the lining of your\nhat, or else that you turn the crown towards the person whom you are\naddressing. I was about to say that my friend and I have listened to a\ngood many strange secrets in this room, and that we have had the good\nfortune to bring peace to many troubled souls. I trust that we may do as\nmuch for you. Might I beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to\nfurnish me with the facts of your case without further delay?\"\n\nOur visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if he found it\nbitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I could see that he was\na reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his nature, more\nlikely to hide his wounds than to expose them. Then suddenly, with a\nfierce gesture of his closed hand, like one who throws reserve to the\nwinds, he began.\n\n\"The facts are these, Mr. Holmes,\" said he. \"I am a married man, and\nhave been so for three years. During that time my wife and I have loved\neach other as fondly and lived as happily as any two that ever were\njoined. We have not had a difference, not one, in thought or word or\ndeed. And now, since last Monday, there has suddenly sprung up a barrier\nbetween us, and I find that there is something in her life and in her\nthought of which I know as little as if she were the woman who brushes\nby me in the street. We are estranged, and I want to know why.\n\n\"Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon you before I go\nany further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me. Don\'t let there be any mistake\nabout that. She loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more\nthan now. I know it. I feel it. I don\'t want to argue about that. A man\ncan tell easily enough when a woman loves him. But there\'s this secret\nbetween us, and we can never be the same until it is cleared.\"\n\n\"Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro,\" said Holmes, with some\nimpatience.\n\n\"I\'ll tell you what I know about Effie\'s history. She was a widow when\nI met her first, though quite young--only twenty-five. Her name then was\nMrs. Hebron. She went out to America when she was young, and lived in\nthe town of Atlanta, where she married this Hebron, who was a lawyer\nwith a good practice. They had one child, but the yellow fever broke out\nbadly in the place, and both husband and child died of it. I have seen\nhis death certificate. This sickened her of America, and she came back\nto live with a maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention that\nher husband had left her comfortably off, and that she had a capital of\nabout four thousand five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested\nby him that it returned an average of seven per cent. She had only been\nsix months at Pinner when I met her; we fell in love with each other,\nand we married a few weeks afterwards.\n\n\"I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of seven or\neight hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off, and took a nice\neighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little place was very\ncountrified, considering that it is so close to town. We had an inn and\ntwo houses a little above us, and a single cottage at the other side of\nthe field which faces us, and except those there were no houses until\nyou got half way to the station. My business took me into town at\ncertain seasons, but in summer I had less to do, and then in our country\nhome my wife and I were just as happy as could be wished. I tell you\nthat there never was a shadow between us until this accursed affair\nbegan.\n\n\"There\'s one thing I ought to tell you before I go further. When we\nmarried, my wife made over all her property to me--rather against my\nwill, for I saw how awkward it would be if my business affairs went\nwrong. However, she would have it so, and it was done. Well, about six\nweeks ago she came to me.\n\n\"\'Jack,\' said she, \'when you took my money you said that if ever I\nwanted any I was to ask you for it.\'\n\n\"\'Certainly,\' said I. \'It\'s all your own.\'\n\n\"\'Well,\' said she, \'I want a hundred pounds.\'\n\n\"I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it was simply a new\ndress or something of the kind that she was after.\n\n\"\'What on earth for?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Oh,\' said she, in her playful way, \'you said that you were only my\nbanker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.\'\n\n\"\'If you really mean it, of course you shall have the money,\' said I.\n\n\"\'Oh, yes, I really mean it.\'\n\n\"\'And you won\'t tell me what you want it for?\'\n\n\"\'Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.\'\n\n\"So I had to be content with that, though it was the first time that\nthere had ever been any secret between us. I gave her a check, and I\nnever thought any more of the matter. It may have nothing to do with\nwhat came afterwards, but I thought it only right to mention it.\n\n\"Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not far from our\nhouse. There is just a field between us, but to reach it you have to\ngo along the road and then turn down a lane. Just beyond it is a nice\nlittle grove of Scotch firs, and I used to be very fond of strolling\ndown there, for trees are always a neighborly kind of things. The\ncottage had been standing empty this eight months, and it was a pity,\nfor it was a pretty two-storied place, with an old-fashioned porch and\nhoneysuckle about it. I have stood many a time and thought what a neat\nlittle homestead it would make.\n\n\"Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down that way, when\nI met an empty van coming up the lane, and saw a pile of carpets and\nthings lying about on the grass-plot beside the porch. It was clear that\nthe cottage had at last been let. I walked past it, and wondered what\nsort of folk they were who had come to live so near us. And as I looked\nI suddenly became aware that a face was watching me out of one of the\nupper windows.\n\n\"I don\'t know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes, but it seemed\nto send a chill right down my back. I was some little way off, so that\nI could not make out the features, but there was something unnatural and\ninhuman about the face. That was the impression that I had, and I moved\nquickly forwards to get a nearer view of the person who was watching\nme. But as I did so the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it\nseemed to have been plucked away into the darkness of the room. I stood\nfor five minutes thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my\nimpressions. I could not tell if the face were that of a man or a\nwoman. It had been too far from me for that. But its color was what had\nimpressed me most. It was of a livid chalky white, and with something\nset and rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural. So disturbed\nwas I that I determined to see a little more of the new inmates of\nthe cottage. I approached and knocked at the door, which was instantly\nopened by a tall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding face.\n\n\"\'What may you be wantin\'?\' she asked, in a Northern accent.\n\n\"\'I am your neighbor over yonder,\' said I, nodding towards my house. \'I\nsee that you have only just moved in, so I thought that if I could be of\nany help to you in any--\'\n\n\"\'Ay, we\'ll just ask ye when we want ye,\' said she, and shut the door\nin my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff, I turned my back and walked\nhome. All evening, though I tried to think of other things, my mind\nwould still turn to the apparition at the window and the rudeness of the\nwoman. I determined to say nothing about the former to my wife, for\nshe is a nervous, highly strung woman, and I had no wish that she would\nshare the unpleasant impression which had been produced upon myself. I\nremarked to her, however, before I fell asleep, that the cottage was now\noccupied, to which she returned no reply.\n\n\"I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has been a standing jest\nin the family that nothing could ever wake me during the night. And yet\nsomehow on that particular night, whether it may have been the slight\nexcitement produced by my little adventure or not I know not, but\nI slept much more lightly than usual. Half in my dreams I was dimly\nconscious that something was going on in the room, and gradually became\naware that my wife had dressed herself and was slipping on her mantle\nand her bonnet. My lips were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of\nsurprise or remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly my\nhalf-opened eyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the candle-light,\nand astonishment held me dumb. She wore an expression such as I had\nnever seen before--such as I should have thought her incapable of\nassuming. She was deadly pale and breathing fast, glancing furtively\ntowards the bed as she fastened her mantle, to see if she had disturbed\nme. Then, thinking that I was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from\nthe room, and an instant later I heard a sharp creaking which could only\ncome from the hinges of the front door. I sat up in bed and rapped my\nknuckles against the rail to make certain that I was truly awake. Then\nI took my watch from under the pillow. It was three in the morning. What\non this earth could my wife be doing out on the country road at three in\nthe morning?\n\n\"I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in my mind\nand trying to find some possible explanation. The more I thought, the\nmore extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. I was still puzzling\nover it when I heard the door gently close again, and her footsteps\ncoming up the stairs.\n\n\"\'Where in the world have you been, Effie?\' I asked as she entered.\n\n\"She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when I spoke, and\nthat cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for there was\nsomething indescribably guilty about them. My wife had always been\na woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a chill to see her\nslinking into her own room, and crying out and wincing when her own\nhusband spoke to her.\n\n\"\'You awake, Jack!\' she cried, with a nervous laugh. \'Why, I thought\nthat nothing could awake you.\'\n\n\"\'Where have you been?\' I asked, more sternly.\n\n\"\'I don\'t wonder that you are surprised,\' said she, and I could see that\nher fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings of her mantle.\n\'Why, I never remember having done such a thing in my life before. The\nfact is that I felt as though I were choking, and had a perfect longing\nfor a breath of fresh air. I really think that I should have fainted if\nI had not gone out. I stood at the door for a few minutes, and now I am\nquite myself again.\'\n\n\"All the time that she was telling me this story she never once looked\nin my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual tones. It\nwas evident to me that she was saying what was false. I said nothing\nin reply, but turned my face to the wall, sick at heart, with my mind\nfilled with a thousand venomous doubts and suspicions. What was it that\nmy wife was concealing from me? Where had she been during that strange\nexpedition? I felt that I should have no peace until I knew, and yet I\nshrank from asking her again after once she had told me what was false.\nAll the rest of the night I tossed and tumbled, framing theory after\ntheory, each more unlikely than the last.\n\n\"I should have gone to the City that day, but I was too disturbed in my\nmind to be able to pay attention to business matters. My wife seemed\nto be as upset as myself, and I could see from the little questioning\nglances which she kept shooting at me that she understood that I\ndisbelieved her statement, and that she was at her wits\' end what to do.\nWe hardly exchanged a word during breakfast, and immediately afterwards\nI went out for a walk, that I might think the matter out in the fresh\nmorning air.\n\n\"I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in the grounds, and\nwas back in Norbury by one o\'clock. It happened that my way took me past\nthe cottage, and I stopped for an instant to look at the windows, and to\nsee if I could catch a glimpse of the strange face which had looked\nout at me on the day before. As I stood there, imagine my surprise, Mr.\nHolmes, when the door suddenly opened and my wife walked out.\n\n\"I was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of her; but my\nemotions were nothing to those which showed themselves upon her face\nwhen our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish to shrink back\ninside the house again; and then, seeing how useless all concealment\nmust be, she came forward, with a very white face and frightened eyes\nwhich belied the smile upon her lips.\n\n\"\'Ah, Jack,\' she said, \'I have just been in to see if I can be of any\nassistance to our new neighbors. Why do you look at me like that, Jack?\nYou are not angry with me?\'\n\n\"\'So,\' said I, \'this is where you went during the night.\'\n\n\"\'What do you mean?\' she cried.\n\n\"\'You came here. I am sure of it. Who are these people, that you should\nvisit them at such an hour?\'\n\n\"\'I have not been here before.\'\n\n\"\'How can you tell me what you know is false?\' I cried. \'Your very voice\nchanges as you speak. When have I ever had a secret from you? I shall\nenter that cottage, and I shall probe the matter to the bottom.\'\n\n\"\'No, no, Jack, for God\'s sake!\' she gasped, in uncontrollable emotion.\nThen, as I approached the door, she seized my sleeve and pulled me back\nwith convulsive strength.\n\n\"\'I implore you not to do this, Jack,\' she cried. \'I swear that I will\ntell you everything some day, but nothing but misery can come of it if\nyou enter that cottage.\' Then, as I tried to shake her off, she clung to\nme in a frenzy of entreaty.\n\n\"\'Trust me, Jack!\' she cried. \'Trust me only this once. You will never\nhave cause to regret it. You know that I would not have a secret from\nyou if it were not for your own sake. Our whole lives are at stake in\nthis. If you come home with me, all will be well. If you force your way\ninto that cottage, all is over between us.\'\n\n\"There was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner that her words\narrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door.\n\n\"\'I will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only,\' said I\nat last. \'It is that this mystery comes to an end from now. You are\nat liberty to preserve your secret, but you must promise me that there\nshall be no more nightly visits, no more doings which are kept from my\nknowledge. I am willing to forget those which are passed if you will\npromise that there shall be no more in the future.\'\n\n\"\'I was sure that you would trust me,\' she cried, with a great sigh of\nrelief. \'It shall be just as you wish. Come away--oh, come away up to\nthe house.\'\n\n\"Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage. As we\nwent I glanced back, and there was that yellow livid face watching us\nout of the upper window. What link could there be between that creature\nand my wife? Or how could the coarse, rough woman whom I had seen the\nday before be connected with her? It was a strange puzzle, and yet I\nknew that my mind could never know ease again until I had solved it.\n\n\"For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife appeared to abide\nloyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know, she never stirred out\nof the house. On the third day, however, I had ample evidence that\nher solemn promise was not enough to hold her back from this secret\ninfluence which drew her away from her husband and her duty.\n\n\"I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by the 2.40 instead of\nthe 3.36, which is my usual train. As I entered the house the maid ran\ninto the hall with a startled face.\n\n\"\'Where is your mistress?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'I think that she has gone out for a walk,\' she answered.\n\n\"My mind was instantly filled with suspicion. I rushed upstairs to make\nsure that she was not in the house. As I did so I happened to glance out\nof one of the upper windows, and saw the maid with whom I had just been\nspeaking running across the field in the direction of the cottage. Then\nof course I saw exactly what it all meant. My wife had gone over there,\nand had asked the servant to call her if I should return. Tingling with\nanger, I rushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter\nonce and forever. I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back along the\nlane, but I did not stop to speak with them. In the cottage lay the\nsecret which was casting a shadow over my life. I vowed that, come what\nmight, it should be a secret no longer. I did not even knock when I\nreached it, but turned the handle and rushed into the passage.\n\n\"It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor. In the kitchen a\nkettle was singing on the fire, and a large black cat lay coiled up in\nthe basket; but there was no sign of the woman whom I had seen before.\nI ran into the other room, but it was equally deserted. Then I rushed up\nthe stairs, only to find two other rooms empty and deserted at the top.\nThere was no one at all in the whole house. The furniture and pictures\nwere of the most common and vulgar description, save in the one chamber\nat the window of which I had seen the strange face. That was comfortable\nand elegant, and all my suspicions rose into a fierce bitter flame when\nI saw that on the mantelpiece stood a copy of a full-length photograph\nof my wife, which had been taken at my request only three months ago.\n\n\"I stayed long enough to make certain that the house was absolutely\nempty. Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart such as I had never\nhad before. My wife came out into the hall as I entered my house; but I\nwas too hurt and angry to speak with her, and pushing past her, I made\nmy way into my study. She followed me, however, before I could close the\ndoor.\n\n\"\'I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,\' said she; \'but if you knew\nall the circumstances I am sure that you would forgive me.\'\n\n\"\'Tell me everything, then,\' said I.\n\n\"\'I cannot, Jack, I cannot,\' she cried.\n\n\"\'Until you tell me who it is that has been living in that cottage, and\nwho it is to whom you have given that photograph, there can never be any\nconfidence between us,\' said I, and breaking away from her, I left the\nhouse. That was yesterday, Mr. Holmes, and I have not seen her since,\nnor do I know anything more about this strange business. It is the first\nshadow that has come between us, and it has so shaken me that I do not\nknow what I should do for the best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to\nme that you were the man to advise me, so I have hurried to you now, and\nI place myself unreservedly in your hands. If there is any point which I\nhave not made clear, pray question me about it. But, above all, tell me\nquickly what I am to do, for this misery is more than I can bear.\"\n\nHolmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to this extraordinary\nstatement, which had been delivered in the jerky, broken fashion of a\nman who is under the influence of extreme emotions. My companion sat\nsilent for some time, with his chin upon his hand, lost in thought.\n\n\"Tell me,\" said he at last, \"could you swear that this was a man\'s face\nwhich you saw at the window?\"\n\n\"Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it, so that it is\nimpossible for me to say.\"\n\n\"You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed by it.\"\n\n\"It seemed to be of an unnatural color, and to have a strange rigidity\nabout the features. When I approached, it vanished with a jerk.\"\n\n\"How long is it since your wife asked you for a hundred pounds?\"\n\n\"Nearly two months.\"\n\n\"Have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?\"\n\n\"No; there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly after his death, and\nall her papers were destroyed.\"\n\n\"And yet she had a certificate of death. You say that you saw it.\"\n\n\"Yes; she got a duplicate after the fire.\"\n\n\"Did you ever meet any one who knew her in America?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Or get letters from it?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I should like to think over the matter a little now. If the\ncottage is now permanently deserted we may have some difficulty. If, on\nthe other hand, as I fancy is more likely, the inmates were warned of\nyour coming, and left before you entered yesterday, then they may be\nback now, and we should clear it all up easily. Let me advise you, then,\nto return to Norbury, and to examine the windows of the cottage again.\nIf you have reason to believe that it is inhabited, do not force your\nway in, but send a wire to my friend and me. We shall be with you within\nan hour of receiving it, and we shall then very soon get to the bottom\nof the business.\"\n\n\"And if it is still empty?\"\n\n\"In that case I shall come out to-morrow and talk it over with you.\nGood-by; and, above all, do not fret until you know that you really have\na cause for it.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson,\" said my companion, as\nhe returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to the door. \"What do you\nmake of it?\"\n\n\"It had an ugly sound,\" I answered.\n\n\"Yes. There\'s blackmail in it, or I am much mistaken.\"\n\n\"And who is the blackmailer?\"\n\n\"Well, it must be the creature who lives in the only comfortable room\nin the place, and has her photograph above his fireplace. Upon my word,\nWatson, there is something very attractive about that livid face at the\nwindow, and I would not have missed the case for worlds.\"\n\n\"You have a theory?\"\n\n\"Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does not turn\nout to be correct. This woman\'s first husband is in that cottage.\"\n\n\"Why do you think so?\"\n\n\"How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one should\nnot enter it? The facts, as I read them, are something like this:\nThis woman was married in America. Her husband developed some hateful\nqualities; or shall we say that he contracted some loathsome disease,\nand became a leper or an imbecile? She flies from him at last, returns\nto England, changes her name, and starts her life, as she thinks,\nafresh. She has been married three years, and believes that her position\nis quite secure, having shown her husband the death certificate of\nsome man whose name she has assumed, when suddenly her whereabouts\nis discovered by her first husband; or, we may suppose, by some\nunscrupulous woman who has attached herself to the invalid. They write\nto the wife, and threaten to come and expose her. She asks for a hundred\npounds, and endeavors to buy them off. They come in spite of it, and\nwhen the husband mentions casually to the wife that there are new-comers\nin the cottage, she knows in some way that they are her pursuers. She\nwaits until her husband is asleep, and then she rushes down to endeavor\nto persuade them to leave her in peace. Having no success, she goes\nagain next morning, and her husband meets her, as he has told us, as\nshe comes out. She promises him then not to go there again, but two days\nafterwards the hope of getting rid of those dreadful neighbors was too\nstrong for her, and she made another attempt, taking down with her the\nphotograph which had probably been demanded from her. In the midst of\nthis interview the maid rushed in to say that the master had come home,\non which the wife, knowing that he would come straight down to the\ncottage, hurried the inmates out at the back door, into the grove of\nfir-trees, probably, which was mentioned as standing near. In this way\nhe found the place deserted. I shall be very much surprised, however, if\nit is still so when he reconnoitres it this evening. What do you think\nof my theory?\"\n\n\"It is all surmise.\"\n\n\"But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come to our\nknowledge which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough to\nreconsider it. We can do nothing more until we have a message from our\nfriend at Norbury.\"\n\nBut we had not a very long time to wait for that. It came just as we had\nfinished our tea. \"The cottage is still tenanted,\" it said. \"Have seen\nthe face again at the window. Will meet the seven o\'clock train, and\nwill take no steps until you arrive.\"\n\n\nHe was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could see in\nthe light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and quivering with\nagitation.\n\n\"They are still there, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, laying his hand hard upon\nmy friend\'s sleeve. \"I saw lights in the cottage as I came down. We\nshall settle it now once and for all.\"\n\n\"What is your plan, then?\" asked Holmes, as he walked down the dark\ntree-lined road.\n\n\"I am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in the house. I\nwish you both to be there as witnesses.\"\n\n\"You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wife\'s warning\nthat it is better that you should not solve the mystery?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am determined.\"\n\n\"Well, I think that you are in the right. Any truth is better than\nindefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course, legally, we\nare putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but I think that it is\nworth it.\"\n\nIt was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as we turned\nfrom the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with hedges on\neither side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently forward, however, and we\nstumbled after him as best we could.\n\n\"There are the lights of my house,\" he murmured, pointing to a glimmer\namong the trees. \"And here is the cottage which I am going to enter.\"\n\nWe turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the building\nclose beside us. A yellow bar falling across the black foreground showed\nthat the door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper story\nwas brightly illuminated. As we looked, we saw a dark blur moving across\nthe blind.\n\n\"There is that creature!\" cried Grant Munro. \"You can see for yourselves\nthat some one is there. Now follow me, and we shall soon know all.\"\n\nWe approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared out of the shadow\nand stood in the golden track of the lamp-light. I could not see her\nface in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in an attitude of\nentreaty.\n\n\"For God\'s sake, don\'t Jack!\" she cried. \"I had a presentiment that you\nwould come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust me again, and\nyou will never have cause to regret it.\"\n\n\"I have trusted you too long, Effie,\" he cried, sternly. \"Leave go of\nme! I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settle this matter\nonce and forever!\" He pushed her to one side, and we followed closely\nafter him. As he threw the door open an old woman ran out in front of\nhim and tried to bar his passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant\nafterwards we were all upon the stairs. Grant Munro rushed into the\nlighted room at the top, and we entered at his heels.\n\nIt was a cosey, well-furnished apartment, with two candles burning upon\nthe table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping over a\ndesk, there sat what appeared to be a little girl. Her face was turned\naway as we entered, but we could see that she was dressed in a red\nfrock, and that she had long white gloves on. As she whisked round\nto us, I gave a cry of surprise and horror. The face which she turned\ntowards us was of the strangest livid tint, and the features were\nabsolutely devoid of any expression. An instant later the mystery was\nexplained. Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the child\'s\near, a mask peeled off from her countenance, and there was a little coal\nblack negress, with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at our\namazed faces. I burst out laughing, out of sympathy with her merriment;\nbut Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching his throat.\n\n\"My God!\" he cried. \"What can be the meaning of this?\"\n\n\"I will tell you the meaning of it,\" cried the lady, sweeping into\nthe room with a proud, set face. \"You have forced me, against my own\njudgment, to tell you, and now we must both make the best of it. My\nhusband died at Atlanta. My child survived.\"\n\n\"Your child?\"\n\nShe drew a large silver locket from her bosom. \"You have never seen this\nopen.\"\n\n\"I understood that it did not open.\"\n\nShe touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a portrait\nwithin of a man strikingly handsome and intelligent-looking, but bearing\nunmistakable signs upon his features of his African descent.\n\n\"That is John Hebron, of Atlanta,\" said the lady, \"and a nobler man\nnever walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in order to wed\nhim, but never once while he lived did I for an instant regret it. It\nwas our misfortune that our only child took after his people rather than\nmine. It is often so in such matches, and little Lucy is darker far than\never her father was. But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie,\nand her mother\'s pet.\" The little creature ran across at the words and\nnestled up against the lady\'s dress. \"When I left her in America,\" she\ncontinued, \"it was only because her health was weak, and the change\nmight have done her harm. She was given to the care of a faithful Scotch\nwoman who had once been our servant. Never for an instant did I dream\nof disowning her as my child. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack,\nand I learned to love you, I feared to tell you about my child. God\nforgive me, I feared that I should lose you, and I had not the courage\nto tell you. I had to choose between you, and in my weakness I turned\naway from my own little girl. For three years I have kept her existence\na secret from you, but I heard from the nurse, and I knew that all was\nwell with her. At last, however, there came an overwhelming desire to\nsee the child once more. I struggled against it, but in vain. Though I\nknew the danger, I determined to have the child over, if it were but\nfor a few weeks. I sent a hundred pounds to the nurse, and I gave her\ninstructions about this cottage, so that she might come as a neighbor,\nwithout my appearing to be in any way connected with her. I pushed my\nprecautions so far as to order her to keep the child in the house during\nthe daytime, and to cover up her little face and hands so that even\nthose who might see her at the window should not gossip about there\nbeing a black child in the neighborhood. If I had been less cautious\nI might have been more wise, but I was half crazy with fear that you\nshould learn the truth.\n\n\"It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. I should\nhave waited for the morning, but I could not sleep for excitement, and\nso at last I slipped out, knowing how difficult it is to awake you. But\nyou saw me go, and that was the beginning of my troubles. Next day you\nhad my secret at your mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing your\nadvantage. Three days later, however, the nurse and child only just\nescaped from the back door as you rushed in at the front one. And now\nto-night you at last know all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my\nchild and me?\" She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.\n\nIt was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence, and\nwhen his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He lifted\nthe little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her, he held his\nother hand out to his wife and turned towards the door.\n\n\"We can talk it over more comfortably at home,\" said he. \"I am not a\nvery good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have\ngiven me credit for being.\"\n\nHolmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked at my\nsleeve as we came out.\n\n\"I think,\" said he, \"that we shall be of more use in London than in\nNorbury.\"\n\nNot another word did he say of the case until late that night, when he\nwas turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom.\n\n\"Watson,\" said he, \"if it should ever strike you that I am getting a\nlittle over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case\nthan it deserves, kindly whisper \'Norbury\' in my ear, and I shall be\ninfinitely obliged to you.\"\n\n\n\n\nAdventure III. The Stock-Broker\'s Clerk\n\n\nShortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the Paddington\ndistrict. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased it, had at one time an\nexcellent general practice; but his age, and an affliction of the nature\nof St. Vitus\'s dance from which he suffered, had very much thinned it.\nThe public not unnaturally goes on the principle that he who would heal\nothers must himself be whole, and looks askance at the curative powers\nof the man whose own case is beyond the reach of his drugs. Thus as my\npredecessor weakened his practice declined, until when I purchased\nit from him it had sunk from twelve hundred to little more than three\nhundred a year. I had confidence, however, in my own youth and energy,\nand was convinced that in a very few years the concern would be as\nflourishing as ever.\n\nFor three months after taking over the practice I was kept very closely\nat work, and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for I was too busy\nto visit Baker Street, and he seldom went anywhere himself save upon\nprofessional business. I was surprised, therefore, when, one morning in\nJune, as I sat reading the British Medical Journal after breakfast, I\nheard a ring at the bell, followed by the high, somewhat strident tones\nof my old companion\'s voice.\n\n\"Ah, my dear Watson,\" said he, striding into the room, \"I am very\ndelighted to see you! I trust that Mrs. Watson has entirely recovered\nfrom all the little excitements connected with our adventure of the Sign\nof Four.\"\n\n\"Thank you, we are both very well,\" said I, shaking him warmly by the\nhand.\n\n\"And I hope, also,\" he continued, sitting down in the rocking-chair,\n\"that the cares of medical practice have not entirely obliterated the\ninterest which you used to take in our little deductive problems.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" I answered, \"it was only last night that I was\nlooking over my old notes, and classifying some of our past results.\"\n\n\"I trust that you don\'t consider your collection closed.\"\n\n\"Not at all. I should wish nothing better than to have some more of such\nexperiences.\"\n\n\"To-day, for example?\"\n\n\"Yes, to-day, if you like.\"\n\n\"And as far off as Birmingham?\"\n\n\"Certainly, if you wish it.\"\n\n\"And the practice?\"\n\n\"I do my neighbor\'s when he goes. He is always ready to work off the\ndebt.\"\n\n\"Ha! Nothing could be better,\" said Holmes, leaning back in his chair\nand looking keenly at me from under his half closed lids. \"I perceive\nthat you have been unwell lately. Summer colds are always a little\ntrying.\"\n\n\"I was confined to the house by a severe chill for three days last week.\nI thought, however, that I had cast off every trace of it.\"\n\n\"So you have. You look remarkably robust.\"\n\n\"How, then, did you know of it?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, you know my methods.\"\n\n\"You deduced it, then?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And from what?\"\n\n\"From your slippers.\"\n\nI glanced down at the new patent leathers which I was wearing. \"How on\nearth--\" I began, but Holmes answered my question before it was asked.\n\n\"Your slippers are new,\" he said. \"You could not have had them more than\na few weeks. The soles which you are at this moment presenting to me are\nslightly scorched. For a moment I thought they might have got wet and\nbeen burned in the drying. But near the instep there is a small circular\nwafer of paper with the shopman\'s hieroglyphics upon it. Damp would of\ncourse have removed this. You had, then, been sitting with your feet\noutstretched to the fire, which a man would hardly do even in so wet a\nJune as this if he were in his full health.\"\n\nLike all Holmes\'s reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itself when it\nwas once explained. He read the thought upon my features, and his smile\nhad a tinge of bitterness.\n\n\"I am afraid that I rather give myself away when I explain,\" said he.\n\"Results without causes are much more impressive. You are ready to come\nto Birmingham, then?\"\n\n\"Certainly. What is the case?\"\n\n\"You shall hear it all in the train. My client is outside in a\nfour-wheeler. Can you come at once?\"\n\n\"In an instant.\" I scribbled a note to my neighbor, rushed upstairs to\nexplain the matter to my wife, and joined Holmes upon the door-step.\n\n\"Your neighbor is a doctor,\" said he, nodding at the brass plate.\n\n\"Yes; he bought a practice as I did.\"\n\n\"An old-established one?\"\n\n\"Just the same as mine. Both have been ever since the houses were\nbuilt.\"\n\n\"Ah! Then you got hold of the best of the two.\"\n\n\"I think I did. But how do you know?\"\n\n\"By the steps, my boy. Yours are worn three inches deeper than his. But\nthis gentleman in the cab is my client, Mr. Hall Pycroft. Allow me to\nintroduce you to him. Whip your horse up, cabby, for we have only just\ntime to catch our train.\"\n\nThe man whom I found myself facing was a well built, fresh-complexioned\nyoung fellow, with a frank, honest face and a slight, crisp, yellow\nmustache. He wore a very shiny top hat and a neat suit of sober black,\nwhich made him look what he was--a smart young City man, of the class\nwho have been labeled cockneys, but who give us our crack volunteer\nregiments, and who turn out more fine athletes and sportsmen than any\nbody of men in these islands. His round, ruddy face was naturally full\nof cheeriness, but the corners of his mouth seemed to me to be pulled\ndown in a half-comical distress. It was not, however, until we were\nall in a first-class carriage and well started upon our journey to\nBirmingham that I was able to learn what the trouble was which had\ndriven him to Sherlock Holmes.\n\n\"We have a clear run here of seventy minutes,\" Holmes remarked. \"I\nwant you, Mr. Hall Pycroft, to tell my friend your very interesting\nexperience exactly as you have told it to me, or with more detail if\npossible. It will be of use to me to hear the succession of events\nagain. It is a case, Watson, which may prove to have something in it, or\nmay prove to have nothing, but which, at least, presents those unusual\nand outré features which are as dear to you as they are to me. Now, Mr.\nPycroft, I shall not interrupt you again.\"\n\nOur young companion looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.\n\n\"The worst of the story is,\" said he, \"that I show myself up as such a\nconfounded fool. Of course it may work out all right, and I don\'t see\nthat I could have done otherwise; but if I have lost my crib and get\nnothing in exchange I shall feel what a soft Johnnie I have been. I\'m\nnot very good at telling a story, Dr. Watson, but it is like this with\nme:\n\n\"I used to have a billet at Coxon & Woodhouse\'s, of Draper\'s Gardens,\nbut they were let in early in the spring through the Venezuelan loan,\nas no doubt you remember, and came a nasty cropper. I had been with them\nfive years, and old Coxon gave me a ripping good testimonial when\nthe smash came, but of course we clerks were all turned adrift, the\ntwenty-seven of us. I tried here and tried there, but there were lots of\nother chaps on the same lay as myself, and it was a perfect frost for a\nlong time. I had been taking three pounds a week at Coxon\'s, and I had\nsaved about seventy of them, but I soon worked my way through that and\nout at the other end. I was fairly at the end of my tether at last,\nand could hardly find the stamps to answer the advertisements or the\nenvelopes to stick them to. I had worn out my boots paddling up office\nstairs, and I seemed just as far from getting a billet as ever.\n\n\"At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson & Williams\'s, the great stock-broking\nfirm in Lombard Street. I dare say E. C. is not much in your line, but\nI can tell you that this is about the richest house in London.\nThe advertisement was to be answered by letter only. I sent in my\ntestimonial and application, but without the least hope of getting it.\nBack came an answer by return, saying that if I would appear next Monday\nI might take over my new duties at once, provided that my appearance was\nsatisfactory. No one knows how these things are worked. Some people say\nthat the manager just plunges his hand into the heap and takes the first\nthat comes. Anyhow it was my innings that time, and I don\'t ever wish to\nfeel better pleased. The screw was a pound a week rise, and the duties\njust about the same as at Coxon\'s.\n\n\"And now I come to the queer part of the business. I was in diggings out\nHampstead way, 17 Potter\'s Terrace. Well, I was sitting doing a smoke\nthat very evening after I had been promised the appointment, when up\ncame my landlady with a card which had \'Arthur Pinner, Financial Agent,\'\nprinted upon it. I had never heard the name before and could not imagine\nwhat he wanted with me; but, of course, I asked her to show him up. In\nhe walked, a middle-sized, dark-haired, dark-eyed, black-bearded man,\nwith a touch of the Sheeny about his nose. He had a brisk kind of way\nwith him and spoke sharply, like a man who knew the value of time.\"\n\n\"\'Mr. Hall Pycroft, I believe?\'\" said he.\n\n\"\'Yes, sir,\' I answered, pushing a chair towards him.\n\n\"\'Lately engaged at Coxon & Woodhouse\'s?\'\n\n\"\'Yes, sir.\'\n\n\"\'And now on the staff of Mawson\'s.\'\n\n\"\'Quite so.\'\n\n\"\'Well,\' said he, \'the fact is that I have heard some really\nextraordinary stories about your financial ability. You remember Parker,\nwho used to be Coxon\'s manager? He can never say enough about it.\'\n\n\"Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had always been pretty sharp in\nthe office, but I had never dreamed that I was talked about in the City\nin this fashion.\n\n\"\'You have a good memory?\' said he.\n\n\"\'Pretty fair,\' I answered, modestly.\n\n\"\'Have you kept in touch with the market while you have been out of\nwork?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'Yes. I read the stock exchange list every morning.\'\n\n\"\'Now that shows real application!\' he cried. \'That is the way to\nprosper! You won\'t mind my testing you, will you? Let me see. How are\nAyrshires?\'\n\n\"\'A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five and\nseven-eighths.\'\n\n\"\'And New Zealand consolidated?\'\n\n\"\'A hundred and four.\n\n\"\'And British Broken Hills?\'\n\n\"\'Seven to seven-and-six.\'\n\n\"\'Wonderful!\' he cried, with his hands up. \'This quite fits in with all\nthat I had heard. My boy, my boy, you are very much too good to be a\nclerk at Mawson\'s!\'\n\n\"This outburst rather astonished me, as you can think. \'Well,\' said I,\n\'other people don\'t think quite so much of me as you seem to do, Mr.\nPinner. I had a hard enough fight to get this berth, and I am very glad\nto have it.\'\n\n\"\'Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are not in your true sphere.\nNow, I\'ll tell you how it stands with me. What I have to offer is little\nenough when measured by your ability, but when compared with Mawson\'s,\nit\'s light to dark. Let me see. When do you go to Mawson\'s?\'\n\n\"\'On Monday.\'\n\n\"\'Ha, ha! I think I would risk a little sporting flutter that you don\'t\ngo there at all.\'\n\n\"\'Not go to Mawson\'s?\'\n\n\"\'No, sir. By that day you will be the business manager of the\nFranco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, with a hundred and thirty-four\nbranches in the towns and villages of France, not counting one in\nBrussels and one in San Remo.\'\n\n\"This took my breath away. \'I never heard of it,\' said I.\n\n\"\'Very likely not. It has been kept very quiet, for the capital was all\nprivately subscribed, and it\'s too good a thing to let the public\ninto. My brother, Harry Pinner, is promoter, and joins the board after\nallotment as managing director. He knew I was in the swim down here, and\nasked me to pick up a good man cheap. A young, pushing man with plenty\nof snap about him. Parker spoke of you, and that brought me here\nto-night. We can only offer you a beggarly five hundred to start with.\'\n\n\"\'Five hundred a year!\' I shouted.\n\n\"\'Only that at the beginning; but you are to have an overriding\ncommission of one per cent on all business done by your agents, and you\nmay take my word for it that this will come to more than your salary.\'\n\n\"\'But I know nothing about hardware.\'\n\n\"\'Tut, my boy; you know about figures.\'\n\n\"My head buzzed, and I could hardly sit still in my chair. But suddenly\na little chill of doubt came upon me.\n\n\"\'I must be frank with you,\' said I. \'Mawson only gives me two hundred,\nbut Mawson is safe. Now, really, I know so little about your company\nthat--\'\n\n\"\'Ah, smart, smart!\' he cried, in a kind of ecstasy of delight. \'You\nare the very man for us. You are not to be talked over, and quite right,\ntoo. Now, here\'s a note for a hundred pounds, and if you think that we\ncan do business you may just slip it into your pocket as an advance upon\nyour salary.\'\n\n\"\'That is very handsome,\' said I. \'When should I take over my new\nduties?\'\n\n\"\'Be in Birmingham to-morrow at one,\' said he. \'I have a note in my\npocket here which you will take to my brother. You will find him at\n126b Corporation Street, where the temporary offices of the company\nare situated. Of course he must confirm your engagement, but between\nourselves it will be all right.\'\n\n\"\'Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude, Mr. Pinner,\' said\nI.\n\n\"\'Not at all, my boy. You have only got your deserts. There are one or\ntwo small things--mere formalities--which I must arrange with you.\nYou have a bit of paper beside you there. Kindly write upon it \"I am\nperfectly willing to act as business manager to the Franco-Midland\nHardware Company, Limited, at a minimum salary of L500.\"\'\n\n\"I did as he asked, and he put the paper in his pocket.\n\n\"\'There is one other detail,\' said he. \'What do you intend to do about\nMawson\'s?\'\n\n\"I had forgotten all about Mawson\'s in my joy. \'I\'ll write and resign,\'\nsaid I.\n\n\"\'Precisely what I don\'t want you to do. I had a row over you with\nMawson\'s manager. I had gone up to ask him about you, and he was very\noffensive; accused me of coaxing you away from the service of the firm,\nand that sort of thing. At last I fairly lost my temper. \"If you want\ngood men you should pay them a good price,\" said I.\'\n\n\"\'He would rather have our small price than your big one,\' said he.\n\n\"\'I\'ll lay you a fiver,\' said I, \'that when he has my offer you\'ll never\nso much as hear from him again.\'\n\n\"\'Done!\' said he. \'We picked him out of the gutter, and he won\'t leave\nus so easily.\' Those were his very words.\"\n\n\"\'The impudent scoundrel!\' I cried. \'I\'ve never so much as seen him in\nmy life. Why should I consider him in any way? I shall certainly not\nwrite if you would rather I didn\'t.\'\n\n\"\'Good! That\'s a promise,\' said he, rising from his chair. \'Well, I\'m\ndelighted to have got so good a man for my brother. Here\'s your advance\nof a hundred pounds, and here is the letter. Make a note of the address,\n126b Corporation Street, and remember that one o\'clock to-morrow is\nyour appointment. Good-night; and may you have all the fortune that you\ndeserve!\'\n\n\"That\'s just about all that passed between us, as near as I can\nremember. You can imagine, Dr. Watson, how pleased I was at such an\nextraordinary bit of good fortune. I sat up half the night hugging\nmyself over it, and next day I was off to Birmingham in a train that\nwould take me in plenty time for my appointment. I took my things to\na hotel in New Street, and then I made my way to the address which had\nbeen given me.\n\n\"It was a quarter of an hour before my time, but I thought that would\nmake no difference. 126b was a passage between two large shops, which\nled to a winding stone stair, from which there were many flats, let as\noffices to companies or professional men. The names of the occupants\nwere painted at the bottom on the wall, but there was no such name as\nthe Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited. I stood for a few minutes\nwith my heart in my boots, wondering whether the whole thing was an\nelaborate hoax or not, when up came a man and addressed me. He was very\nlike the chap I had seen the night before, the same figure and voice,\nbut he was clean shaven and his hair was lighter.\n\n\"\'Are you Mr. Hall Pycroft?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'Yes,\' said I.\n\n\"\'Oh! I was expecting you, but you are a trifle before your time. I had\na note from my brother this morning in which he sang your praises very\nloudly.\'\n\n\"\'I was just looking for the offices when you came.\n\n\"\'We have not got our name up yet, for we only secured these temporary\npremises last week. Come up with me, and we will talk the matter over.\'\n\n\"I followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and there, right under\nthe slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little rooms, uncarpeted and\nuncurtained, into which he led me. I had thought of a great office with\nshining tables and rows of clerks, such as I was used to, and I dare say\nI stared rather straight at the two deal chairs and one little table,\nwhich, with a ledger and a waste paper basket, made up the whole\nfurniture.\n\n\"\'Don\'t be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft,\' said my new acquaintance, seeing\nthe length of my face. \'Rome was not built in a day, and we have lots of\nmoney at our backs, though we don\'t cut much dash yet in offices. Pray\nsit down, and let me have your letter.\'\n\n\"I gave it to him, and he read it over very carefully.\n\n\"\'You seem to have made a vast impression upon my brother Arthur,\' said\nhe; \'and I know that he is a pretty shrewd judge. He swears by London,\nyou know; and I by Birmingham; but this time I shall follow his advice.\nPray consider yourself definitely engaged.\"\n\n\"\'What are my duties?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which will pour\na flood of English crockery into the shops of a hundred and thirty-four\nagents in France. The purchase will be completed in a week, and\nmeanwhile you will remain in Birmingham and make yourself useful.\'\n\n\"\'How?\'\n\n\"For answer, he took a big red book out of a drawer.\n\n\"\'This is a directory of Paris,\' said he, \'with the trades after the\nnames of the people. I want you to take it home with you, and to mark\noff all the hardware sellers, with their addresses. It would be of the\ngreatest use to me to have them.\'\n\n\"\'Surely there are classified lists?\' I suggested.\n\n\"\'Not reliable ones. Their system is different from ours. Stick at it,\nand let me have the lists by Monday, at twelve. Good-day, Mr. Pycroft.\nIf you continue to show zeal and intelligence you will find the company\na good master.\'\n\n\"I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, and with very\nconflicting feelings in my breast. On the one hand, I was definitely\nengaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket; on the other, the look\nof the offices, the absence of name on the wall, and other of the points\nwhich would strike a business man had left a bad impression as to the\nposition of my employers. However, come what might, I had my money, so I\nsettled down to my task. All Sunday I was kept hard at work, and yet by\nMonday I had only got as far as H. I went round to my employer, found\nhim in the same dismantled kind of room, and was told to keep at\nit until Wednesday, and then come again. On Wednesday it was still\nunfinished, so I hammered away until Friday--that is, yesterday. Then I\nbrought it round to Mr. Harry Pinner.\n\n\"\'Thank you very much,\' said he; \'I fear that I underrated the\ndifficulty of the task. This list will be of very material assistance to\nme.\'\n\n\"\'It took some time,\' said I.\n\n\"\'And now,\' said he, \'I want you to make a list of the furniture shops,\nfor they all sell crockery.\'\n\n\"\'Very good.\'\n\n\"\'And you can come up to-morrow evening, at seven, and let me know how\nyou are getting on. Don\'t overwork yourself. A couple of hours at Day\'s\nMusic Hall in the evening would do you no harm after your labors.\' He\nlaughed as he spoke, and I saw with a thrill that his second tooth upon\nthe left-hand side had been very badly stuffed with gold.\"\n\n\nSherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and I stared with\nastonishment at our client.\n\n\"You may well look surprised, Dr. Watson; but it is this way,\" said he:\n\"When I was speaking to the other chap in London, at the time that he\nlaughed at my not going to Mawson\'s, I happened to notice that his tooth\nwas stuffed in this very identical fashion. The glint of the gold in\neach case caught my eye, you see. When I put that with the voice and\nfigure being the same, and only those things altered which might be\nchanged by a razor or a wig, I could not doubt that it was the same man.\nOf course you expect two brothers to be alike, but not that they should\nhave the same tooth stuffed in the same way. He bowed me out, and I\nfound myself in the street, hardly knowing whether I was on my head or\nmy heels. Back I went to my hotel, put my head in a basin of cold water,\nand tried to think it out. Why had he sent me from London to Birmingham?\nWhy had he got there before me? And why had he written a letter from\nhimself to himself? It was altogether too much for me, and I could make\nno sense of it. And then suddenly it struck me that what was dark to me\nmight be very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just time to get up to\ntown by the night train to see him this morning, and to bring you both\nback with me to Birmingham.\"\n\nThere was a pause after the stock-broker\'s clerk had concluded his\nsurprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me,\nleaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face, like\na connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet vintage.\n\n\"Rather fine, Watson, is it not?\" said he. \"There are points in it which\nplease me. I think that you will agree with me that an interview with\nMr. Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices of the Franco-Midland\nHardware Company, Limited, would be a rather interesting experience for\nboth of us.\"\n\n\"But how can we do it?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, easily enough,\" said Hall Pycroft, cheerily. \"You are two friends\nof mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be more natural than\nthat I should bring you both round to the managing director?\"\n\n\"Quite so, of course,\" said Holmes. \"I should like to have a look at\nthe gentleman, and see if I can make anything of his little game.\nWhat qualities have you, my friend, which would make your services\nso valuable? or is it possible that--\" He began biting his nails and\nstaring blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word from\nhim until we were in New Street.\n\nAt seven o\'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us, down\nCorporation Street to the company\'s offices.\n\n\"It is no use our being at all before our time,\" said our client. \"He\nonly comes there to see me, apparently, for the place is deserted up to\nthe very hour he names.\"\n\n\"That is suggestive,\" remarked Holmes.\n\n\"By Jove, I told you so!\" cried the clerk. \"That\'s he walking ahead of\nus there.\"\n\nHe pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was bustling along\nthe other side of the road. As we watched him he looked across at a boy\nwho was bawling out the latest edition of the evening paper, and running\nover among the cabs and busses, he bought one from him. Then, clutching\nit in his hand, he vanished through a door-way.\n\n\"There he goes!\" cried Hall Pycroft. \"These are the company\'s offices\ninto which he has gone. Come with me, and I\'ll fix it up as easily as\npossible.\"\n\nFollowing his lead, we ascended five stories, until we found ourselves\noutside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped. A voice within\nbade us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished room such as Hall\nPycroft had described. At the single table sat the man whom we had seen\nin the street, with his evening paper spread out in front of him, and as\nhe looked up at us it seemed to me that I had never looked upon a face\nwhich bore such marks of grief, and of something beyond grief--of a\nhorror such as comes to few men in a lifetime. His brow glistened with\nperspiration, his cheeks were of the dull, dead white of a fish\'s belly,\nand his eyes were wild and staring. He looked at his clerk as though he\nfailed to recognize him, and I could see by the astonishment depicted\nupon our conductor\'s face that this was by no means the usual appearance\nof his employer.\n\n\"You look ill, Mr. Pinner!\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Yes, I am not very well,\" answered the other, making obvious efforts\nto pull himself together, and licking his dry lips before he spoke. \"Who\nare these gentlemen whom you have brought with you?\"\n\n\"One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr. Price, of this\ntown,\" said our clerk, glibly. \"They are friends of mine and gentlemen\nof experience, but they have been out of a place for some little time,\nand they hoped that perhaps you might find an opening for them in the\ncompany\'s employment.\"\n\n\"Very possibly! Very possibly!\" cried Mr. Pinner with a ghastly smile.\n\"Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able to do something for you.\nWhat is your particular line, Mr. Harris?\"\n\n\"I am an accountant,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Ah yes, we shall want something of the sort. And you, Mr. Price?\"\n\n\"A clerk,\" said I.\n\n\"I have every hope that the company may accommodate you. I will let you\nknow about it as soon as we come to any conclusion. And now I beg that\nyou will go. For God\'s sake leave me to myself!\"\n\nThese last words were shot out of him, as though the constraint which\nhe was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly burst\nasunder. Holmes and I glanced at each other, and Hall Pycroft took a\nstep towards the table.\n\n\"You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by appointment to receive some\ndirections from you,\" said he.\n\n\"Certainly, Mr. Pycroft, certainly,\" the other resumed in a calmer tone.\n\"You may wait here a moment; and there is no reason why your friends\nshould not wait with you. I will be entirely at your service in three\nminutes, if I might trespass upon your patience so far.\" He rose with a\nvery courteous air, and, bowing to us, he passed out through a door at\nthe farther end of the room, which he closed behind him.\n\n\"What now?\" whispered Holmes. \"Is he giving us the slip?\"\n\n\"Impossible,\" answered Pycroft.\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"That door leads into an inner room.\"\n\n\"There is no exit?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Is it furnished?\"\n\n\"It was empty yesterday.\"\n\n\"Then what on earth can he be doing? There is something which I don\'t\nunderstand in this manner. If ever a man was three parts mad with\nterror, that man\'s name is Pinner. What can have put the shivers on\nhim?\"\n\n\"He suspects that we are detectives,\" I suggested.\n\n\"That\'s it,\" cried Pycroft.\n\nHolmes shook his head. \"He did not turn pale. He was pale when we\nentered the room,\" said he. \"It is just possible that--\"\n\nHis words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direction of the\ninner door.\n\n\"What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?\" cried the clerk.\n\nAgain and much louder came the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed expectantly at\nthe closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his face turn rigid, and he\nleaned forward in intense excitement. Then suddenly came a low guggling,\ngargling sound, and a brisk drumming upon woodwork. Holmes sprang\nfrantically across the room and pushed at the door. It was fastened on\nthe inner side. Following his example, we threw ourselves upon it with\nall our weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and down came the\ndoor with a crash. Rushing over it, we found ourselves in the inner\nroom. It was empty.\n\nBut it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At one corner, the\ncorner nearest the room which we had left, there was a second door.\nHolmes sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat and waistcoat were lying\non the floor, and from a hook behind the door, with his own braces\nround his neck, was hanging the managing director of the Franco-Midland\nHardware Company. His knees were drawn up, his head hung at a dreadful\nangle to his body, and the clatter of his heels against the door made\nthe noise which had broken in upon our conversation. In an instant I\nhad caught him round the waist, and held him up while Holmes and Pycroft\nuntied the elastic bands which had disappeared between the livid creases\nof skin. Then we carried him into the other room, where he lay with\na clay-colored face, puffing his purple lips in and out with every\nbreath--a dreadful wreck of all that he had been but five minutes\nbefore.\n\n\"What do you think of him, Watson?\" asked Holmes.\n\nI stooped over him and examined him. His pulse was feeble and\nintermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a little\nshivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball\nbeneath.\n\n\"It has been touch and go with him,\" said I, \"but he\'ll live now. Just\nopen that window, and hand me the water carafe.\" I undid his collar,\npoured the cold water over his face, and raised and sank his arms until\nhe drew a long, natural breath. \"It\'s only a question of time now,\" said\nI, as I turned away from him.\n\nHolmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trouser\'s pockets\nand his chin upon his breast.\n\n\"I suppose we ought to call the police in now,\" said he. \"And yet I\nconfess that I\'d like to give them a complete case when they come.\"\n\n\"It\'s a blessed mystery to me,\" cried Pycroft, scratching his head.\n\"Whatever they wanted to bring me all the way up here for, and then--\"\n\n\"Pooh! All that is clear enough,\" said Holmes impatiently. \"It is this\nlast sudden move.\"\n\n\"You understand the rest, then?\"\n\n\"I think that it is fairly obvious. What do you say, Watson?\"\n\nI shrugged my shoulders. \"I must confess that I am out of my depths,\"\nsaid I.\n\n\"Oh surely if you consider the events at first they can only point to\none conclusion.\"\n\n\"What do you make of them?\"\n\n\"Well, the whole thing hinges upon two points. The first is the making\nof Pycroft write a declaration by which he entered the service of this\npreposterous company. Do you not see how very suggestive that is?\"\n\n\"I am afraid I miss the point.\"\n\n\"Well, why did they want him to do it? Not as a business matter, for\nthese arrangements are usually verbal, and there was no earthly business\nreason why this should be an exception. Don\'t you see, my young friend,\nthat they were very anxious to obtain a specimen of your handwriting,\nand had no other way of doing it?\"\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"Quite so. Why? When we answer that we have made some progress with our\nlittle problem. Why? There can be only one adequate reason. Some one\nwanted to learn to imitate your writing, and had to procure a specimen\nof it first. And now if we pass on to the second point we find that each\nthrows light upon the other. That point is the request made by Pinner\nthat you should not resign your place, but should leave the manager of\nthis important business in the full expectation that a Mr. Hall Pycroft,\nwhom he had never seen, was about to enter the office upon the Monday\nmorning.\"\n\n\"My God!\" cried our client, \"what a blind beetle I have been!\"\n\n\"Now you see the point about the handwriting. Suppose that some one\nturned up in your place who wrote a completely different hand from that\nin which you had applied for the vacancy, of course the game would have\nbeen up. But in the interval the rogue had learned to imitate you,\nand his position was therefore secure, as I presume that nobody in the\noffice had ever set eyes upon you.\"\n\n\"Not a soul,\" groaned Hall Pycroft.\n\n\"Very good. Of course it was of the utmost importance to prevent you\nfrom thinking better of it, and also to keep you from coming into\ncontact with any one who might tell you that your double was at work\nin Mawson\'s office. Therefore they gave you a handsome advance on your\nsalary, and ran you off to the Midlands, where they gave you enough work\nto do to prevent your going to London, where you might have burst their\nlittle game up. That is all plain enough.\"\n\n\"But why should this man pretend to be his own brother?\"\n\n\"Well, that is pretty clear also. There are evidently only two of them\nin it. The other is impersonating you at the office. This one acted\nas your engager, and then found that he could not find you an employer\nwithout admitting a third person into his plot. That he was most\nunwilling to do. He changed his appearance as far as he could, and\ntrusted that the likeness, which you could not fail to observe, would be\nput down to a family resemblance. But for the happy chance of the gold\nstuffing, your suspicions would probably never have been aroused.\"\n\nHall Pycroft shook his clinched hands in the air. \"Good Lord!\" he cried,\n\"while I have been fooled in this way, what has this other Hall Pycroft\nbeen doing at Mawson\'s? What should we do, Mr. Holmes? Tell me what to\ndo.\"\n\n\"We must wire to Mawson\'s.\"\n\n\"They shut at twelve on Saturdays.\"\n\n\"Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or attendant--\"\n\n\"Ah yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of the value of\nthe securities that they hold. I remember hearing it talked of in the\nCity.\"\n\n\"Very good; we shall wire to him, and see if all is well, and if a clerk\nof your name is working there. That is clear enough; but what is not so\nclear is why at sight of us one of the rogues should instantly walk out\nof the room and hang himself.\"\n\n\"The paper!\" croaked a voice behind us. The man was sitting up, blanched\nand ghastly, with returning reason in his eyes, and hands which rubbed\nnervously at the broad red band which still encircled his throat.\n\n\"The paper! Of course!\" yelled Holmes, in a paroxysm of excitement.\n\"Idiot that I was! I thought so much of our visit that the paper never\nentered my head for an instant. To be sure, the secret must be there.\"\nHe flattened it out upon the table, and a cry of triumph burst from his\nlips. \"Look at this, Watson,\" he cried. \"It is a London paper, an early\nedition of the Evening Standard. Here is what we want. Look at the\nheadlines: \'Crime in the City. Murder at Mawson & Williams\'s. Gigantic\nattempted Robbery. Capture of the Criminal.\' Here, Watson, we are all\nequally anxious to hear it, so kindly read it aloud to us.\"\n\nIt appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one event of\nimportance in town, and the account of it ran in this way:\n\n\"A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of one man and\nthe capture of the criminal, occurred this afternoon in the City. For\nsome time back Mawson & Williams, the famous financial house, have been\nthe guardians of securities which amount in the aggregate to a sum of\nconsiderably over a million sterling. So conscious was the manager of\nthe responsibility which devolved upon him in consequence of the great\ninterests at stake that safes of the very latest construction have\nbeen employed, and an armed watchman has been left day and night in the\nbuilding. It appears that last week a new clerk named Hall Pycroft was\nengaged by the firm. This person appears to have been none other than\nBeddington, the famous forger and cracksman, who, with his brother, had\nonly recently emerged from a five years\' spell of penal servitude. By\nsome means, which are not yet clear, he succeeded in winning, under a\nfalse name, this official position in the office, which he utilized in\norder to obtain moulding of various locks, and a thorough knowledge of\nthe position of the strong room and the safes.\n\n\"It is customary at Mawson\'s for the clerks to leave at midday on\nSaturday. Sergeant Tuson, of the City Police, was somewhat surprised,\ntherefore to see a gentleman with a carpet bag come down the steps at\ntwenty minutes past one. His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant\nfollowed the man, and with the aid of Constable Pollock succeeded, after\na most desperate resistance, in arresting him. It was at once clear\nthat a daring and gigantic robbery had been committed. Nearly a hundred\nthousand pounds\' worth of American railway bonds, with a large amount\nof scrip in mines and other companies, was discovered in the bag. On\nexamining the premises the body of the unfortunate watchman was found\ndoubled up and thrust into the largest of the safes, where it would not\nhave been discovered until Monday morning had it not been for the prompt\naction of Sergeant Tuson. The man\'s skull had been shattered by a\nblow from a poker delivered from behind. There could be no doubt\nthat Beddington had obtained entrance by pretending that he had left\nsomething behind him, and having murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled\nthe large safe, and then made off with his booty. His brother, who\nusually works with him, has not appeared in this job as far as can\nat present be ascertained, although the police are making energetic\ninquiries as to his whereabouts.\"\n\n\"Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that direction,\"\nsaid Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the window.\n\"Human nature is a strange mixture, Watson. You see that even a villain\nand murderer can inspire such affection that his brother turns to\nsuicide when he learns that his neck is forfeited. However, we have\nno choice as to our action. The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr.\nPycroft, if you will have the kindness to step out for the police.\"\n\n\n\n\nAdventure IV. The \"_Gloria Scott_\"\n\n\n\"I have some papers here,\" said my friend Sherlock Holmes, as we sat\none winter\'s night on either side of the fire, \"which I really think,\nWatson, that it would be worth your while to glance over. These are the\ndocuments in the extraordinary case of the Gloria Scott, and this is the\nmessage which struck Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with horror when\nhe read it.\"\n\nHe had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and, undoing\nthe tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of\nslate-gray paper.\n\n\"The supply of game for London is going steadily up,\" it ran.\n\"Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders\nfor fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant\'s life.\"\n\nAs I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, I saw Holmes\nchuckling at the expression upon my face.\n\n\"You look a little bewildered,\" said he.\n\n\"I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror. It seems\nto me to be rather grotesque than otherwise.\"\n\n\"Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine,\nrobust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt\nend of a pistol.\"\n\n\"You arouse my curiosity,\" said I. \"But why did you say just now that\nthere were very particular reasons why I should study this case?\"\n\n\"Because it was the first in which I was ever engaged.\"\n\nI had often endeavored to elicit from my companion what had first turned\nhis mind in the direction of criminal research, but had never caught him\nbefore in a communicative humor. Now he sat forward in this arm-chair\nand spread out the documents upon his knees. Then he lit his pipe and\nsat for some time smoking and turning them over.\n\n\"You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?\" he asked. \"He was the only\nfriend I made during the two years I was at college. I was never a very\nsociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and\nworking out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed\nmuch with the men of my year. Bar fencing and boxing I had few athletic\ntastes, and then my line of study was quite distinct from that of the\nother fellows, so that we had no points of contact at all. Trevor was\nthe only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull\nterrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel.\n\n\"It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective.\nI was laid by the heels for ten days, but Trevor used to come in to\ninquire after me. At first it was only a minute\'s chat, but soon his\nvisits lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends.\nHe was a hearty, full-blooded fellow, full of spirits and energy,\nthe very opposite to me in most respects, but we had some subjects\nin common, and it was a bond of union when I found that he was as\nfriendless as I. Finally, he invited me down to his father\'s place at\nDonnithorpe, in Norfolk, and I accepted his hospitality for a month of\nthe long vacation.\n\n\"Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and consideration, a\nJ.P., and a landed proprietor. Donnithorpe is a little hamlet just to\nthe north of Langmere, in the country of the Broads. The house was\nan old-fashioned, wide-spread, oak-beamed brick building, with a fine\nlime-lined avenue leading up to it. There was excellent wild-duck\nshooting in the fens, remarkably good fishing, a small but select\nlibrary, taken over, as I understood, from a former occupant, and a\ntolerable cook, so that he would be a fastidious man who could not put\nin a pleasant month there.\n\n\"Trevor senior was a widower, and my friend his only son.\n\n\"There had been a daughter, I heard, but she had died of diphtheria\nwhile on a visit to Birmingham. The father interested me extremely.\nHe was a man of little culture, but with a considerable amount of rude\nstrength, both physically and mentally. He knew hardly any books, but\nhe had traveled far, had seen much of the world. And had remembered\nall that he had learned. In person he was a thick-set, burly man with\na shock of grizzled hair, a brown, weather-beaten face, and blue eyes\nwhich were keen to the verge of fierceness. Yet he had a reputation for\nkindness and charity on the country-side, and was noted for the leniency\nof his sentences from the bench.\n\n\"One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting over a glass of\nport after dinner, when young Trevor began to talk about those habits\nof observation and inference which I had already formed into a system,\nalthough I had not yet appreciated the part which they were to play in\nmy life. The old man evidently thought that his son was exaggerating in\nhis description of one or two trivial feats which I had performed.\n\n\"\'Come, now, Mr. Holmes,\' said he, laughing good-humoredly. \'I\'m an\nexcellent subject, if you can deduce anything from me.\'\n\n\"\'I fear there is not very much,\' I answered; \'I might suggest that\nyou have gone about in fear of some personal attack within the last\ntwelvemonth.\'\n\n\"The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in great surprise.\n\n\"\'Well, that\'s true enough,\' said he. \'You know, Victor,\' turning to his\nson, \'when we broke up that poaching gang they swore to knife us, and\nSir Edward Holly has actually been attacked. I\'ve always been on my\nguard since then, though I have no idea how you know it.\'\n\n\"\'You have a very handsome stick,\' I answered. \'By the inscription I\nobserved that you had not had it more than a year. But you have taken\nsome pains to bore the head of it and pour melted lead into the hole so\nas to make it a formidable weapon. I argued that you would not take such\nprecautions unless you had some danger to fear.\'\n\n\"\'Anything else?\' he asked, smiling.\n\n\"\'You have boxed a good deal in your youth.\'\n\n\"\'Right again. How did you know it? Is my nose knocked a little out of\nthe straight?\'\n\n\"\'No,\' said I. \'It is your ears. They have the peculiar flattening and\nthickening which marks the boxing man.\'\n\n\"\'Anything else?\'\n\n\"\'You have done a good deal of digging by your callosities.\'\n\n\"\'Made all my money at the gold fields.\'\n\n\"\'You have been in New Zealand.\'\n\n\"\'Right again.\'\n\n\"\'You have visited Japan.\'\n\n\"\'Quite true.\'\n\n\"\'And you have been most intimately associated with some one whose\ninitials were J. A., and whom you afterwards were eager to entirely\nforget.\'\n\n\"Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes upon me with a\nstrange wild stare, and then pitched forward, with his face among the\nnutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead faint.\n\n\"You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both his son and I were. His\nattack did not last long, however, for when we undid his collar, and\nsprinkled the water from one of the finger-glasses over his face, he\ngave a gasp or two and sat up.\n\n\"\'Ah, boys,\' said he, forcing a smile, \'I hope I haven\'t frightened you.\nStrong as I look, there is a weak place in my heart, and it does not\ntake much to knock me over. I don\'t know how you manage this, Mr.\nHolmes, but it seems to me that all the detectives of fact and of fancy\nwould be children in your hands. That\'s your line of life, sir, and you\nmay take the word of a man who has seen something of the world.\'\n\n\"And that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of my ability\nwith which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me, Watson, the very\nfirst thing which ever made me feel that a profession might be made\nout of what had up to that time been the merest hobby. At the moment,\nhowever, I was too much concerned at the sudden illness of my host to\nthink of anything else.\n\n\"\'I hope that I have said nothing to pain you?\' said I.\n\n\"\'Well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender point. Might I ask\nhow you know, and how much you know?\' He spoke now in a half-jesting\nfashion, but a look of terror still lurked at the back of his eyes.\n\n\"\'It is simplicity itself,\' said I. \'When you bared your arm to draw\nthat fish into the boat I saw that J. A. had been tattooed in the bend\nof the elbow. The letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear\nfrom their blurred appearance, and from the staining of the skin round\nthem, that efforts had been made to obliterate them. It was obvious,\nthen, that those initials had once been very familiar to you, and that\nyou had afterwards wished to forget them.\'\n\n\"What an eye you have!\" he cried, with a sigh of relief. \'It is just as\nyou say. But we won\'t talk of it. Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old\nlovers are the worst. Come into the billiard-room and have a quiet\ncigar.\'\n\n\n\"From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a touch of\nsuspicion in Mr. Trevor\'s manner towards me. Even his son remarked it.\n\'You\'ve given the governor such a turn,\' said he, \'that he\'ll never be\nsure again of what you know and what you don\'t know.\' He did not mean\nto show it, I am sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped\nout at every action. At last I became so convinced that I was causing\nhim uneasiness that I drew my visit to a close. On the very day,\nhowever, before I left, an incident occurred which proved in the sequel\nto be of importance.\n\n\"We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs, the three of us,\nbasking in the sun and admiring the view across the Broads, when a maid\ncame out to say that there was a man at the door who wanted to see Mr.\nTrevor.\n\n\"\'What is his name?\' asked my host.\n\n\"\'He would not give any.\'\n\n\"\'What does he want, then?\'\n\n\"\'He says that you know him, and that he only wants a moment\'s\nconversation.\'\n\n\"\'Show him round here.\' An instant afterwards there appeared a little\nwizened fellow with a cringing manner and a shambling style of\nwalking. He wore an open jacket, with a splotch of tar on the sleeve,\na red-and-black check shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly\nworn. His face was thin and brown and crafty, with a perpetual smile\nupon it, which showed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his\ncrinkled hands were half closed in a way that is distinctive of sailors.\nAs he came slouching across the lawn I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort of\nhiccoughing noise in his throat, and jumping out of his chair, he ran\ninto the house. He was back in a moment, and I smelt a strong reek of\nbrandy as he passed me.\n\n\"\'Well, my man,\' said he. \'What can I do for you?\'\n\n\"The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes, and with the same\nloose-lipped smile upon his face.\n\n\"\'You don\'t know me?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson,\' said Mr. Trevor in a tone of\nsurprise.\n\n\"\'Hudson it is, sir,\' said the seaman. \'Why, it\'s thirty year and more\nsince I saw you last. Here you are in your house, and me still picking\nmy salt meat out of the harness cask.\'\n\n\"\'Tut, you will find that I have not forgotten old times,\' cried Mr.\nTrevor, and, walking towards the sailor, he said something in a low\nvoice. \'Go into the kitchen,\' he continued out loud, \'and you will get\nfood and drink. I have no doubt that I shall find you a situation.\'\n\n\"\'Thank you, sir,\' said the seaman, touching his fore-lock. \'I\'m just\noff a two-yearer in an eight-knot tramp, short-handed at that, and I\nwants a rest. I thought I\'d get it either with Mr. Beddoes or with you.\'\n\n\"\'Ah!\' cried Trevor. \'You know where Mr. Beddoes is?\'\n\n\"\'Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends are,\' said the\nfellow with a sinister smile, and he slouched off after the maid to the\nkitchen. Mr. Trevor mumbled something to us about having been shipmate\nwith the man when he was going back to the diggings, and then, leaving\nus on the lawn, he went indoors. An hour later, when we entered the\nhouse, we found him stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa. The\nwhole incident left a most ugly impression upon my mind, and I was\nnot sorry next day to leave Donnithorpe behind me, for I felt that my\npresence must be a source of embarrassment to my friend.\n\n\"All this occurred during the first month of the long vacation. I went\nup to my London rooms, where I spent seven weeks working out a few\nexperiments in organic chemistry. One day, however, when the autumn was\nfar advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, I received a telegram\nfrom my friend imploring me to return to Donnithorpe, and saying that\nhe was in great need of my advice and assistance. Of course I dropped\neverything and set out for the North once more.\n\n\"He met me with the dog-cart at the station, and I saw at a glance that\nthe last two months had been very trying ones for him. He had grown thin\nand careworn, and had lost the loud, cheery manner for which he had been\nremarkable.\n\n\"\'The governor is dying,\' were the first words he said.\n\n\"\'Impossible!\' I cried. \'What is the matter?\'\n\n\"\'Apoplexy. Nervous shock, He\'s been on the verge all day. I doubt if we\nshall find him alive.\'\n\n\"I was, as you may think, Watson, horrified at this unexpected news.\n\n\"\'What has caused it?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Ah, that is the point. Jump in and we can talk it over while we drive.\nYou remember that fellow who came upon the evening before you left us?\'\n\n\"\'Perfectly.\'\n\n\"\'Do you know who it was that we let into the house that day?\'\n\n\"\'I have no idea.\'\n\n\"\'It was the devil, Holmes,\' he cried.\n\n\"I stared at him in astonishment.\n\n\"\'Yes, it was the devil himself. We have not had a peaceful hour\nsince--not one. The governor has never held up his head from that\nevening, and now the life has been crushed out of him and his heart\nbroken, all through this accursed Hudson.\'\n\n\"\'What power had he, then?\'\n\n\"\'Ah, that is what I would give so much to know. The kindly, charitable,\ngood old governor--how could he have fallen into the clutches of such a\nruffian! But I am so glad that you have come, Holmes. I trust very much\nto your judgment and discretion, and I know that you will advise me for\nthe best.\'\n\n\"We were dashing along the smooth white country road, with the long\nstretch of the Broads in front of us glimmering in the red light of the\nsetting sun. From a grove upon our left I could already see the high\nchimneys and the flag-staff which marked the squire\'s dwelling.\n\n\"\'My father made the fellow gardener,\' said my companion, \'and then, as\nthat did not satisfy him, he was promoted to be butler. The house seemed\nto be at his mercy, and he wandered about and did what he chose in it.\nThe maids complained of his drunken habits and his vile language. The\ndad raised their wages all round to recompense them for the annoyance.\nThe fellow would take the boat and my father\'s best gun and treat\nhimself to little shooting trips. And all this with such a sneering,\nleering, insolent face that I would have knocked him down twenty times\nover if he had been a man of my own age. I tell you, Holmes, I have\nhad to keep a tight hold upon myself all this time; and now I am asking\nmyself whether, if I had let myself go a little more, I might not have\nbeen a wiser man.\n\n\"\'Well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and this animal Hudson\nbecame more and more intrusive, until at last, on making some insolent\nreply to my father in my presence one day, I took him by the shoulders\nand turned him out of the room. He slunk away with a livid face and two\nvenomous eyes which uttered more threats than his tongue could do. I\ndon\'t know what passed between the poor dad and him after that, but the\ndad came to me next day and asked me whether I would mind apologizing to\nHudson. I refused, as you can imagine, and asked my father how he\ncould allow such a wretch to take such liberties with himself and his\nhousehold.\n\n\"\'\"Ah, my boy,\" said he, \"it is all very well to talk, but you don\'t\nknow how I am placed. But you shall know, Victor. I\'ll see that you\nshall know, come what may. You wouldn\'t believe harm of your poor old\nfather, would you, lad?\" He was very much moved, and shut himself up\nin the study all day, where I could see through the window that he was\nwriting busily.\n\n\"\'That evening there came what seemed to me to be a grand release,\nfor Hudson told us that he was going to leave us. He walked into the\ndining-room as we sat after dinner, and announced his intention in the\nthick voice of a half-drunken man.\n\n\"\'\"I\'ve had enough of Norfolk,\" said he. \"I\'ll run down to Mr. Beddoes\nin Hampshire. He\'ll be as glad to see me as you were, I dare say.\"\n\n\"\'\"You\'re not going away in an unkind spirit, Hudson, I hope,\" said my\nfather, with a tameness which made my blood boil.\n\n\"\'\"I\'ve not had my \'pology,\" said he sulkily, glancing in my direction.\n\n\"\'\"Victor, you will acknowledge that you have used this worthy fellow\nrather roughly,\" said the dad, turning to me.\n\n\"\'\"On the contrary, I think that we have both shown extraordinary\npatience towards him,\" I answered.\n\n\"\'\"Oh, you do, do you?\" he snarls. \"Very good, mate. We\'ll see about\nthat!\"\n\n\"\'He slouched out of the room, and half an hour afterwards left the\nhouse, leaving my father in a state of pitiable nervousness. Night after\nnight I heard him pacing his room, and it was just as he was recovering\nhis confidence that the blow did at last fall.\'\n\n\"\'And how?\' I asked eagerly.\n\n\"\'In a most extraordinary fashion. A letter arrived for my father\nyesterday evening, bearing the Fordingbridge post-mark. My father read\nit, clapped both his hands to his head, and began running round the room\nin little circles like a man who has been driven out of his senses. When\nI at last drew him down on to the sofa, his mouth and eyelids were all\npuckered on one side, and I saw that he had a stroke. Dr. Fordham came\nover at once. We put him to bed; but the paralysis has spread, he has\nshown no sign of returning consciousness, and I think that we shall\nhardly find him alive.\'\n\n\"\'You horrify me, Trevor!\' I cried. \'What then could have been in this\nletter to cause so dreadful a result?\'\n\n\"\'Nothing. There lies the inexplicable part of it. The message was\nabsurd and trivial. Ah, my God, it is as I feared!\'\n\n\"As he spoke we came round the curve of the avenue, and saw in the\nfading light that every blind in the house had been drawn down. As\nwe dashed up to the door, my friend\'s face convulsed with grief, a\ngentleman in black emerged from it.\n\n\"\'When did it happen, doctor?\' asked Trevor.\n\n\"\'Almost immediately after you left.\'\n\n\"\'Did he recover consciousness?\'\n\n\"\'For an instant before the end.\'\n\n\"\'Any message for me.\'\n\n\"\'Only that the papers were in the back drawer of the Japanese cabinet.\'\n\n\"My friend ascended with the doctor to the chamber of death, while I\nremained in the study, turning the whole matter over and over in my\nhead, and feeling as sombre as ever I had done in my life. What was the\npast of this Trevor, pugilist, traveler, and gold-digger, and how had he\nplaced himself in the power of this acid-faced seaman? Why, too, should\nhe faint at an allusion to the half-effaced initials upon his arm, and\ndie of fright when he had a letter from Fordingham? Then I remembered\nthat Fordingham was in Hampshire, and that this Mr. Beddoes, whom the\nseaman had gone to visit and presumably to blackmail, had also been\nmentioned as living in Hampshire. The letter, then, might either come\nfrom Hudson, the seaman, saying that he had betrayed the guilty secret\nwhich appeared to exist, or it might come from Beddoes, warning an old\nconfederate that such a betrayal was imminent. So far it seemed clear\nenough. But then how could this letter be trivial and grotesque, as\ndescribed by the son? He must have misread it. If so, it must have been\none of those ingenious secret codes which mean one thing while they seem\nto mean another. I must see this letter. If there were a hidden meaning\nin it, I was confident that I could pluck it forth. For an hour I sat\npondering over it in the gloom, until at last a weeping maid brought in\na lamp, and close at her heels came my friend Trevor, pale but composed,\nwith these very papers which lie upon my knee held in his grasp. He sat\ndown opposite to me, drew the lamp to the edge of the table, and handed\nme a short note scribbled, as you see, upon a single sheet of gray\npaper. \'The supply of game for London is going steadily up,\' it ran.\n\'Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders\nfor fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant\'s life.\'\n\n\"I dare say my face looked as bewildered as yours did just now when\nfirst I read this message. Then I reread it very carefully. It was\nevidently as I had thought, and some secret meaning must lie buried\nin this strange combination of words. Or could it be that there was\na prearranged significance to such phrases as \'fly-paper\' and\n\'hen-pheasant\'? Such a meaning would be arbitrary and could not be\ndeduced in any way. And yet I was loath to believe that this was the\ncase, and the presence of the word Hudson seemed to show that the\nsubject of the message was as I had guessed, and that it was from\nBeddoes rather than the sailor. I tried it backwards, but the\ncombination \'life pheasant\'s hen\' was not encouraging. Then I tried\nalternate words, but neither \'the of for\' nor \'supply game London\'\npromised to throw any light upon it.\n\n\"And then in an instant the key of the riddle was in my hands, and I saw\nthat every third word, beginning with the first, would give a message\nwhich might well drive old Trevor to despair.\n\n\"It was short and terse, the warning, as I now read it to my companion:\n\n\"\'The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly for your life.\'\n\n\"Victor Trevor sank his face into his shaking hands. \'It must be that,\nI suppose,\' said he. \"This is worse than death, for it means disgrace\nas well. But what is the meaning of these \"head-keepers\" and\n\"hen-pheasants\"?\'\n\n\"\'It means nothing to the message, but it might mean a good deal to us\nif we had no other means of discovering the sender. You see that he has\nbegun by writing \"The...game...is,\" and so on. Afterwards he had, to\nfulfill the prearranged cipher, to fill in any two words in each space.\nHe would naturally use the first words which came to his mind, and\nif there were so many which referred to sport among them, you may\nbe tolerably sure that he is either an ardent shot or interested in\nbreeding. Do you know anything of this Beddoes?\'\n\n\"\'Why, now that you mention it,\' said he, \'I remember that my poor\nfather used to have an invitation from him to shoot over his preserves\nevery autumn.\'\n\n\"\'Then it is undoubtedly from him that the note comes,\' said I. \'It only\nremains for us to find out what this secret was which the sailor Hudson\nseems to have held over the heads of these two wealthy and respected\nmen.\'\n\n\"\'Alas, Holmes, I fear that it is one of sin and shame!\' cried my\nfriend. \'But from you I shall have no secrets. Here is the statement\nwhich was drawn up by my father when he knew that the danger from Hudson\nhad become imminent. I found it in the Japanese cabinet, as he told the\ndoctor. Take it and read it to me, for I have neither the strength nor\nthe courage to do it myself.\'\n\n\"These are the very papers, Watson, which he handed to me, and I will\nread them to you, as I read them in the old study that night to him.\nThey are endorsed outside, as you see, \'Some particulars of the voyage\nof the bark _Gloria Scott_, from her leaving Falmouth on the 8th\nOctober, 1855, to her destruction in N. Lat. 15 degrees 20\', W. Long.\n25 degrees 14\' on Nov. 6th.\' It is in the form of a letter, and runs in\nthis way:\n\n\"\'My dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace begins to darken the\nclosing years of my life, I can write with all truth and honesty that it\nis not the terror of the law, it is not the loss of my position in the\ncounty, nor is it my fall in the eyes of all who have known me, which\ncuts me to the heart; but it is the thought that you should come to\nblush for me--you who love me and who have seldom, I hope, had reason to\ndo other than respect me. But if the blow falls which is forever hanging\nover me, then I should wish you to read this, that you may know straight\nfrom me how far I have been to blame. On the other hand, if all should\ngo well (which may kind God Almighty grant!), then if by any chance this\npaper should be still undestroyed and should fall into your hands, I\nconjure you, by all you hold sacred, by the memory of your dear mother,\nand by the love which had been between us, to hurl it into the fire and\nto never give one thought to it again.\n\n\"\'If then your eye goes on to read this line, I know that I shall\nalready have been exposed and dragged from my home, or as is more\nlikely, for you know that my heart is weak, by lying with my tongue\nsealed forever in death. In either case the time for suppression is\npast, and every word which I tell you is the naked truth, and this I\nswear as I hope for mercy.\n\n\"\'My name, dear lad, is not Trevor. I was James Armitage in my younger\ndays, and you can understand now the shock that it was to me a few weeks\nago when your college friend addressed me in words which seemed to imply\nthat he had surprised my secret. As Armitage it was that I entered a\nLondon banking-house, and as Armitage I was convicted of breaking my\ncountry\'s laws, and was sentenced to transportation. Do not think very\nharshly of me, laddie. It was a debt of honor, so called, which I had\nto pay, and I used money which was not my own to do it, in the certainty\nthat I could replace it before there could be any possibility of its\nbeing missed. But the most dreadful ill-luck pursued me. The money which\nI had reckoned upon never came to hand, and a premature examination of\naccounts exposed my deficit. The case might have been dealt leniently\nwith, but the laws were more harshly administered thirty years ago than\nnow, and on my twenty-third birthday I found myself chained as a felon\nwith thirty-seven other convicts in \'tween-decks of the bark _Gloria\nScott_, bound for Australia.\n\n\"\'It was the year \'55 when the Crimean war was at its height, and the\nold convict ships had been largely used as transports in the Black\nSea. The government was compelled, therefore, to use smaller and less\nsuitable vessels for sending out their prisoners. The Gloria Scott\nhad been in the Chinese tea-trade, but she was an old-fashioned,\nheavy-bowed, broad-beamed craft, and the new clippers had cut her\nout. She was a five-hundred-ton boat; and besides her thirty-eight\njail-birds, she carried twenty-six of a crew, eighteen soldiers, a\ncaptain, three mates, a doctor, a chaplain, and four warders. Nearly a\nhundred souls were in her, all told, when we set sail from Falmouth.\n\n\"\'The partitions between the cells of the convicts, instead of being of\nthick oak, as is usual in convict-ships, were quite thin and frail.\nThe man next to me, upon the aft side, was one whom I had particularly\nnoticed when we were led down the quay. He was a young man with a\nclear, hairless face, a long, thin nose, and rather nut-cracker jaws.\nHe carried his head very jauntily in the air, had a swaggering style\nof walking, and was, above all else, remarkable for his extraordinary\nheight. I don\'t think any of our heads would have come up to his\nshoulder, and I am sure that he could not have measured less than six\nand a half feet. It was strange among so many sad and weary faces to see\none which was full of energy and resolution. The sight of it was to me\nlike a fire in a snow-storm. I was glad, then, to find that he was my\nneighbor, and gladder still when, in the dead of the night, I heard a\nwhisper close to my ear, and found that he had managed to cut an opening\nin the board which separated us.\n\n\"\'\"Hullo, chummy!\" said he, \"what\'s your name, and what are you here\nfor?\"\n\n\"\'I answered him, and asked in turn who I was talking with.\n\n\"\'\"I\'m Jack Prendergast,\" said he, \"and by God! You\'ll learn to bless my\nname before you\'ve done with me.\"\n\n\"\'I remembered hearing of his case, for it was one which had made an\nimmense sensation throughout the country some time before my own arrest.\nHe was a man of good family and of great ability, but of incurably\nvicious habits, who had by an ingenious system of fraud obtained huge\nsums of money from the leading London merchants.\n\n\"\'\"Ha, ha! You remember my case!\" said he proudly.\n\n\"\'\"Very well, indeed.\"\n\n\"\'\"Then maybe you remember something queer about it?\"\n\n\"\'\"What was that, then?\"\n\n\"\'\"I\'d had nearly a quarter of a million, hadn\'t I?\"\n\n\"\'\"So it was said.\"\n\n\"\'\"But none was recovered, eh?\"\n\n\"\'\"No.\"\n\n\"\'\"Well, where d\'ye suppose the balance is?\" he asked.\n\n\"\'\"I have no idea,\" said I.\n\n\"\'\"Right between my finger and thumb,\" he cried. \"By God! I\'ve got more\npounds to my name than you\'ve hairs on your head. And if you\'ve money,\nmy son, and know how to handle it and spread it, you can do anything.\nNow, you don\'t think it likely that a man who could do anything is going\nto wear his breeches out sitting in the stinking hold of a rat-gutted,\nbeetle-ridden, mouldy old coffin of a China coaster. No, sir, such\na man will look after himself and will look after his chums. You may lay\nto that! You hold on to him, and you may kiss the book that he\'ll haul\nyou through.\"\n\n\"\'That was his style of talk, and at first I thought it meant nothing;\nbut after a while, when he had tested me and sworn me in with all\npossible solemnity, he let me understand that there really was a plot\nto gain command of the vessel. A dozen of the prisoners had hatched it\nbefore they came aboard, Prendergast was the leader, and his money was\nthe motive power.\n\n\"\'\"I\'d a partner,\" said he, \"a rare good man, as true as a stock to a\nbarrel. He\'s got the dibbs, he has, and where do you think he is at this\nmoment? Why, he\'s the chaplain of this ship--the chaplain, no less! He\ncame aboard with a black coat, and his papers right, and money enough in\nhis box to buy the thing right up from keel to main-truck. The crew\nare his, body and soul. He could buy \'em at so much a gross with a cash\ndiscount, and he did it before ever they signed on. He\'s got two of the\nwarders and Mereer, the second mate, and he\'d get the captain himself,\nif he thought him worth it.\"\n\n\"\'\"What are we to do, then?\" I asked.\n\n\"\'\"What do you think?\" said he. \"We\'ll make the coats of some of these\nsoldiers redder than ever the tailor did.\"\n\n\"\'\"But they are armed,\" said I.\n\n\"\'\"And so shall we be, my boy. There\'s a brace of pistols for every\nmother\'s son of us, and if we can\'t carry this ship, with the crew at\nour back, it\'s time we were all sent to a young misses\' boarding-school.\nYou speak to your mate upon the left to-night, and see if he is to be\ntrusted.\"\n\n\"\'I did so, and found my other neighbor to be a young fellow in much\nthe same position as myself, whose crime had been forgery. His name was\nEvans, but he afterwards changed it, like myself, and he is now a rich\nand prosperous man in the south of England. He was ready enough to join\nthe conspiracy, as the only means of saving ourselves, and before we had\ncrossed the Bay there were only two of the prisoners who were not in the\nsecret. One of these was of weak mind, and we did not dare to trust him,\nand the other was suffering from jaundice, and could not be of any use\nto us.\n\n\"\'From the beginning there was really nothing to prevent us from taking\npossession of the ship. The crew were a set of ruffians, specially\npicked for the job. The sham chaplain came into our cells to exhort us,\ncarrying a black bag, supposed to be full of tracts, and so often did\nhe come that by the third day we had each stowed away at the foot of our\nbeds a file, a brace of pistols, a pound of powder, and twenty slugs.\nTwo of the warders were agents of Prendergast, and the second mate was\nhis right-hand man. The captain, the two mates, two warders, Lieutenant\nMartin, his eighteen soldiers, and the doctor were all that we had\nagainst us. Yet, safe as it was, we determined to neglect no precaution,\nand to make our attack suddenly by night. It came, however, more quickly\nthan we expected, and in this way.\n\n\"\'One evening, about the third week after our start, the doctor had come\ndown to see one of the prisoners who was ill, and putting his hand down\non the bottom of his bunk he felt the outline of the pistols. If he had\nbeen silent he might have blown the whole thing, but he was a nervous\nlittle chap, so he gave a cry of surprise and turned so pale that the\nman knew what was up in an instant and seized him. He was gagged before\nhe could give the alarm, and tied down upon the bed. He had unlocked\nthe door that led to the deck, and we were through it in a rush. The two\nsentries were shot down, and so was a corporal who came running to see\nwhat was the matter. There were two more soldiers at the door of the\nstate-room, and their muskets seemed not to be loaded, for they never\nfired upon us, and they were shot while trying to fix their bayonets.\nThen we rushed on into the captain\'s cabin, but as we pushed open the\ndoor there was an explosion from within, and there he lay with his\nbrains smeared over the chart of the Atlantic which was pinned upon the\ntable, while the chaplain stood with a smoking pistol in his hand at\nhis elbow. The two mates had both been seized by the crew, and the whole\nbusiness seemed to be settled.\n\n\"\'The state-room was next the cabin, and we flocked in there and flopped\ndown on the settees, all speaking together, for we were just mad with\nthe feeling that we were free once more. There were lockers all round,\nand Wilson, the sham chaplain, knocked one of them in, and pulled out a\ndozen of brown sherry. We cracked off the necks of the bottles, poured\nthe stuff out into tumblers, and were just tossing them off, when in an\ninstant without warning there came the roar of muskets in our ears, and\nthe saloon was so full of smoke that we could not see across the table.\nWhen it cleared again the place was a shambles. Wilson and eight others\nwere wriggling on the top of each other on the floor, and the blood and\nthe brown sherry on that table turn me sick now when I think of it. We\nwere so cowed by the sight that I think we should have given the job up\nif it had not been for Prendergast. He bellowed like a bull and rushed\nfor the door with all that were left alive at his heels. Out we ran,\nand there on the poop were the lieutenant and ten of his men. The swing\nskylights above the saloon table had been a bit open, and they had fired\non us through the slit. We got on them before they could load, and they\nstood to it like men; but we had the upper hand of them, and in five\nminutes it was all over. My God! Was there ever a slaughter-house\nlike that ship! Prendergast was like a raging devil, and he picked the\nsoldiers up as if they had been children and threw them overboard alive\nor dead. There was one sergeant that was horribly wounded and yet kept\non swimming for a surprising time, until some one in mercy blew out his\nbrains. When the fighting was over there was no one left of our enemies\nexcept just the warders, the mates, and the doctor.\n\n\"\'It was over them that the great quarrel arose. There were many of us\nwho were glad enough to win back our freedom, and yet who had no wish\nto have murder on our souls. It was one thing to knock the soldiers over\nwith their muskets in their hands, and it was another to stand by while\nmen were being killed in cold blood. Eight of us, five convicts and\nthree sailors, said that we would not see it done. But there was no\nmoving Prendergast and those who were with him. Our only chance of\nsafety lay in making a clean job of it, said he, and he would not leave\na tongue with power to wag in a witness-box. It nearly came to our\nsharing the fate of the prisoners, but at last he said that if we wished\nwe might take a boat and go. We jumped at the offer, for we were already\nsick of these bloodthirsty doings, and we saw that there would be worse\nbefore it was done. We were given a suit of sailor togs each, a barrel\nof water, two casks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and a compass.\nPrendergast threw us over a chart, told us that we were shipwrecked\nmariners whose ship had foundered in Lat. 15 degrees and Long 25 degrees\nwest, and then cut the painter and let us go.\n\n\"\'And now I come to the most surprising part of my story, my dear son.\nThe seamen had hauled the fore-yard aback during the rising, but now as\nwe left them they brought it square again, and as there was a light wind\nfrom the north and east the bark began to draw slowly away from us. Our\nboat lay, rising and falling, upon the long, smooth rollers, and Evans\nand I, who were the most educated of the party, were sitting in the\nsheets working out our position and planning what coast we should make\nfor. It was a nice question, for the Cape de Verdes were about five\nhundred miles to the north of us, and the African coast about seven\nhundred to the east. On the whole, as the wind was coming round to the\nnorth, we thought that Sierra Leone might be best, and turned our head\nin that direction, the bark being at that time nearly hull down on our\nstarboard quarter. Suddenly as we looked at her we saw a dense black\ncloud of smoke shoot up from her, which hung like a monstrous tree upon\nthe sky line. A few seconds later a roar like thunder burst upon our\nears, and as the smoke thinned away there was no sign left of the\n_Gloria Scott_. In an instant we swept the boat\'s head round again and\npulled with all our strength for the place where the haze still trailing\nover the water marked the scene of this catastrophe.\n\n\"\'It was a long hour before we reached it, and at first we feared that\nwe had come too late to save any one. A splintered boat and a number of\ncrates and fragments of spars rising and falling on the waves showed us\nwhere the vessel had foundered; but there was no sign of life, and we\nhad turned away in despair when we heard a cry for help, and saw at some\ndistance a piece of wreckage with a man lying stretched across it. When\nwe pulled him aboard the boat he proved to be a young seaman of the\nname of Hudson, who was so burned and exhausted that he could give us no\naccount of what had happened until the following morning.\n\n\"\'It seemed that after we had left, Prendergast and his gang had\nproceeded to put to death the five remaining prisoners. The two warders\nhad been shot and thrown overboard, and so also had the third mate.\nPrendergast then descended into the \'tween-decks and with his own hands\ncut the throat of the unfortunate surgeon. There only remained the first\nmate, who was a bold and active man. When he saw the convict approaching\nhim with the bloody knife in his hand he kicked off his bonds, which he\nhad somehow contrived to loosen, and rushing down the deck he plunged\ninto the after-hold. A dozen convicts, who descended with their pistols\nin search of him, found him with a match-box in his hand seated beside\nan open powder-barrel, which was one of a hundred carried on board, and\nswearing that he would blow all hands up if he were in any way molested.\nAn instant later the explosion occurred, though Hudson thought it was\ncaused by the misdirected bullet of one of the convicts rather than the\nmate\'s match. Be the cause what it may, it was the end of the _Gloria\nScott_ and of the rabble who held command of her.\n\n\"\'Such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the history of this terrible\nbusiness in which I was involved. Next day we were picked up by the brig\n_Hotspur_, bound for Australia, whose captain found no difficulty in\nbelieving that we were the survivors of a passenger ship which had\nfoundered. The transport ship Gloria Scott was set down by the Admiralty\nas being lost at sea, and no word has ever leaked out as to her true\nfate. After an excellent voyage the _Hotspur_ landed us at Sydney, where\nEvans and I changed our names and made our way to the diggings,\nwhere, among the crowds who were gathered from all nations, we had no\ndifficulty in losing our former identities. The rest I need not relate.\nWe prospered, we traveled, we came back as rich colonials to England,\nand we bought country estates. For more than twenty years we have\nled peaceful and useful lives, and we hoped that our past was forever\nburied. Imagine, then, my feelings when in the seaman who came to us I\nrecognized instantly the man who had been picked off the wreck. He had\ntracked us down somehow, and had set himself to live upon our fears. You\nwill understand now how it was that I strove to keep the peace with him,\nand you will in some measure sympathize with me in the fears which fill\nme, now that he has gone from me to his other victim with threats upon\nhis tongue.\'\n\n\"Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be hardly legible,\n\'Beddoes writes in cipher to say H. has told all. Sweet Lord, have mercy\non our souls!\'\n\n\"That was the narrative which I read that night to young Trevor, and I\nthink, Watson, that under the circumstances it was a dramatic one.\nThe good fellow was heart-broken at it, and went out to the Terai tea\nplanting, where I hear that he is doing well. As to the sailor and\nBeddoes, neither of them was ever heard of again after that day on which\nthe letter of warning was written. They both disappeared utterly and\ncompletely. No complaint had been lodged with the police, so that\nBeddoes had mistaken a threat for a deed. Hudson had been seen lurking\nabout, and it was believed by the police that he had done away with\nBeddoes and had fled. For myself I believe that the truth was exactly\nthe opposite. I think that it is most probable that Beddoes, pushed to\ndesperation and believing himself to have been already betrayed, had\nrevenged himself upon Hudson, and had fled from the country with as much\nmoney as he could lay his hands on. Those are the facts of the case,\nDoctor, and if they are of any use to your collection, I am sure that\nthey are very heartily at your service.\"\n\n\n\n\nAdventure V. The Musgrave Ritual\n\n\nAn anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock\nHolmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest\nand most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain\nquiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one\nof the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction.\nNot that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The\nrough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural\nBohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a\nmedical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who\nkeeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of\na Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a\njack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin\nto give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol\npractice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in\none of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger\nand a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite\nwall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that\nneither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by\nit.\n\nOur chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which\nhad a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in\nthe butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were\nmy great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those\nwhich were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in\nevery year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange\nthem; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs,\nthe outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable\nfeats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of\nlethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books,\nhardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month\nhis papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with\nbundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which\ncould not be put away save by their owner. One winter\'s night, as we\nsat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had\nfinished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ\nthe next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could\nnot deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went\noff to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin\nbox behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting\ndown upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see\nthat it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red\ntape into separate packages.\n\n\"There are cases enough here, Watson,\" said he, looking at me with\nmischievous eyes. \"I think that if you knew all that I had in this box\nyou would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.\"\n\n\"These are the records of your early work, then?\" I asked. \"I have often\nwished that I had notes of those cases.\"\n\n\"Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer\nhad come to glorify me.\" He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender,\ncaressing sort of way. \"They are not all successes, Watson,\" said he.\n\"But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here\'s the record\nof the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant,\nand the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair\nof the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the\nclub-foot, and his abominable wife. And here--ah, now, this really is\nsomething a little recherché.\"\n\nHe dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small\nwooden box with a sliding lid, such as children\'s toys are kept in. From\nwithin he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashioned brass\nkey, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty\nold disks of metal.\n\n\"Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?\" he asked, smiling at my\nexpression.\n\n\"It is a curious collection.\"\n\n\"Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as\nbeing more curious still.\"\n\n\"These relics have a history then?\"\n\n\"So much so that they are history.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge\nof the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over\nwith a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.\n\n\"These,\" said he, \"are all that I have left to remind me of the\nadventure of the Musgrave Ritual.\"\n\nI had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been\nable to gather the details. \"I should be so glad,\" said I, \"if you would\ngive me an account of it.\"\n\n\"And leave the litter as it is?\" he cried, mischievously. \"Your tidiness\nwon\'t bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you\nshould add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which\nmake it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe,\nof any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would\ncertainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular\nbusiness.\n\n\"You may remember how the affair of the _Gloria Scott_, and my\nconversation with the unhappy man whose fate I told you of, first turned\nmy attention in the direction of the profession which has become my\nlife\'s work. You see me now when my name has become known far and\nwide, and when I am generally recognized both by the public and by the\nofficial force as being a final court of appeal in doubtful cases.\nEven when you knew me first, at the time of the affair which you have\ncommemorated in \'A Study in Scarlet,\' I had already established a\nconsiderable, though not a very lucrative, connection. You can hardly\nrealize, then, how difficult I found it at first, and how long I had to\nwait before I succeeded in making any headway.\n\n\"When I first came up to London I had rooms in Montague Street, just\nround the corner from the British Museum, and there I waited, filling in\nmy too abundant leisure time by studying all those branches of science\nwhich might make me more efficient. Now and again cases came in my way,\nprincipally through the introduction of old fellow-students, for during\nmy last years at the University there was a good deal of talk there\nabout myself and my methods. The third of these cases was that of the\nMusgrave Ritual, and it is to the interest which was aroused by that\nsingular chain of events, and the large issues which proved to be at\nstake, that I trace my first stride towards the position which I now\nhold.\n\n\"Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and I had\nsome slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally popular among\nthe undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that what was set down\nas pride was really an attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence.\nIn appearance he was a man of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin,\nhigh-nosed, and large-eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners. He was\nindeed a scion of one of the very oldest families in the kingdom,\nthough his branch was a cadet one which had separated from the northern\nMusgraves some time in the sixteenth century, and had established itself\nin western Sussex, where the Manor House of Hurlstone is perhaps the\noldest inhabited building in the county. Something of his birth place\nseemed to cling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face\nor the poise of his head without associating him with gray archways and\nmullioned windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once\nor twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember that more than once he\nexpressed a keen interest in my methods of observation and inference.\n\n\"For four years I had seen nothing of him until one morning he walked\ninto my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, was dressed like\na young man of fashion--he was always a bit of a dandy--and preserved\nthe same quiet, suave manner which had formerly distinguished him.\n\n\"\'How has all gone with you Musgrave?\' I asked, after we had cordially\nshaken hands.\n\n\"\'You probably heard of my poor father\'s death,\' said he; \'he was\ncarried off about two years ago. Since then I have of course had the\nHurlstone estates to manage, and as I am member for my district as well,\nmy life has been a busy one. But I understand, Holmes, that you are\nturning to practical ends those powers with which you used to amaze us?\'\n\n\"\'Yes,\' said I, \'I have taken to living by my wits.\'\n\n\"\'I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at present would be\nexceedingly valuable to me. We have had some very strange doings at\nHurlstone, and the police have been able to throw no light upon the\nmatter. It is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business.\'\n\n\"You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him, Watson, for\nthe very chance for which I had been panting during all those months\nof inaction seemed to have come within my reach. In my inmost heart I\nbelieved that I could succeed where others failed, and now I had the\nopportunity to test myself.\n\n\"\'Pray, let me have the details,\' I cried.\n\n\"Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me, and lit the cigarette which\nI had pushed towards him.\n\n\"\'You must know,\' said he, \'that though I am a bachelor, I have to keep\nup a considerable staff of servants at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling\nold place, and takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve, too, and\nin the pheasant months I usually have a house-party, so that it would\nnot do to be short-handed. Altogether there are eight maids, the cook,\nthe butler, two footmen, and a boy. The garden and the stables of course\nhave a separate staff.\n\n\"\'Of these servants the one who had been longest in our service was\nBrunton the butler. He was a young school-master out of place when he\nwas first taken up by my father, but he was a man of great energy and\ncharacter, and he soon became quite invaluable in the household. He was\na well-grown, handsome man, with a splendid forehead, and though he has\nbeen with us for twenty years he cannot be more than forty now. With\nhis personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts--for he can speak\nseveral languages and play nearly every musical instrument--it is\nwonderful that he should have been satisfied so long in such a position,\nbut I suppose that he was comfortable, and lacked energy to make any\nchange. The butler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by\nall who visit us.\n\n\"\'But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan, and you can\nimagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficult part to play\nin a quiet country district. When he was married it was all right, but\nsince he has been a widower we have had no end of trouble with him. A\nfew months ago we were in hopes that he was about to settle down again\nfor he became engaged to Rachel Howells, our second house-maid; but he\nhas thrown her over since then and taken up with Janet Tregellis, the\ndaughter of the head game-keeper. Rachel--who is a very good girl, but\nof an excitable Welsh temperament--had a sharp touch of brain-fever,\nand goes about the house now--or did until yesterday--like a black-eyed\nshadow of her former self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone; but a\nsecond one came to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced by the\ndisgrace and dismissal of butler Brunton.\n\n\"\'This was how it came about. I have said that the man was intelligent,\nand this very intelligence has caused his ruin, for it seems to have\nled to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in the least\nconcern him. I had no idea of the lengths to which this would carry him,\nuntil the merest accident opened my eyes to it.\n\n\"\'I have said that the house is a rambling one. One day last week--on\nThursday night, to be more exact--I found that I could not sleep,\nhaving foolishly taken a cup of strong café noir after my dinner. After\nstruggling against it until two in the morning, I felt that it was quite\nhopeless, so I rose and lit the candle with the intention of continuing\na novel which I was reading. The book, however, had been left in the\nbilliard-room, so I pulled on my dressing-gown and started off to get\nit.\n\n\"\'In order to reach the billiard-room I had to descend a flight of\nstairs and then to cross the head of a passage which led to the library\nand the gun-room. You can imagine my surprise when, as I looked down\nthis corridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door of the\nlibrary. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door before\ncoming to bed. Naturally my first thought was of burglars. The corridors\nat Hurlstone have their walls largely decorated with trophies of old\nweapons. From one of these I picked a battle-axe, and then, leaving my\ncandle behind me, I crept on tiptoe down the passage and peeped in at\nthe open door.\n\n\"\'Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He was sitting, fully\ndressed, in an easy-chair, with a slip of paper which looked like a\nmap upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep\nthought. I stood dumb with astonishment, watching him from the darkness.\nA small taper on the edge of the table shed a feeble light which\nsufficed to show me that he was fully dressed. Suddenly, as I looked,\nhe rose from his chair, and walking over to a bureau at the side, he\nunlocked it and drew out one of the drawers. From this he took a paper,\nand returning to his seat he flattened it out beside the taper on the\nedge of the table, and began to study it with minute attention. My\nindignation at this calm examination of our family documents overcame\nme so far that I took a step forward, and Brunton, looking up, saw me\nstanding in the doorway. He sprang to his feet, his face turned livid\nwith fear, and he thrust into his breast the chart-like paper which he\nhad been originally studying.\n\n\"\'\"So!\" said I. \"This is how you repay the trust which we have reposed\nin you. You will leave my service to-morrow.\"\n\n\"\'He bowed with the look of a man who is utterly crushed, and slunk past\nme without a word. The taper was still on the table, and by its light\nI glanced to see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from the\nbureau. To my surprise it was nothing of any importance at all,\nbut simply a copy of the questions and answers in the singular old\nobservance called the Musgrave Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony peculiar\nto our family, which each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through\non his coming of age--a thing of private interest, and perhaps of some\nlittle importance to the archaeologist, like our own blazonings and\ncharges, but of no practical use whatever.\'\n\n\"\'We had better come back to the paper afterwards,\' said I.\n\n\"\'If you think it really necessary,\' he answered, with some hesitation.\n\'To continue my statement, however: I relocked the bureau, using the key\nwhich Brunton had left, and I had turned to go when I was surprised to\nfind that the butler had returned, and was standing before me.\n\n\"\'\"Mr. Musgrave, sir,\" he cried, in a voice which was hoarse with\nemotion, \"I can\'t bear disgrace, sir. I\'ve always been proud above my\nstation in life, and disgrace would kill me. My blood will be on your\nhead, sir--it will, indeed--if you drive me to despair. If you cannot\nkeep me after what has passed, then for God\'s sake let me give you\nnotice and leave in a month, as if of my own free will. I could stand\nthat, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all the folk that I\nknow so well.\"\n\n\"\'\"You don\'t deserve much consideration, Brunton,\" I answered. \"Your\nconduct has been most infamous. However, as you have been a long time in\nthe family, I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you. A month,\nhowever is too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give what reason\nyou like for going.\"\n\n\"\'\"Only a week, sir?\" he cried, in a despairing voice. \"A fortnight--say\nat least a fortnight!\"\n\n\"\'\"A week,\" I repeated, \"and you may consider yourself to have been very\nleniently dealt with.\"\n\n\"\'He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a broken man, while\nI put out the light and returned to my room.\n\n\n\"\'\"For two days after this Brunton was most assiduous in his attention\nto his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed, and waited with\nsome curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. On the third\nmorning, however he did not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast\nto receive my instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room I\nhappened to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had\nonly recently recovered from an illness, and was looking so wretchedly\npale and wan that I remonstrated with her for being at work.\n\n\"\'\"You should be in bed,\" I said. \"Come back to your duties when you are\nstronger.\"\n\n\"\'She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began to suspect\nthat her brain was affected.\n\n\"\'\"I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave,\" said she.\n\n\"\'\"We will see what the doctor says,\" I answered. \"You must stop work\nnow, and when you go downstairs just say that I wish to see Brunton.\"\n\n\"\'\"The butler is gone,\" said she.\n\n\"\'\"Gone! Gone where?\"\n\n\"\'\"He is gone. No one has seen him. He is not in his room. Oh, yes, he\nis gone, he is gone!\" She fell back against the wall with shriek after\nshriek of laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack,\nrushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was taken to her room, still\nscreaming and sobbing, while I made inquiries about Brunton. There was\nno doubt about it that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept\nin, he had been seen by no one since he had retired to his room the\nnight before, and yet it was difficult to see how he could have left\nthe house, as both windows and doors were found to be fastened in the\nmorning. His clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room,\nbut the black suit which he usually wore was missing. His slippers,\ntoo, were gone, but his boots were left behind. Where then could butler\nBrunton have gone in the night, and what could have become of him now?\n\n\"\'Of course we searched the house from cellar to garret, but there was\nno trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house,\nespecially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited; but\nwe ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the least sign\nof the missing man. It was incredible to me that he could have gone away\nleaving all his property behind him, and yet where could he be? I called\nin the local police, but without success. Rain had fallen on the night\nbefore and we examined the lawn and the paths all round the house, but\nin vain. Matters were in this state, when a new development quite drew\nour attention away from the original mystery.\n\n\"\'For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious,\nsometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to sit up with her\nat night. On the third night after Brunton\'s disappearance, the nurse,\nfinding her patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the\narm-chair, when she woke in the early morning to find the bed empty, the\nwindow open, and no signs of the invalid. I was instantly aroused, and,\nwith the two footmen, started off at once in search of the missing girl.\nIt was not difficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for,\nstarting from under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily\nacross the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they vanished close to\nthe gravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is eight\nfeet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the trail\nof the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it.\n\n\"\'Of course, we had the drags at once, and set to work to recover the\nremains, but no trace of the body could we find. On the other hand, we\nbrought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. It was a\nlinen bag which contained within it a mass of old rusted and discolored\nmetal and several dull-colored pieces of pebble or glass. This strange\nfind was all that we could get from the mere, and, although we made\nevery possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate\neither of Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are at\ntheir wits\' end, and I have come up to you as a last resource.\'\n\n\"You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I listened to this\nextraordinary sequence of events, and endeavored to piece them together,\nand to devise some common thread upon which they might all hang. The\nbutler was gone. The maid was gone. The maid had loved the butler, but\nhad afterwards had cause to hate him. She was of Welsh blood, fiery\nand passionate. She had been terribly excited immediately after his\ndisappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing some\ncurious contents. These were all factors which had to be taken into\nconsideration, and yet none of them got quite to the heart of the\nmatter. What was the starting-point of this chain of events? There lay\nthe end of this tangled line.\n\n\"\'I must see that paper, Musgrave,\' said I, \'which this butler of yours\nthought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of\nhis place.\'\n\n\"\'It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,\' he answered.\n\'But it has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have\na copy of the questions and answers here if you care to run your eye\nover them.\'\n\n\"He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and this is the\nstrange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came to\nman\'s estate. I will read you the questions and answers as they stand.\n\n\"\'Whose was it?\'\n\n\"\'His who is gone.\'\n\n\"\'Who shall have it?\'\n\n\"\'He who will come.\'\n\n\"\'Where was the sun?\'\n\n\"\'Over the oak.\'\n\n\"\'Where was the shadow?\'\n\n\"\'Under the elm.\'\n\n\"How was it stepped?\'\n\n\"\'North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by\ntwo, west by one and by one, and so under.\'\n\n\"\'What shall we give for it?\'\n\n\"\'All that is ours.\'\n\n\"\'Why should we give it?\'\n\n\"\'For the sake of the trust.\'\n\n\"\'The original has no date, but is in the spelling of the middle of the\nseventeenth century,\' remarked Musgrave. \'I am afraid, however, that it\ncan be of little help to you in solving this mystery.\'\n\n\"\'At least,\' said I, \'it gives us another mystery, and one which is even\nmore interesting than the first. It may be that the solution of the one\nmay prove to be the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave,\nif I say that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man,\nand to have had a clearer insight than ten generations of his masters.\'\n\n\"\'I hardly follow you,\' said Musgrave. \'The paper seems to me to be of\nno practical importance.\'\n\n\"\'But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy that Brunton took\nthe same view. He had probably seen it before that night on which you\ncaught him.\'\n\n\"\'It is very possible. We took no pains to hide it.\'\n\n\"\'He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory upon that\nlast occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart which\nhe was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his\npocket when you appeared.\'\n\n\"\'That is true. But what could he have to do with this old family custom\nof ours, and what does this rigmarole mean?\'\n\n\"\'I don\'t think that we should have much difficulty in determining\nthat,\' said I; \'with your permission we will take the first train down\nto Sussex, and go a little more deeply into the matter upon the spot.\'\n\n\n\"The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. Possibly you have seen\npictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, so I will\nconfine my account of it to saying that it is built in the shape of\nan L, the long arm being the more modern portion, and the shorter the\nancient nucleus, from which the other had developed. Over the low,\nheavily-lintelled door, in the centre of this old part, is chiseled the\ndate, 1607, but experts are agreed that the beams and stone-work are\nreally much older than this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows\nof this part had in the last century driven the family into building the\nnew wing, and the old one was used now as a store-house and a cellar,\nwhen it was used at all. A splendid park with fine old timber surrounds\nthe house, and the lake, to which my client had referred, lay close to\nthe avenue, about two hundred yards from the building.\n\n\"I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that there were not three\nseparate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I could read the\nMusgrave Ritual aright I should hold in my hand the clue which would\nlead me to the truth concerning both the butler Brunton and the maid\nHowells. To that then I turned all my energies. Why should this servant\nbe so anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he saw\nsomething in it which had escaped all those generations of country\nsquires, and from which he expected some personal advantage. What was it\nthen, and how had it affected his fate?\n\n\"It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the ritual, that the\nmeasurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of the document\nalluded, and that if we could find that spot, we should be in a fair way\ntowards finding what the secret was which the old Musgraves had thought\nit necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion. There were two guides\ngiven us to start with, an oak and an elm. As to the oak there could be\nno question at all. Right in front of the house, upon the left-hand\nside of the drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most\nmagnificent trees that I have ever seen.\n\n\"\'That was there when your ritual was drawn up,\' said I, as we drove\npast it.\n\n\"\'It was there at the Norman Conquest in all probability,\' he answered.\n\'It has a girth of twenty-three feet.\'\n\n\"\'Have you any old elms?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'There used to be a very old one over yonder but it was struck by\nlightning ten years ago, and we cut down the stump.\'\n\n\"\'You can see where it used to be?\'\n\n\"\'Oh, yes.\'\n\n\"\'There are no other elms?\'\n\n\"\'No old ones, but plenty of beeches.\'\n\n\"\'I should like to see where it grew.\'\n\n\"We had driven up in a dog-cart, and my client led me away at once,\nwithout our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn where the\nelm had stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and the house. My\ninvestigation seemed to be progressing.\n\n\"\'I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the elm was?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four feet.\'\n\n\"\'How do you come to know it?\' I asked, in surprise.\n\n\"\'When my old tutor used to give me an exercise in trigonometry, it\nalways took the shape of measuring heights. When I was a lad I worked\nout every tree and building in the estate.\'\n\n\"This was an unexpected piece of luck. My data were coming more quickly\nthan I could have reasonably hoped.\n\n\"\'Tell me,\' I asked, \'did your butler ever ask you such a question?\'\n\n\"Reginald Musgrave looked at me in astonishment. \'Now that you call it\nto my mind,\' he answered, \'Brunton did ask me about the height of the\ntree some months ago, in connection with some little argument with the\ngroom.\'\n\n\"This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was on the\nright road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and I\ncalculated that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost\nbranches of the old oak. One condition mentioned in the Ritual would\nthen be fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end\nof the shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide.\nI had, then, to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the\nsun was just clear of the oak.\"\n\n\"That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no longer\nthere.\"\n\n\"Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I could also.\nBesides, there was no real difficulty. I went with Musgrave to his study\nand whittled myself this peg, to which I tied this long string with a\nknot at each yard. Then I took two lengths of a fishing-rod, which came\nto just six feet, and I went back with my client to where the elm had\nbeen. The sun was just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod\non end, marked out the direction of the shadow, and measured it. It was\nnine feet in length.\n\n\"Of course the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod of six feet\nthrew a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throw one of\nninety-six, and the line of the one would of course be the line of the\nother. I measured out the distance, which brought me almost to the\nwall of the house, and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can imagine\nmy exultation, Watson, when within two inches of my peg I saw a conical\ndepression in the ground. I knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in\nhis measurements, and that I was still upon his trail.\n\n\"From this starting-point I proceeded to step, having first taken the\ncardinal points by my pocket-compass. Ten steps with each foot took me\nalong parallel with the wall of the house, and again I marked my spot\nwith a peg. Then I carefully paced off five to the east and two to the\nsouth. It brought me to the very threshold of the old door. Two steps\nto the west meant now that I was to go two paces down the stone-flagged\npassage, and this was the place indicated by the Ritual.\n\n\"Never have I felt such a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a\nmoment is seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in my\ncalculations. The setting sun shone full upon the passage floor, and I\ncould see that the old, foot-worn gray stones with which it was paved\nwere firmly cemented together, and had certainly not been moved for many\na long year. Brunton had not been at work here. I tapped upon the floor,\nbut it sounded the same all over, and there was no sign of any crack\nor crevice. But, fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the\nmeaning of my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, took\nout his manuscript to check my calculation.\n\n\"\'And under,\' he cried. \'You have omitted the \"and under.\"\'\n\n\"I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now, of course,\nI saw at once that I was wrong. \'There is a cellar under this then?\' I\ncried.\n\n\"\'Yes, and as old as the house. Down here, through this door.\'\n\n\"We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion, striking a match,\nlit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an instant\nit was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place, and that we\nhad not been the only people to visit the spot recently.\n\n\"It had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets, which had\nevidently been littered over the floor, were now piled at the sides, so\nas to leave a clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large and\nheavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre to which a thick\nshepherd\'s-check muffler was attached.\n\n\"\'By Jove!\' cried my client. \'That\'s Brunton\'s muffler. I have seen it\non him, and could swear to it. What has the villain been doing here?\'\n\n\"At my suggestion a couple of the county police were summoned to be\npresent, and I then endeavored to raise the stone by pulling on the\ncravat. I could only move it slightly, and it was with the aid of one\nof the constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it to one side.\nA black hole yawned beneath into which we all peered, while Musgrave,\nkneeling at the side, pushed down the lantern.\n\n\"A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square lay open to\nus. At one side of this was a squat, brass-bound wooden box, the lid of\nwhich was hinged upwards, with this curious old-fashioned key projecting\nfrom the lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp\nand worms had eaten through the wood, so that a crop of livid fungi\nwas growing on the inside of it. Several discs of metal, old coins\napparently, such as I hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the\nbox, but it contained nothing else.\n\n\"At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest, for our\neyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was the figure\nof a man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hams with\nhis forehead sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms thrown out\non each side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to\nthe face, and no man could have recognized that distorted liver-colored\ncountenance; but his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient\nto show my client, when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his\nmissing butler. He had been dead some days, but there was no wound or\nbruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end. When\nhis body had been carried from the cellar we found ourselves still\nconfronted with a problem which was almost as formidable as that with\nwhich we had started.\n\n\"I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in my\ninvestigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I had\nfound the place referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there, and was\napparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family had\nconcealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had thrown\na light upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that\nfate had come upon him, and what part had been played in the matter by\nthe woman who had disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner and\nthought the whole matter carefully over.\n\n\"You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man\'s\nplace and, having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I\nshould myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this\ncase the matter was simplified by Brunton\'s intelligence being quite\nfirst-rate, so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for the\npersonal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He knew that\nsomething valuable was concealed. He had spotted the place. He found\nthat the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to move\nunaided. What would he do next? He could not get help from outside, even\nif he had some one whom he could trust, without the unbarring of doors\nand considerable risk of detection. It was better, if he could, to have\nhis helpmate inside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl had been\ndevoted to him. A man always finds it hard to realize that he may have\nfinally lost a woman\'s love, however badly he may have treated her. He\nwould try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girl Howells,\nand then would engage her as his accomplice. Together they would come at\nnight to the cellar, and their united force would suffice to raise the\nstone. So far I could follow their actions as if I had actually seen\nthem.\n\n\"But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have been heavy work the\nraising of that stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I had found it no\nlight job. What would they do to assist them? Probably what I should\nhave done myself. I rose and examined carefully the different billets\nof wood which were scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came\nupon what I expected. One piece, about three feet in length, had a very\nmarked indentation at one end, while several were flattened at the sides\nas if they had been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently,\nas they had dragged the stone up they had thrust the chunks of wood into\nthe chink, until at last, when the opening was large enough to crawl\nthrough, they would hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which\nmight very well become indented at the lower end, since the whole weight\nof the stone would press it down on to the edge of this other slab. So\nfar I was still on safe ground.\n\n\"And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnight drama?\nClearly, only one could fit into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The\ngirl must have waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed up\nthe contents presumably--since they were not to be found--and then--and\nthen what happened?\n\n\"What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in\nthis passionate Celtic woman\'s soul when she saw the man who had wronged\nher--wronged her, perhaps, far more than we suspected--in her power?\nWas it a chance that the wood had slipped, and that the stone had shut\nBrunton into what had become his sepulchre? Had she only been guilty of\nsilence as to his fate? Or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed the\nsupport away and sent the slab crashing down into its place? Be that\nas it might, I seemed to see that woman\'s figure still clutching at her\ntreasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her ears\nringing perhaps with the muffled screams from behind her and with the\ndrumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which was choking\nher faithless lover\'s life out.\n\n\"Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves, her peals\nof hysterical laughter on the next morning. But what had been in the\nbox? What had she done with that? Of course, it must have been the old\nmetal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the mere. She had\nthrown them in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace\nof her crime.\n\n\"For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matter out.\nMusgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his lantern and\npeering down into the hole.\n\n\"\'These are coins of Charles the First,\' said he, holding out the few\nwhich had been in the box; \'you see we were right in fixing our date for\nthe Ritual.\'\n\n\"\'We may find something else of Charles the First,\' I cried, as the\nprobable meaning of the first two questions of the Ritual broke suddenly\nupon me. \'Let me see the contents of the bag which you fished from the\nmere.\'\n\n\n\"We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. I could\nunderstand his regarding it as of small importance when I looked at it,\nfor the metal was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull. I\nrubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards like\na spark in the dark hollow of my hand. The metal work was in the form\nof a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its original\nshape.\n\n\"\'You must bear in mind,\' said I, \'that the royal party made head in\nEngland even after the death of the king, and that when they at last\nfled they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried\nbehind them, with the intention of returning for them in more peaceful\ntimes.\'\n\n\"\'My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent Cavalier and the\nright-hand man of Charles the Second in his wanderings,\' said my friend.\n\n\"\'Ah, indeed!\' I answered. \'Well now, I think that really should give us\nthe last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into\nthe possession, though in rather a tragic manner of a relic which is of\ngreat intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as an historical\ncuriosity.\'\n\n\"\'What is it, then?\' he gasped in astonishment.\n\n\"\'It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings of England.\'\n\n\"\'The crown!\'\n\n\"\'Precisely. Consider what the Ritual says: How does it run? \"Whose was\nit?\" \"His who is gone.\" That was after the execution of Charles. Then,\n\"Who shall have it?\" \"He who will come.\" That was Charles the Second,\nwhose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be no doubt that\nthis battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal\nStuarts.\'\n\n\"\'And how came it in the pond?\'\n\n\"\'Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer.\' And with\nthat I sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof\nwhich I had constructed. The twilight had closed in and the moon was\nshining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished.\n\n\"\'And how was it then that Charles did not get his crown when he\nreturned?\' asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag.\n\n\"\'Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which we shall\nprobably never be able to clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who\nheld the secret died in the interval, and by some oversight left this\nguide to his descendant without explaining the meaning of it. From that\nday to this it has been handed down from father to son, until at last\nit came within reach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his\nlife in the venture.\'\n\n\n\"And that\'s the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson. They have the\ncrown down at Hurlstone--though they had some legal bother and a\nconsiderable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. I am sure\nthat if you mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to you. Of\nthe woman nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she got\naway out of England and carried herself and the memory of her crime to\nsome land beyond the seas.\"\n\n\n\n\nAdventure VI. The Reigate Puzzle\n\n\nIt was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes\nrecovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the spring\nof \'87. The whole question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the\ncolossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are too recent in the minds of the\npublic, and are too intimately concerned with politics and finance to be\nfitting subjects for this series of sketches. They led, however, in an\nindirect fashion to a singular and complex problem which gave my friend\nan opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the\nmany with which he waged his life-long battle against crime.\n\nOn referring to my notes I see that it was upon the 14th of April that\nI received a telegram from Lyons which informed me that Holmes was\nlying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in his\nsick-room, and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in\nhis symptoms. Even his iron constitution, however, had broken down\nunder the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months,\nduring which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day,\nand had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days\nat a stretch. Even the triumphant issue of his labors could not save him\nfrom reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time when Europe\nwas ringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle-deep\nwith congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to the blackest\ndepression. Even the knowledge that he had succeeded where the police of\nthree countries had failed, and that he had outmanoeuvred at every point\nthe most accomplished swindler in Europe, was insufficient to rouse him\nfrom his nervous prostration.\n\nThree days later we were back in Baker Street together; but it was\nevident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the\nthought of a week of spring time in the country was full of attractions\nto me also. My old friend, Colonel Hayter, who had come under my\nprofessional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate in\nSurrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On\nthe last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come\nwith me he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A little\ndiplomacy was needed, but when Holmes understood that the establishment\nwas a bachelor one, and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom,\nhe fell in with my plans and a week after our return from Lyons we were\nunder the Colonel\'s roof. Hayter was a fine old soldier who had seen\nmuch of the world, and he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and\nhe had much in common.\n\nOn the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the Colonel\'s gun-room\nafter dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I looked\nover his little armory of Eastern weapons.\n\n\"By the way,\" said he suddenly, \"I think I\'ll take one of these pistols\nupstairs with me in case we have an alarm.\"\n\n\"An alarm!\" said I.\n\n\"Yes, we\'ve had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one of\nour county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No great\ndamage done, but the fellows are still at large.\"\n\n\"No clue?\" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the Colonel.\n\n\"None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of our little country\ncrimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after\nthis great international affair.\"\n\nHolmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had\npleased him.\n\n\"Was there any feature of interest?\"\n\n\"I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got very little for\ntheir pains. The whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open,\nand presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of Pope\'s\n\'Homer,\' two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a small oak\nbarometer, and a ball of twine are all that have vanished.\"\n\n\"What an extraordinary assortment!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything they could get.\"\n\nHolmes grunted from the sofa.\n\n\"The county police ought to make something of that,\" said he; \"why, it\nis surely obvious that--\"\n\nBut I held up a warning finger.\n\n\"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven\'s sake don\'t get\nstarted on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds.\"\n\nHolmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards\nthe Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels.\n\nIt was destined, however, that all my professional caution should be\nwasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a\nway that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a\nturn which neither of us could have anticipated. We were at breakfast\nwhen the Colonel\'s butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of\nhim.\n\n\"Have you heard the news, sir?\" he gasped. \"At the Cunningham\'s sir!\"\n\n\"Burglary!\" cried the Colonel, with his coffee-cup in mid-air.\n\n\"Murder!\"\n\nThe Colonel whistled. \"By Jove!\" said he. \"Who\'s killed, then? The J.P.\nor his son?\"\n\n\"Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot through the heart, sir,\nand never spoke again.\"\n\n\"Who shot him, then?\"\n\n\"The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away. He\'d just\nbroke in at the pantry window when William came on him and met his end\nin saving his master\'s property.\"\n\n\"What time?\"\n\n\"It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve.\"\n\n\"Ah, then, we\'ll step over afterwards,\" said the Colonel, coolly\nsettling down to his breakfast again. \"It\'s a baddish business,\" he\nadded when the butler had gone; \"he\'s our leading man about here, is old\nCunningham, and a very decent fellow too. He\'ll be cut up over this, for\nthe man has been in his service for years and was a good servant. It\'s\nevidently the same villains who broke into Acton\'s.\"\n\n\"And stole that very singular collection,\" said Holmes, thoughtfully.\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the world, but all the same\nat first glance this is just a little curious, is it not? A gang of\nburglars acting in the country might be expected to vary the scene of\ntheir operations, and not to crack two cribs in the same district within\na few days. When you spoke last night of taking precautions I remember\nthat it passed through my mind that this was probably the last parish\nin England to which the thief or thieves would be likely to turn their\nattention--which shows that I have still much to learn.\"\n\n\"I fancy it\'s some local practitioner,\" said the Colonel. \"In that case,\nof course, Acton\'s and Cunningham\'s are just the places he would go for,\nsince they are far the largest about here.\"\n\n\"And richest?\"\n\n\"Well, they ought to be, but they\'ve had a lawsuit for some years which\nhas sucked the blood out of both of them, I fancy. Old Acton has some\nclaim on half Cunningham\'s estate, and the lawyers have been at it with\nboth hands.\"\n\n\"If it\'s a local villain there should not be much difficulty in running\nhim down,\" said Holmes with a yawn. \"All right, Watson, I don\'t intend\nto meddle.\"\n\n\"Inspector Forrester, sir,\" said the butler, throwing open the door.\n\nThe official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, stepped into the room.\n\"Good-morning, Colonel,\" said he; \"I hope I don\'t intrude, but we hear\nthat Mr. Holmes of Baker Street is here.\"\n\nThe Colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the Inspector bowed.\n\n\"We thought that perhaps you would care to step across, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"The fates are against you, Watson,\" said he, laughing. \"We were\nchatting about the matter when you came in, Inspector. Perhaps you\ncan let us have a few details.\" As he leaned back in his chair in the\nfamiliar attitude I knew that the case was hopeless.\n\n\"We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we have plenty to go on,\nand there\'s no doubt it is the same party in each case. The man was\nseen.\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after the shot that killed poor\nWilliam Kirwan was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroom\nwindow, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. It was\nquarter to twelve when the alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham had just got\ninto bed, and Mr. Alec was smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown. They\nboth heard William the coachman calling for help, and Mr. Alec ran down\nto see what was the matter. The back door was open, and as he came to\nthe foot of the stairs he saw two men wrestling together outside. One of\nthem fired a shot, the other dropped, and the murderer rushed across the\ngarden and over the hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of his bedroom,\nsaw the fellow as he gained the road, but lost sight of him at once. Mr.\nAlec stopped to see if he could help the dying man, and so the villain\ngot clean away. Beyond the fact that he was a middle-sized man and\ndressed in some dark stuff, we have no personal clue; but we are making\nenergetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we shall soon find him\nout.\"\n\n\"What was this William doing there? Did he say anything before he died?\"\n\n\"Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother, and as he was a\nvery faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to the house with\nthe intention of seeing that all was right there. Of course this Acton\nbusiness has put every one on their guard. The robber must have just\nburst open the door--the lock has been forced--when William came upon\nhim.\"\n\n\"Did William say anything to his mother before going out?\"\n\n\"She is very old and deaf, and we can get no information from her. The\nshock has made her half-witted, but I understand that she was never\nvery bright. There is one very important circumstance, however. Look at\nthis!\"\n\nHe took a small piece of torn paper from a note-book and spread it out\nupon his knee.\n\n\"This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. It appears\nto be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. You will observe that the\nhour mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor fellow met his\nfate. You see that his murderer might have torn the rest of the sheet\nfrom him or he might have taken this fragment from the murderer. It\nreads almost as though it were an appointment.\"\n\nHolmes took up the scrap of paper, a fac-simile of which is here\nreproduced.\n\n d at quarter to twelve learn what maybe\n\n\"Presuming that it is an appointment,\" continued the Inspector, \"it is\nof course a conceivable theory that this William Kirwan--though he had\nthe reputation of being an honest man, may have been in league with the\nthief. He may have met him there, may even have helped him to break in\nthe door, and then they may have fallen out between themselves.\"\n\n\"This writing is of extraordinary interest,\" said Holmes, who had been\nexamining it with intense concentration. \"These are much deeper waters\nthan I had thought.\" He sank his head upon his hands, while the Inspector\nsmiled at the effect which his case had had upon the famous London\nspecialist.\n\n\"Your last remark,\" said Holmes, presently, \"as to the possibility of\nthere being an understanding between the burglar and the servant, and\nthis being a note of appointment from one to the other, is an ingenious\nand not entirely impossible supposition. But this writing opens up--\" He\nsank his head into his hands again and remained for some minutes in the\ndeepest thought. When he raised his face again, I was surprised to see\nthat his cheek was tinged with color, and his eyes as bright as before\nhis illness. He sprang to his feet with all his old energy.\n\n\"I\'ll tell you what,\" said he, \"I should like to have a quiet little\nglance into the details of this case. There is something in it which\nfascinates me extremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, I will leave my\nfriend Watson and you, and I will step round with the Inspector to test\nthe truth of one or two little fancies of mine. I will be with you again\nin half an hour.\"\n\nAn hour and half had elapsed before the Inspector returned alone.\n\n\"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside,\" said he. \"He\nwants us all four to go up to the house together.\"\n\n\"To Mr. Cunningham\'s?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\nThe Inspector shrugged his shoulders. \"I don\'t quite know, sir. Between\nourselves, I think Mr. Holmes had not quite got over his illness yet.\nHe\'s been behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited.\"\n\n\"I don\'t think you need alarm yourself,\" said I. \"I have usually found\nthat there was method in his madness.\"\n\n\"Some folks might say there was madness in his method,\" muttered the\nInspector. \"But he\'s all on fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go\nout if you are ready.\"\n\nWe found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunk upon his\nbreast, and his hands thrust into his trousers pockets.\n\n\"The matter grows in interest,\" said he. \"Watson, your country-trip has\nbeen a distinct success. I have had a charming morning.\"\n\n\"You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand,\" said the\nColonel.\n\n\"Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a little reconnaissance\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Any success?\"\n\n\"Well, we have seen some very interesting things. I\'ll tell you what we\ndid as we walk. First of all, we saw the body of this unfortunate man.\nHe certainly died from a revolver wound as reported.\"\n\n\"Had you doubted it, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not wasted. We\nthen had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son, who were able\nto point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken through the\ngarden-hedge in his flight. That was of great interest.\"\n\n\"Naturally.\"\n\n\"Then we had a look at this poor fellow\'s mother. We could get no\ninformation from her, however, as she is very old and feeble.\"\n\n\"And what is the result of your investigations?\"\n\n\"The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhaps our visit\nnow may do something to make it less obscure. I think that we are both\nagreed, Inspector that the fragment of paper in the dead man\'s hand,\nbearing, as it does, the very hour of his death written upon it, is of\nextreme importance.\"\n\n\"It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man who brought\nWilliam Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But where is the rest of\nthat sheet of paper?\"\n\n\"I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it,\" said the\nInspector.\n\n\"It was torn out of the dead man\'s hand. Why was some one so anxious to\nget possession of it? Because it incriminated him. And what would he do\nwith it? Thrust it into his pocket, most likely, never noticing that a\ncorner of it had been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could get\nthe rest of that sheet it is obvious that we should have gone a long way\ntowards solving the mystery.\"\n\n\"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal\'s pocket before we catch the\ncriminal?\"\n\n\"Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is another obvious\npoint. The note was sent to William. The man who wrote it could not have\ntaken it; otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his own message\nby word of mouth. Who brought the note, then? Or did it come through the\npost?\"\n\n\"I have made inquiries,\" said the Inspector. \"William received a letter\nby the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspector on the back. \"You\'ve\nseen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well, here is the\nlodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of\nthe crime.\"\n\nWe passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived, and\nwalked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne house, which\nbears the date of Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and\nthe Inspector led us round it until we came to the side gate, which is\nseparated by a stretch of garden from the hedge which lines the road. A\nconstable was standing at the kitchen door.\n\n\"Throw the door open, officer,\" said Holmes. \"Now, it was on those\nstairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling\njust where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at that window--the second on\nthe left--and he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that bush.\nThen Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside the wounded man. The ground is\nvery hard, you see, and there are no marks to guide us.\" As he spoke two\nmen came down the garden path, from round the angle of the house. The\none was an elderly man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the\nother a dashing young fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy\ndress were in strange contrast with the business which had brought us\nthere.\n\n\"Still at it, then?\" said he to Holmes. \"I thought you Londoners were\nnever at fault. You don\'t seem to be so very quick, after all.\"\n\n\"Ah, you must give us a little time,\" said Holmes good-humoredly.\n\n\"You\'ll want it,\" said young Alec Cunningham. \"Why, I don\'t see that we\nhave any clue at all.\"\n\n\"There\'s only one,\" answered the Inspector. \"We thought that if we could\nonly find--Good heavens, Mr. Holmes! What is the matter?\"\n\nMy poor friend\'s face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful expression.\nHis eyes rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony, and with a\nsuppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the ground. Horrified\nat the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried him into the\nkitchen, where he lay back in a large chair, and breathed heavily for\nsome minutes. Finally, with a shamefaced apology for his weakness, he\nrose once more.\n\n\"Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from a severe\nillness,\" he explained. \"I am liable to these sudden nervous attacks.\"\n\n\"Shall I send you home in my trap?\" asked old Cunningham.\n\n\"Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I should like to\nfeel sure. We can very easily verify it.\"\n\n\"What was it?\"\n\n\"Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrival of\nthis poor fellow William was not before, but after, the entrance of\nthe burglar into the house. You appear to take it for granted that,\nalthough the door was forced, the robber never got in.\"\n\n\"I fancy that is quite obvious,\" said Mr. Cunningham, gravely. \"Why, my\nson Alec had not yet gone to bed, and he would certainly have heard any\none moving about.\"\n\n\"Where was he sitting?\"\n\n\"I was smoking in my dressing-room.\"\n\n\"Which window is that?\"\n\n\"The last on the left next my father\'s.\"\n\n\"Both of your lamps were lit, of course?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly.\"\n\n\"There are some very singular points here,\" said Holmes, smiling. \"Is\nit not extraordinary that a burglar--and a burglar who had had some\nprevious experience--should deliberately break into a house at a time\nwhen he could see from the lights that two of the family were still\nafoot?\"\n\n\"He must have been a cool hand.\"\n\n\"Well, of course, if the case were not an odd one we should not have\nbeen driven to ask you for an explanation,\" said young Mr. Alec. \"But as\nto your ideas that the man had robbed the house before William tackled\nhim, I think it a most absurd notion. Wouldn\'t we have found the place\ndisarranged, and missed the things which he had taken?\"\n\n\"It depends on what the things were,\" said Holmes. \"You must remember\nthat we are dealing with a burglar who is a very peculiar fellow, and\nwho appears to work on lines of his own. Look, for example, at the\nqueer lot of things which he took from Acton\'s--what was it?--a ball of\nstring, a letter-weight, and I don\'t know what other odds and ends.\"\n\n\"Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes,\" said old Cunningham.\n\"Anything which you or the Inspector may suggest will most certainly be\ndone.\"\n\n\"In the first place,\" said Holmes, \"I should like you to offer a\nreward--coming from yourself, for the officials may take a little time\nbefore they would agree upon the sum, and these things cannot be done\ntoo promptly. I have jotted down the form here, if you would not mind\nsigning it. Fifty pounds was quite enough, I thought.\"\n\n\"I would willingly give five hundred,\" said the J.P., taking the slip\nof paper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him. \"This is not quite\ncorrect, however,\" he added, glancing over the document.\n\n\"I wrote it rather hurriedly.\"\n\n\"You see you begin, \'Whereas, at about a quarter to one on Tuesday\nmorning an attempt was made,\' and so on. It was at a quarter to twelve,\nas a matter of fact.\"\n\nI was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes would feel any\nslip of the kind. It was his specialty to be accurate as to fact, but\nhis recent illness had shaken him, and this one little incident was\nenough to show me that he was still far from being himself. He was\nobviously embarrassed for an instant, while the Inspector raised his\neyebrows, and Alec Cunningham burst into a laugh. The old gentleman\ncorrected the mistake, however, and handed the paper back to Holmes.\n\n\"Get it printed as soon as possible,\" he said; \"I think your idea is an\nexcellent one.\"\n\nHolmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his pocket-book.\n\n\"And now,\" said he, \"it really would be a good thing that we should all\ngo over the house together and make certain that this rather erratic\nburglar did not, after all, carry anything away with him.\"\n\nBefore entering, Holmes made an examination of the door which had been\nforced. It was evident that a chisel or strong knife had been thrust\nin, and the lock forced back with it. We could see the marks in the wood\nwhere it had been pushed in.\n\n\"You don\'t use bars, then?\" he asked.\n\n\"We have never found it necessary.\"\n\n\"You don\'t keep a dog?\"\n\n\"Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the house.\"\n\n\"When do the servants go to bed?\"\n\n\"About ten.\"\n\n\"I understand that William was usually in bed also at that hour.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It is singular that on this particular night he should have been up.\nNow, I should be very glad if you would have the kindness to show us\nover the house, Mr. Cunningham.\"\n\nA stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away from it, led\nby a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the house. It came\nout upon the landing opposite to a second more ornamental stair which\ncame up from the front hall. Out of this landing opened the drawing-room\nand several bedrooms, including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son.\nHolmes walked slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of the house.\nI could tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet\nI could not in the least imagine in what direction his inferences were\nleading him.\n\n\"My good sir,\" said Mr. Cunningham with some impatience, \"this is surely\nvery unnecessary. That is my room at the end of the stairs, and my\nson\'s is the one beyond it. I leave it to your judgment whether it was\npossible for the thief to have come up here without disturbing us.\"\n\n\"You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy,\" said the son\nwith a rather malicious smile.\n\n\"Still, I must ask you to humor me a little further. I should like, for\nexample, to see how far the windows of the bedrooms command the front.\nThis, I understand is your son\'s room\"--he pushed open the door--\"and\nthat, I presume, is the dressing-room in which he sat smoking when the\nalarm was given. Where does the window of that look out to?\" He stepped\nacross the bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round the other\nchamber.\n\n\"I hope that you are satisfied now?\" said Mr. Cunningham, tartly.\n\n\"Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished.\"\n\n\"Then if it is really necessary we can go into my room.\"\n\n\"If it is not too much trouble.\"\n\nThe J. P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into his own chamber,\nwhich was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. As we moved across\nit in the direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he and I were\nthe last of the group. Near the foot of the bed stood a dish of oranges\nand a carafe of water. As we passed it Holmes, to my unutterable\nastonishment, leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked the\nwhole thing over. The glass smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruit\nrolled about into every corner of the room.\n\n\"You\'ve done it now, Watson,\" said he, coolly. \"A pretty mess you\'ve\nmade of the carpet.\"\n\nI stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit,\nunderstanding for some reason my companion desired me to take the blame\nupon myself. The others did the same, and set the table on its legs\nagain.\n\n\"Hullo!\" cried the Inspector, \"where\'s he got to?\"\n\nHolmes had disappeared.\n\n\"Wait here an instant,\" said young Alec Cunningham. \"The fellow is off\nhis head, in my opinion. Come with me, father, and see where he has got\nto!\"\n\nThey rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector, the Colonel, and me\nstaring at each other.\n\n\"\'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master Alec,\" said the\nofficial. \"It may be the effect of this illness, but it seems to me\nthat--\"\n\nHis words were cut short by a sudden scream of \"Help! Help! Murder!\"\nWith a thrill I recognized the voice of that of my friend. I rushed\nmadly from the room on to the landing. The cries, which had sunk down\ninto a hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room which we had\nfirst visited. I dashed in, and on into the dressing-room beyond. The\ntwo Cunninghams were bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock\nHolmes, the younger clutching his throat with both hands, while the\nelder seemed to be twisting one of his wrists. In an instant the three\nof us had torn them away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet,\nvery pale and evidently greatly exhausted.\n\n\"Arrest these men, Inspector,\" he gasped.\n\n\"On what charge?\"\n\n\"That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan.\"\n\nThe Inspector stared about him in bewilderment. \"Oh, come now, Mr.\nHolmes,\" said he at last, \"I\'m sure you don\'t really mean to--\"\n\n\"Tut, man, look at their faces!\" cried Holmes, curtly.\n\nNever certainly have I seen a plainer confession of guilt upon human\ncountenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed with a heavy, sullen\nexpression upon his strongly-marked face. The son, on the other hand,\nhad dropped all that jaunty, dashing style which had characterized him,\nand the ferocity of a dangerous wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes\nand distorted his handsome features. The Inspector said nothing, but,\nstepping to the door, he blew his whistle. Two of his constables came at\nthe call.\n\n\"I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham,\" said he. \"I trust that this may\nall prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can see that--Ah, would you?\nDrop it!\" He struck out with his hand, and a revolver which the younger\nman was in the act of cocking clattered down upon the floor.\n\n\"Keep that,\" said Holmes, quietly putting his foot upon it; \"you will\nfind it useful at the trial. But this is what we really wanted.\" He held\nup a little crumpled piece of paper.\n\n\"The remainder of the sheet!\" cried the Inspector.\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"And where was it?\"\n\n\"Where I was sure it must be. I\'ll make the whole matter clear to you\npresently. I think, Colonel, that you and Watson might return now, and\nI will be with you again in an hour at the furthest. The Inspector and I\nmust have a word with the prisoners, but you will certainly see me back\nat luncheon time.\"\n\n\nSherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one o\'clock he\nrejoined us in the Colonel\'s smoking-room. He was accompanied by a\nlittle elderly gentleman, who was introduced to me as the Mr. Acton\nwhose house had been the scene of the original burglary.\n\n\"I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated this small matter\nto you,\" said Holmes, \"for it is natural that he should take a keen\ninterest in the details. I am afraid, my dear Colonel, that you must\nregret the hour that you took in such a stormy petrel as I am.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" answered the Colonel, warmly, \"I consider it the\ngreatest privilege to have been permitted to study your methods of\nworking. I confess that they quite surpass my expectations, and that I\nam utterly unable to account for your result. I have not yet seen the\nvestige of a clue.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you but it has always\nbeen my habit to hide none of my methods, either from my friend Watson\nor from any one who might take an intelligent interest in them. But,\nfirst, as I am rather shaken by the knocking about which I had in\nthe dressing-room, I think that I shall help myself to a dash of your\nbrandy, Colonel. My strength had been rather tried of late.\"\n\n\"I trust that you had no more of those nervous attacks.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes laughed heartily. \"We will come to that in its turn,\"\nsaid he. \"I will lay an account of the case before you in its due order,\nshowing you the various points which guided me in my decision. Pray\ninterrupt me if there is any inference which is not perfectly clear to\nyou.\n\n\"It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be able\nto recognize, out of a number of facts, which are incidental and which\nvital. Otherwise your energy and attention must be dissipated instead of\nbeing concentrated. Now, in this case there was not the slightest doubt\nin my mind from the first that the key of the whole matter must be\nlooked for in the scrap of paper in the dead man\'s hand.\n\n\"Before going into this, I would draw your attention to the fact that,\nif Alec Cunningham\'s narrative was correct, and if the assailant, after\nshooting William Kirwan, had instantly fled, then it obviously could not\nbe he who tore the paper from the dead man\'s hand. But if it was not he,\nit must have been Alec Cunningham himself, for by the time that the old\nman had descended several servants were upon the scene. The point is a\nsimple one, but the Inspector had overlooked it because he had started\nwith the supposition that these county magnates had had nothing to do\nwith the matter. Now, I make a point of never having any prejudices,\nand of following docilely wherever fact may lead me, and so, in the\nvery first stage of the investigation, I found myself looking a little\naskance at the part which had been played by Mr. Alec Cunningham.\n\n\"And now I made a very careful examination of the corner of paper which\nthe Inspector had submitted to us. It was at once clear to me that it\nformed part of a very remarkable document. Here it is. Do you not now\nobserve something very suggestive about it?\"\n\n\"It has a very irregular look,\" said the Colonel.\n\n\"My dear sir,\" cried Holmes, \"there cannot be the least doubt in the\nworld that it has been written by two persons doing alternate words.\nWhen I draw your attention to the strong t\'s of \'at\' and \'to\', and ask\nyou to compare them with the weak ones of \'quarter\' and \'twelve,\' you\nwill instantly recognize the fact. A very brief analysis of these\nfour words would enable you to say with the utmost confidence that the\n\'learn\' and the \'maybe\' are written in the stronger hand, and the \'what\'\nin the weaker.\"\n\n\"By Jove, it\'s as clear as day!\" cried the Colonel. \"Why on earth should\ntwo men write a letter in such a fashion?\"\n\n\"Obviously the business was a bad one, and one of the men who distrusted\nthe other was determined that, whatever was done, each should have an\nequal hand in it. Now, of the two men, it is clear that the one who\nwrote the \'at\' and \'to\' was the ringleader.\"\n\n\"How do you get at that?\"\n\n\"We might deduce it from the mere character of the one hand as compared\nwith the other. But we have more assured reasons than that for supposing\nit. If you examine this scrap with attention you will come to the\nconclusion that the man with the stronger hand wrote all his words\nfirst, leaving blanks for the other to fill up. These blanks were not\nalways sufficient, and you can see that the second man had a squeeze\nto fit his \'quarter\' in between the \'at\' and the \'to,\' showing that the\nlatter were already written. The man who wrote all his words first is\nundoubtedly the man who planned the affair.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" cried Mr. Acton.\n\n\"But very superficial,\" said Holmes. \"We come now, however, to a point\nwhich is of importance. You may not be aware that the deduction of a\nman\'s age from his writing is one which been has brought to considerable\naccuracy by experts. In normal cases one can place a man in his true\ndecade with tolerable confidence. I say normal cases, because ill-health\nand physical weakness reproduce the signs of old age, even when the\ninvalid is a youth. In this case, looking at the bold, strong hand of\nthe one, and the rather broken-backed appearance of the other, which\nstill retains its legibility although the t\'s have begun to lose their\ncrossing, we can say that the one was a young man and the other was\nadvanced in years without being positively decrepit.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" cried Mr. Acton again.\n\n\"There is a further point, however, which is subtler and of greater\ninterest. There is something in common between these hands. They belong\nto men who are blood-relatives. It may be most obvious to you in the\nGreek e\'s, but to me there are many small points which indicate the same\nthing. I have no doubt at all that a family mannerism can be traced in\nthese two specimens of writing. I am only, of course, giving you\nthe leading results now of my examination of the paper. There were\ntwenty-three other deductions which would be of more interest to experts\nthan to you. They all tend to deepen the impression upon my mind that\nthe Cunninghams, father and son, had written this letter.\n\n\"Having got so far, my next step was, of course, to examine into the\ndetails of the crime, and to see how far they would help us. I went up\nto the house with the Inspector, and saw all that was to be seen. The\nwound upon the dead man was, as I was able to determine with absolute\nconfidence, fired from a revolver at the distance of something over\nfour yards. There was no powder-blackening on the clothes. Evidently,\ntherefore, Alec Cunningham had lied when he said that the two men were\nstruggling when the shot was fired. Again, both father and son agreed\nas to the place where the man escaped into the road. At that point,\nhowever, as it happens, there is a broadish ditch, moist at the bottom.\nAs there were no indications of bootmarks about this ditch, I was\nabsolutely sure not only that the Cunninghams had again lied, but that\nthere had never been any unknown man upon the scene at all.\n\n\"And now I have to consider the motive of this singular crime. To get\nat this, I endeavored first of all to solve the reason of the original\nburglary at Mr. Acton\'s. I understood, from something which the Colonel\ntold us, that a lawsuit had been going on between you, Mr. Acton, and\nthe Cunninghams. Of course, it instantly occurred to me that they had\nbroken into your library with the intention of getting at some document\nwhich might be of importance in the case.\"\n\n\"Precisely so,\" said Mr. Acton. \"There can be no possible doubt as to\ntheir intentions. I have the clearest claim upon half of their present\nestate, and if they could have found a single paper--which, fortunately,\nwas in the strong-box of my solicitors--they would undoubtedly have\ncrippled our case.\"\n\n\"There you are,\" said Holmes, smiling. \"It was a dangerous, reckless\nattempt, in which I seem to trace the influence of young Alec. Having\nfound nothing they tried to divert suspicion by making it appear to be\nan ordinary burglary, to which end they carried off whatever they could\nlay their hands upon. That is all clear enough, but there was much that\nwas still obscure. What I wanted above all was to get the missing part\nof that note. I was certain that Alec had torn it out of the dead man\'s\nhand, and almost certain that he must have thrust it into the pocket of\nhis dressing-gown. Where else could he have put it? The only question\nwas whether it was still there. It was worth an effort to find out, and\nfor that object we all went up to the house.\n\n\"The Cunninghams joined us, as you doubtless remember, outside the\nkitchen door. It was, of course, of the very first importance that they\nshould not be reminded of the existence of this paper, otherwise they\nwould naturally destroy it without delay. The Inspector was about to\ntell them the importance which we attached to it when, by the luckiest\nchance in the world, I tumbled down in a sort of fit and so changed the\nconversation.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried the Colonel, laughing, \"do you mean to say all our\nsympathy was wasted and your fit an imposture?\"\n\n\"Speaking professionally, it was admirably done,\" cried I, looking in\namazement at this man who was forever confounding me with some new phase\nof his astuteness.\n\n\"It is an art which is often useful,\" said he. \"When I recovered I\nmanaged, by a device which had perhaps some little merit of ingenuity,\nto get old Cunningham to write the word \'twelve,\' so that I might\ncompare it with the \'twelve\' upon the paper.\"\n\n\"Oh, what an ass I have been!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"I could see that you were commiserating me over my weakness,\" said\nHolmes, laughing. \"I was sorry to cause you the sympathetic pain which\nI know that you felt. We then went upstairs together, and having entered\nthe room and seen the dressing-gown hanging up behind the door, I\ncontrived, by upsetting a table, to engage their attention for the\nmoment, and slipped back to examine the pockets. I had hardly got the\npaper, however--which was, as I had expected, in one of them--when the\ntwo Cunninghams were on me, and would, I verily believe, have murdered\nme then and there but for your prompt and friendly aid. As it is, I feel\nthat young man\'s grip on my throat now, and the father has twisted my\nwrist round in the effort to get the paper out of my hand. They saw that\nI must know all about it, you see, and the sudden change from absolute\nsecurity to complete despair made them perfectly desperate.\n\n\"I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as to the motive of\nthe crime. He was tractable enough, though his son was a perfect demon,\nready to blow out his own or anybody else\'s brains if he could have got\nto his revolver. When Cunningham saw that the case against him was so\nstrong he lost all heart and made a clean breast of everything. It seems\nthat William had secretly followed his two masters on the night when\nthey made their raid upon Mr. Acton\'s, and having thus got them into\nhis power, proceeded, under threats of exposure, to levy blackmail upon\nthem. Mr. Alec, however, was a dangerous man to play games of that\nsort with. It was a stroke of positive genius on his part to see in the\nburglary scare which was convulsing the country side an opportunity of\nplausibly getting rid of the man whom he feared. William was decoyed up\nand shot, and had they only got the whole of the note and paid a little\nmore attention to detail in the accessories, it is very possible that\nsuspicion might never have been aroused.\"\n\n\"And the note?\" I asked.\n\nSherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper before us.\n\n If you will only come around to the east gate it will\n very much surprise you and be of the greatest service to you\n and also to Annie Morrison. But say nothing to anyone upon\n the matter.\n\n\"It is very much the sort of thing that I expected,\" said he. \"Of\ncourse, we do not yet know what the relations may have been between Alec\nCunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie Morrison. The results shows that\nthe trap was skillfully baited. I am sure that you cannot fail to be\ndelighted with the traces of heredity shown in the p\'s and in the tails\nof the g\'s. The absence of the i-dots in the old man\'s writing is also\nmost characteristic. Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has\nbeen a distinct success, and I shall certainly return much invigorated\nto Baker Street to-morrow.\"\n\n\n\n\nAdventure VII. The Crooked Man\n\n\nOne summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seated by my own\nhearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my day\'s work\nhad been an exhausting one. My wife had already gone upstairs, and the\nsound of the locking of the hall door some time before told me that the\nservants had also retired. I had risen from my seat and was knocking out\nthe ashes of my pipe when I suddenly heard the clang of the bell.\n\nI looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This could not be\na visitor at so late an hour. A patient, evidently, and possibly an\nall-night sitting. With a wry face I went out into the hall and opened\nthe door. To my astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes who stood upon my\nstep.\n\n\"Ah, Watson,\" said he, \"I hoped that I might not be too late to catch\nyou.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, pray come in.\"\n\n\"You look surprised, and no wonder! Relieved, too, I fancy! Hum! You\nstill smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor days then! There\'s no\nmistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat. It\'s easy to tell that you\nhave been accustomed to wear a uniform, Watson. You\'ll never pass as\na pure-bred civilian as long as you keep that habit of carrying your\nhandkerchief in your sleeve. Could you put me up to-night?\"\n\n\"With pleasure.\"\n\n\"You told me that you had bachelor quarters for one, and I see that you\nhave no gentleman visitor at present. Your hat-stand proclaims as much.\"\n\n\"I shall be delighted if you will stay.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I\'ll fill the vacant peg then. Sorry to see that you\'ve had\nthe British workman in the house. He\'s a token of evil. Not the drains,\nI hope?\"\n\n\"No, the gas.\"\n\n\"Ah! He has left two nail-marks from his boot upon your linoleum\njust where the light strikes it. No, thank you, I had some supper at\nWaterloo, but I\'ll smoke a pipe with you with pleasure.\"\n\nI handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite to me and smoked\nfor some time in silence. I was well aware that nothing but business\nof importance would have brought him to me at such an hour, so I waited\npatiently until he should come round to it.\n\n\"I see that you are professionally rather busy just now,\" said he,\nglancing very keenly across at me.\n\n\"Yes, I\'ve had a busy day,\" I answered. \"It may seem very foolish in\nyour eyes,\" I added, \"but really I don\'t know how you deduced it.\"\n\nHolmes chuckled to himself.\n\n\"I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson,\" said he.\n\"When your round is a short one you walk, and when it is a long one you\nuse a hansom. As I perceive that your boots, although used, are by\nno means dirty, I cannot doubt that you are at present busy enough to\njustify the hansom.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" I cried.\n\n\"Elementary,\" said he. \"It is one of those instances where the reasoner\ncan produce an effect which seems remarkable to his neighbor, because\nthe latter has missed the one little point which is the basis of the\ndeduction. The same may be said, my dear fellow, for the effect of\nsome of these little sketches of yours, which is entirely meretricious,\ndepending as it does upon your retaining in your own hands some factors\nin the problem which are never imparted to the reader. Now, at present\nI am in the position of these same readers, for I hold in this hand\nseveral threads of one of the strangest cases which ever perplexed a\nman\'s brain, and yet I lack the one or two which are needful to complete\nmy theory. But I\'ll have them, Watson, I\'ll have them!\" His eyes kindled\nand a slight flush sprang into his thin cheeks. For an instant only.\nWhen I glanced again his face had resumed that red-Indian composure\nwhich had made so many regard him as a machine rather than a man.\n\n\"The problem presents features of interest,\" said he. \"I may even say\nexceptional features of interest. I have already looked into the matter,\nand have come, as I think, within sight of my solution. If you could\naccompany me in that last step you might be of considerable service to\nme.\"\n\n\"I should be delighted.\"\n\n\"Could you go as far as Aldershot to-morrow?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt Jackson would take my practice.\"\n\n\"Very good. I want to start by the 11.10 from Waterloo.\"\n\n\"That would give me time.\"\n\n\"Then, if you are not too sleepy, I will give you a sketch of what has\nhappened, and of what remains to be done.\"\n\n\"I was sleepy before you came. I am quite wakeful now.\"\n\n\"I will compress the story as far as may be done without omitting\nanything vital to the case. It is conceivable that you may even have\nread some account of the matter. It is the supposed murder of Colonel\nBarclay, of the Royal Munsters, at Aldershot, which I am investigating.\"\n\n\"I have heard nothing of it.\"\n\n\"It has not excited much attention yet, except locally. The facts are\nonly two days old. Briefly they are these:\n\n\"The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of the most famous Irish\nregiments in the British army. It did wonders both in the Crimea and the\nMutiny, and has since that time distinguished itself upon every possible\noccasion. It was commanded up to Monday night by James Barclay,\na gallant veteran, who started as a full private, was raised to\ncommissioned rank for his bravery at the time of the Mutiny, and so\nlived to command the regiment in which he had once carried a musket.\n\n\"Colonel Barclay had married at the time when he was a sergeant, and\nhis wife, whose maiden name was Miss Nancy Devoy, was the daughter of a\nformer color-sergeant in the same corps. There was, therefore, as can\nbe imagined, some little social friction when the young couple (for\nthey were still young) found themselves in their new surroundings. They\nappear, however, to have quickly adapted themselves, and Mrs. Barclay\nhas always, I understand, been as popular with the ladies of the\nregiment as her husband was with his brother officers. I may add that\nshe was a woman of great beauty, and that even now, when she has been\nmarried for upwards of thirty years, she is still of a striking and\nqueenly appearance.\n\n\"Colonel Barclay\'s family life appears to have been a uniformly happy\none. Major Murphy, to whom I owe most of my facts, assures me that he\nhas never heard of any misunderstanding between the pair. On the whole,\nhe thinks that Barclay\'s devotion to his wife was greater than his\nwife\'s to Barclay. He was acutely uneasy if he were absent from her for\na day. She, on the other hand, though devoted and faithful, was less\nobtrusively affectionate. But they were regarded in the regiment as\nthe very model of a middle-aged couple. There was absolutely nothing in\ntheir mutual relations to prepare people for the tragedy which was to\nfollow.\n\n\"Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had some singular traits in his\ncharacter. He was a dashing, jovial old soldier in his usual mood,\nbut there were occasions on which he seemed to show himself capable\nof considerable violence and vindictiveness. This side of his nature,\nhowever, appears never to have been turned towards his wife. Another\nfact, which had struck Major Murphy and three out of five of the other\nofficers with whom I conversed, was the singular sort of depression\nwhich came upon him at times. As the major expressed it, the smile had\noften been struck from his mouth, as if by some invisible hand, when he\nhas been joining the gayeties and chaff of the mess-table. For days on\nend, when the mood was on him, he has been sunk in the deepest gloom.\nThis and a certain tinge of superstition were the only unusual traits\nin his character which his brother officers had observed. The latter\npeculiarity took the form of a dislike to being left alone, especially\nafter dark. This puerile feature in a nature which was conspicuously\nmanly had often given rise to comment and conjecture.\n\n\"The first battalion of the Royal Munsters (which is the old 117th) has\nbeen stationed at Aldershot for some years. The married officers live\nout of barracks, and the Colonel has during all this time occupied a\nvilla called Lachine, about half a mile from the north camp. The house\nstands in its own grounds, but the west side of it is not more than\nthirty yards from the high-road. A coachman and two maids form the\nstaff of servants. These with their master and mistress were the sole\noccupants of Lachine, for the Barclays had no children, nor was it usual\nfor them to have resident visitors.\n\n\"Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on the evening of\nlast Monday.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman Catholic Church,\nand had interested herself very much in the establishment of the Guild\nof St. George, which was formed in connection with the Watt Street\nChapel for the purpose of supplying the poor with cast-off clothing.\nA meeting of the Guild had been held that evening at eight, and Mrs.\nBarclay had hurried over her dinner in order to be present at it. When\nleaving the house she was heard by the coachman to make some commonplace\nremark to her husband, and to assure him that she would be back before\nvery long. She then called for Miss Morrison, a young lady who lives\nin the next villa, and the two went off together to their meeting. It\nlasted forty minutes, and at a quarter-past nine Mrs. Barclay returned\nhome, having left Miss Morrison at her door as she passed.\n\n\"There is a room which is used as a morning-room at Lachine. This faces\nthe road and opens by a large glass folding-door on to the lawn. The\nlawn is thirty yards across, and is only divided from the highway by\na low wall with an iron rail above it. It was into this room that Mrs.\nBarclay went upon her return. The blinds were not down, for the room was\nseldom used in the evening, but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and\nthen rang the bell, asking Jane Stewart, the house-maid, to bring her\na cup of tea, which was quite contrary to her usual habits. The Colonel\nhad been sitting in the dining-room, but hearing that his wife had\nreturned he joined her in the morning-room. The coachman saw him cross\nthe hall and enter it. He was never seen again alive.\n\n\"The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the end of ten\nminutes; but the maid, as she approached the door, was surprised to\nhear the voices of her master and mistress in furious altercation. She\nknocked without receiving any answer, and even turned the handle, but\nonly to find that the door was locked upon the inside. Naturally enough\nshe ran down to tell the cook, and the two women with the coachman came\nup into the hall and listened to the dispute which was still raging.\nThey all agreed that only two voices were to be heard, those of Barclay\nand of his wife. Barclay\'s remarks were subdued and abrupt, so that none\nof them were audible to the listeners. The lady\'s, on the other hand,\nwere most bitter, and when she raised her voice could be plainly heard.\n\'You coward!\' she repeated over and over again. \'What can be done now?\nWhat can be done now? Give me back my life. I will never so much as\nbreathe the same air with you again! You coward! You coward!\' Those were\nscraps of her conversation, ending in a sudden dreadful cry in the man\'s\nvoice, with a crash, and a piercing scream from the woman. Convinced\nthat some tragedy had occurred, the coachman rushed to the door and\nstrove to force it, while scream after scream issued from within. He was\nunable, however, to make his way in, and the maids were too distracted\nwith fear to be of any assistance to him. A sudden thought struck him,\nhowever, and he ran through the hall door and round to the lawn upon\nwhich the long French windows open. One side of the window was open,\nwhich I understand was quite usual in the summer-time, and he passed\nwithout difficulty into the room. His mistress had ceased to scream and\nwas stretched insensible upon a couch, while with his feet tilted over\nthe side of an arm-chair, and his head upon the ground near the corner\nof the fender, was lying the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of\nhis own blood.\n\n\"Naturally, the coachman\'s first thought, on finding that he could do\nnothing for his master, was to open the door. But here an unexpected and\nsingular difficulty presented itself. The key was not in the inner side\nof the door, nor could he find it anywhere in the room. He went out\nagain, therefore, through the window, and having obtained the help of\na policeman and of a medical man, he returned. The lady, against whom\nnaturally the strongest suspicion rested, was removed to her room, still\nin a state of insensibility. The Colonel\'s body was then placed upon the\nsofa, and a careful examination made of the scene of the tragedy.\n\n\"The injury from which the unfortunate veteran was suffering was found\nto be a jagged cut some two inches long at the back part of his head,\nwhich had evidently been caused by a violent blow from a blunt weapon.\nNor was it difficult to guess what that weapon may have been. Upon the\nfloor, close to the body, was lying a singular club of hard carved wood\nwith a bone handle. The Colonel possessed a varied collection of weapons\nbrought from the different countries in which he had fought, and it\nis conjectured by the police that his club was among his trophies. The\nservants deny having seen it before, but among the numerous curiosities\nin the house it is possible that it may have been overlooked. Nothing\nelse of importance was discovered in the room by the police, save the\ninexplicable fact that neither upon Mrs. Barclay\'s person nor upon that\nof the victim nor in any part of the room was the missing key to\nbe found. The door had eventually to be opened by a locksmith from\nAldershot.\n\n\"That was the state of things, Watson, when upon the Tuesday morning I,\nat the request of Major Murphy, went down to Aldershot to supplement\nthe efforts of the police. I think that you will acknowledge that the\nproblem was already one of interest, but my observations soon made me\nrealize that it was in truth much more extraordinary than would at first\nsight appear.\n\n\"Before examining the room I cross-questioned the servants, but only\nsucceeded in eliciting the facts which I have already stated. One other\ndetail of interest was remembered by Jane Stewart, the housemaid. You\nwill remember that on hearing the sound of the quarrel she descended and\nreturned with the other servants. On that first occasion, when she was\nalone, she says that the voices of her master and mistress were sunk\nso low that she could hear hardly anything, and judged by their tones\nrather than their words that they had fallen out. On my pressing her,\nhowever, she remembered that she heard the word David uttered twice by\nthe lady. The point is of the utmost importance as guiding us towards\nthe reason of the sudden quarrel. The Colonel\'s name, you remember, was\nJames.\n\n\"There was one thing in the case which had made the deepest impression\nboth upon the servants and the police. This was the contortion of the\nColonel\'s face. It had set, according to their account, into the most\ndreadful expression of fear and horror which a human countenance is\ncapable of assuming. More than one person fainted at the mere sight\nof him, so terrible was the effect. It was quite certain that he had\nforeseen his fate, and that it had caused him the utmost horror. This,\nof course, fitted in well enough with the police theory, if the Colonel\ncould have seen his wife making a murderous attack upon him. Nor was\nthe fact of the wound being on the back of his head a fatal objection to\nthis, as he might have turned to avoid the blow. No information could\nbe got from the lady herself, who was temporarily insane from an acute\nattack of brain-fever.\n\n\"From the police I learned that Miss Morrison, who you remember went out\nthat evening with Mrs. Barclay, denied having any knowledge of what it\nwas which had caused the ill-humor in which her companion had returned.\n\n\"Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoked several pipes over them,\ntrying to separate those which were crucial from others which were\nmerely incidental. There could be no question that the most distinctive\nand suggestive point in the case was the singular disappearance of the\ndoor-key. A most careful search had failed to discover it in the room.\nTherefore it must have been taken from it. But neither the Colonel\nnor the Colonel\'s wife could have taken it. That was perfectly clear.\nTherefore a third person must have entered the room. And that third\nperson could only have come in through the window. It seemed to me that\na careful examination of the room and the lawn might possibly reveal\nsome traces of this mysterious individual. You know my methods, Watson.\nThere was not one of them which I did not apply to the inquiry. And it\nended by my discovering traces, but very different ones from those which\nI had expected. There had been a man in the room, and he had crossed\nthe lawn coming from the road. I was able to obtain five very clear\nimpressions of his foot-marks: one in the roadway itself, at the point\nwhere he had climbed the low wall, two on the lawn, and two very faint\nones upon the stained boards near the window where he had entered.\nHe had apparently rushed across the lawn, for his toe-marks were much\ndeeper than his heels. But it was not the man who surprised me. It was\nhis companion.\"\n\n\"His companion!\"\n\nHolmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper out of his pocket and\ncarefully unfolded it upon his knee.\n\n\"What do you make of that?\" he asked.\n\nThe paper was covered with the tracings of the foot-marks of some small\nanimal. It had five well-marked foot-pads, an indication of long nails,\nand the whole print might be nearly as large as a dessert-spoon.\n\n\"It\'s a dog,\" said I.\n\n\"Did you ever hear of a dog running up a curtain? I found distinct\ntraces that this creature had done so.\"\n\n\"A monkey, then?\"\n\n\"But it is not the print of a monkey.\"\n\n\"What can it be, then?\"\n\n\"Neither dog nor cat nor monkey nor any creature that we are familiar\nwith. I have tried to reconstruct it from the measurements. Here are\nfour prints where the beast has been standing motionless. You see that\nit is no less than fifteen inches from fore-foot to hind. Add to that\nthe length of neck and head, and you get a creature not much less than\ntwo feet long--probably more if there is any tail. But now observe this\nother measurement. The animal has been moving, and we have the length\nof its stride. In each case it is only about three inches. You have an\nindication, you see, of a long body with very short legs attached to it.\nIt has not been considerate enough to leave any of its hair behind it.\nBut its general shape must be what I have indicated, and it can run up a\ncurtain, and it is carnivorous.\"\n\n\"How do you deduce that?\"\n\n\"Because it ran up the curtain. A canary\'s cage was hanging in the\nwindow, and its aim seems to have been to get at the bird.\"\n\n\"Then what was the beast?\"\n\n\"Ah, if I could give it a name it might go a long way towards solving\nthe case. On the whole, it was probably some creature of the weasel and\nstoat tribe--and yet it is larger than any of these that I have seen.\"\n\n\"But what had it to do with the crime?\"\n\n\"That, also, is still obscure. But we have learned a good deal, you\nperceive. We know that a man stood in the road looking at the quarrel\nbetween the Barclays--the blinds were up and the room lighted. We know,\nalso, that he ran across the lawn, entered the room, accompanied by a\nstrange animal, and that he either struck the Colonel or, as is equally\npossible, that the Colonel fell down from sheer fright at the sight of\nhim, and cut his head on the corner of the fender. Finally, we have the\ncurious fact that the intruder carried away the key with him when he\nleft.\"\n\n\"Your discoveries seem to have left the business more obscure that it\nwas before,\" said I.\n\n\"Quite so. They undoubtedly showed that the affair was much deeper than\nwas at first conjectured. I thought the matter over, and I came to\nthe conclusion that I must approach the case from another aspect. But\nreally, Watson, I am keeping you up, and I might just as well tell you\nall this on our way to Aldershot to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop.\"\n\n\"It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay left the house at half-past\nseven she was on good terms with her husband. She was never, as I think\nI have said, ostentatiously affectionate, but she was heard by the\ncoachman chatting with the Colonel in a friendly fashion. Now, it was\nequally certain that, immediately on her return, she had gone to the\nroom in which she was least likely to see her husband, had flown to tea\nas an agitated woman will, and finally, on his coming in to her, had\nbroken into violent recriminations. Therefore something had occurred\nbetween seven-thirty and nine o\'clock which had completely altered her\nfeelings towards him. But Miss Morrison had been with her during the\nwhole of that hour and a half. It was absolutely certain, therefore, in\nspite of her denial, that she must know something of the matter.\n\n\"My first conjecture was, that possibly there had been some passages\nbetween this young lady and the old soldier, which the former had now\nconfessed to the wife. That would account for the angry return, and\nalso for the girl\'s denial that anything had occurred. Nor would it be\nentirely incompatible with most of the words overhead. But there was the\nreference to David, and there was the known affection of the Colonel for\nhis wife, to weigh against it, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion\nof this other man, which might, of course, be entirely disconnected with\nwhat had gone before. It was not easy to pick one\'s steps, but, on the\nwhole, I was inclined to dismiss the idea that there had been anything\nbetween the Colonel and Miss Morrison, but more than ever convinced that\nthe young lady held the clue as to what it was which had turned Mrs.\nBarclay to hatred of her husband. I took the obvious course, therefore,\nof calling upon Miss M., of explaining to her that I was perfectly\ncertain that she held the facts in her possession, and of assuring her\nthat her friend, Mrs. Barclay, might find herself in the dock upon a\ncapital charge unless the matter were cleared up.\n\n\"Miss Morrison is a little ethereal slip of a girl, with timid eyes\nand blond hair, but I found her by no means wanting in shrewdness and\ncommon-sense. She sat thinking for some time after I had spoken, and\nthen, turning to me with a brisk air of resolution, she broke into a\nremarkable statement which I will condense for your benefit.\n\n\"\'I promised my friend that I would say nothing of the matter, and a\npromise is a promise,\' said she; \'but if I can really help her when\nso serious a charge is laid against her, and when her own mouth, poor\ndarling, is closed by illness, then I think I am absolved from my\npromise. I will tell you exactly what happened upon Monday evening.\n\n\"\'We were returning from the Watt Street Mission about a quarter to nine\no\'clock. On our way we had to pass through Hudson Street, which is\na very quiet thoroughfare. There is only one lamp in it, upon the\nleft-hand side, and as we approached this lamp I saw a man coming\ntowards us with his back very bent, and something like a box slung over\none of his shoulders. He appeared to be deformed, for he carried his\nhead low and walked with his knees bent. We were passing him when he\nraised his face to look at us in the circle of light thrown by the lamp,\nand as he did so he stopped and screamed out in a dreadful voice, \"My\nGod, it\'s Nancy!\" Mrs. Barclay turned as white as death, and would have\nfallen down had the dreadful-looking creature not caught hold of her. I\nwas going to call for the police, but she, to my surprise, spoke quite\ncivilly to the fellow.\n\n\"\'\"I thought you had been dead this thirty years, Henry,\" said she, in a\nshaking voice.\n\n\"\'\"So I have,\" said he, and it was awful to hear the tones that he said\nit in. He had a very dark, fearsome face, and a gleam in his eyes that\ncomes back to me in my dreams. His hair and whiskers were shot with\ngray, and his face was all crinkled and puckered like a withered apple.\n\n\"\'\"Just walk on a little way, dear,\" said Mrs. Barclay; \"I want to have\na word with this man. There is nothing to be afraid of.\" She tried to\nspeak boldly, but she was still deadly pale and could hardly get her\nwords out for the trembling of her lips.\n\n\"\'I did as she asked me, and they talked together for a few minutes.\nThen she came down the street with her eyes blazing, and I saw the\ncrippled wretch standing by the lamp-post and shaking his clenched fists\nin the air as if he were mad with rage. She never said a word until we\nwere at the door here, when she took me by the hand and begged me to\ntell no one what had happened.\n\n\"\'\"It\'s an old acquaintance of mine who has come down in the world,\"\nsaid she. When I promised her I would say nothing she kissed me, and I\nhave never seen her since. I have told you now the whole truth, and if\nI withheld it from the police it is because I did not realize then the\ndanger in which my dear friend stood. I know that it can only be to her\nadvantage that everything should be known.\'\n\n\"There was her statement, Watson, and to me, as you can imagine, it was\nlike a light on a dark night. Everything which had been disconnected\nbefore began at once to assume its true place, and I had a shadowy\npresentiment of the whole sequence of events. My next step obviously was\nto find the man who had produced such a remarkable impression upon Mrs.\nBarclay. If he were still in Aldershot it should not be a very difficult\nmatter. There are not such a very great number of civilians, and a\ndeformed man was sure to have attracted attention. I spent a day in the\nsearch, and by evening--this very evening, Watson--I had run him down.\nThe man\'s name is Henry Wood, and he lives in lodgings in this same\nstreet in which the ladies met him. He has only been five days in the\nplace. In the character of a registration-agent I had a most interesting\ngossip with his landlady. The man is by trade a conjurer and performer,\ngoing round the canteens after nightfall, and giving a little\nentertainment at each. He carries some creature about with him in that\nbox; about which the landlady seemed to be in considerable trepidation,\nfor she had never seen an animal like it. He uses it in some of his\ntricks according to her account. So much the woman was able to tell me,\nand also that it was a wonder the man lived, seeing how twisted he was,\nand that he spoke in a strange tongue sometimes, and that for the last\ntwo nights she had heard him groaning and weeping in his bedroom. He\nwas all right, as far as money went, but in his deposit he had given her\nwhat looked like a bad florin. She showed it to me, Watson, and it was\nan Indian rupee.\n\n\"So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand and why it is I\nwant you. It is perfectly plain that after the ladies parted from this\nman he followed them at a distance, that he saw the quarrel between\nhusband and wife through the window, that he rushed in, and that\nthe creature which he carried in his box got loose. That is all very\ncertain. But he is the only person in this world who can tell us exactly\nwhat happened in that room.\"\n\n\"And you intend to ask him?\"\n\n\"Most certainly--but in the presence of a witness.\"\n\n\"And I am the witness?\"\n\n\"If you will be so good. If he can clear the matter up, well and good.\nIf he refuses, we have no alternative but to apply for a warrant.\"\n\n\"But how do you know he\'ll be there when we return?\"\n\n\"You may be sure that I took some precautions. I have one of my Baker\nStreet boys mounting guard over him who would stick to him like a burr,\ngo where he might. We shall find him in Hudson Street to-morrow, Watson,\nand meanwhile I should be the criminal myself if I kept you out of bed\nany longer.\"\n\nIt was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of the tragedy, and,\nunder my companion\'s guidance, we made our way at once to Hudson Street.\nIn spite of his capacity for concealing his emotions, I could easily see\nthat Holmes was in a state of suppressed excitement, while I was myself\ntingling with that half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which\nI invariably experienced when I associated myself with him in his\ninvestigations.\n\n\"This is the street,\" said he, as we turned into a short thoroughfare\nlined with plain two-storied brick houses. \"Ah, here is Simpson to\nreport.\"\n\n\"He\'s in all right, Mr. Holmes,\" cried a small street Arab, running up\nto us.\n\n\"Good, Simpson!\" said Holmes, patting him on the head. \"Come along,\nWatson. This is the house.\" He sent in his card with a message that he\nhad come on important business, and a moment later we were face to face\nwith the man whom we had come to see. In spite of the warm weather he\nwas crouching over a fire, and the little room was like an oven. The\nman sat all twisted and huddled in his chair in a way which gave an\nindescribable impression of deformity; but the face which he turned\ntowards us, though worn and swarthy, must at some time have been\nremarkable for its beauty. He looked suspiciously at us now out of\nyellow-shot, bilious eyes, and, without speaking or rising, he waved\ntowards two chairs.\n\n\"Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe,\" said Holmes, affably. \"I\'ve\ncome over this little matter of Colonel Barclay\'s death.\"\n\n\"What should I know about that?\"\n\n\"That\'s what I want to ascertain. You know, I suppose, that unless the\nmatter is cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is an old friend of yours, will\nin all probability be tried for murder.\"\n\nThe man gave a violent start.\n\n\"I don\'t know who you are,\" he cried, \"nor how you come to know what you\ndo know, but will you swear that this is true that you tell me?\"\n\n\"Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her senses to arrest\nher.\"\n\n\"My God! Are you in the police yourself?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What business is it of yours, then?\"\n\n\"It\'s every man\'s business to see justice done.\"\n\n\"You can take my word that she is innocent.\"\n\n\"Then you are guilty.\"\n\n\"No, I am not.\"\n\n\"Who killed Colonel James Barclay, then?\"\n\n\"It was a just providence that killed him. But, mind you this, that if\nI had knocked his brains out, as it was in my heart to do, he would have\nhad no more than his due from my hands. If his own guilty conscience had\nnot struck him down it is likely enough that I might have had his blood\nupon my soul. You want me to tell the story. Well, I don\'t know why I\nshouldn\'t, for there\'s no cause for me to be ashamed of it.\n\n\"It was in this way, sir. You see me now with my back like a camel and\nmy ribs all awry, but there was a time when Corporal Henry Wood was the\nsmartest man in the 117th foot. We were in India then, in cantonments,\nat a place we\'ll call Bhurtee. Barclay, who died the other day, was\nsergeant in the same company as myself, and the belle of the regiment,\nay, and the finest girl that ever had the breath of life between her\nlips, was Nancy Devoy, the daughter of the color-sergeant. There were\ntwo men that loved her, and one that she loved, and you\'ll smile when\nyou look at this poor thing huddled before the fire, and hear me say\nthat it was for my good looks that she loved me.\n\n\"Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon her marrying\nBarclay. I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he had had an\neducation, and was already marked for the sword-belt. But the girl held\ntrue to me, and it seemed that I would have had her when the Mutiny\nbroke out, and all hell was loose in the country.\n\n\"We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment of us with half a battery of\nartillery, a company of Sikhs, and a lot of civilians and women-folk.\nThere were ten thousand rebels round us, and they were as keen as a set\nof terriers round a rat-cage. About the second week of it our water gave\nout, and it was a question whether we could communicate with General\nNeill\'s column, which was moving up country. It was our only chance, for\nwe could not hope to fight our way out with all the women and children,\nso I volunteered to go out and to warn General Neill of our danger. My\noffer was accepted, and I talked it over with Sergeant Barclay, who was\nsupposed to know the ground better than any other man, and who drew up\na route by which I might get through the rebel lines. At ten o\'clock the\nsame night I started off upon my journey. There were a thousand lives to\nsave, but it was of only one that I was thinking when I dropped over the\nwall that night.\n\n\"My way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we hoped would screen\nme from the enemy\'s sentries; but as I crept round the corner of it\nI walked right into six of them, who were crouching down in the dark\nwaiting for me. In an instant I was stunned with a blow and bound hand\nand foot. But the real blow was to my heart and not to my head, for as\nI came to and listened to as much as I could understand of their talk,\nI heard enough to tell me that my comrade, the very man who had arranged\nthe way that I was to take, had betrayed me by means of a native servant\ninto the hands of the enemy.\n\n\"Well, there\'s no need for me to dwell on that part of it. You know now\nwhat James Barclay was capable of. Bhurtee was relieved by Neill next\nday, but the rebels took me away with them in their retreat, and it was\nmany a long year before ever I saw a white face again. I was tortured\nand tried to get away, and was captured and tortured again. You can see\nfor yourselves the state in which I was left. Some of them that fled\ninto Nepaul took me with them, and then afterwards I was up past\nDarjeeling. The hill-folk up there murdered the rebels who had me, and\nI became their slave for a time until I escaped; but instead of going\nsouth I had to go north, until I found myself among the Afghans. There\nI wandered about for many a year, and at last came back to the Punjab,\nwhere I lived mostly among the natives and picked up a living by the\nconjuring tricks that I had learned. What use was it for me, a wretched\ncripple, to go back to England or to make myself known to my old\ncomrades? Even my wish for revenge would not make me do that. I had\nrather that Nancy and my old pals should think of Harry Wood as having\ndied with a straight back, than see him living and crawling with a stick\nlike a chimpanzee. They never doubted that I was dead, and I meant that\nthey never should. I heard that Barclay had married Nancy, and that he\nwas rising rapidly in the regiment, but even that did not make me speak.\n\n\"But when one gets old one has a longing for home. For years I\'ve been\ndreaming of the bright green fields and the hedges of England. At last I\ndetermined to see them before I died. I saved enough to bring me across,\nand then I came here where the soldiers are, for I know their ways and\nhow to amuse them and so earn enough to keep me.\"\n\n\"Your narrative is most interesting,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"I have\nalready heard of your meeting with Mrs. Barclay, and your mutual\nrecognition. You then, as I understand, followed her home and saw\nthrough the window an altercation between her husband and her, in which\nshe doubtless cast his conduct to you in his teeth. Your own feelings\novercame you, and you ran across the lawn and broke in upon them.\"\n\n\"I did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as I have never seen a man\nlook before, and over he went with his head on the fender. But he was\ndead before he fell. I read death on his face as plain as I can read\nthat text over the fire. The bare sight of me was like a bullet through\nhis guilty heart.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the key of the door from her hand,\nintending to unlock it and get help. But as I was doing it it seemed to\nme better to leave it alone and get away, for the thing might look black\nagainst me, and any way my secret would be out if I were taken. In my\nhaste I thrust the key into my pocket, and dropped my stick while I was\nchasing Teddy, who had run up the curtain. When I got him into his box,\nfrom which he had slipped, I was off as fast as I could run.\"\n\n\"Who\'s Teddy?\" asked Holmes.\n\nThe man leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind of hutch in\nthe corner. In an instant out there slipped a beautiful reddish-brown\ncreature, thin and lithe, with the legs of a stoat, a long, thin nose,\nand a pair of the finest red eyes that ever I saw in an animal\'s head.\n\n\"It\'s a mongoose,\" I cried.\n\n\"Well, some call them that, and some call them ichneumon,\" said the\nman. \"Snake-catcher is what I call them, and Teddy is amazing quick on\ncobras. I have one here without the fangs, and Teddy catches it every\nnight to please the folk in the canteen.\n\n\"Any other point, sir?\"\n\n\"Well, we may have to apply to you again if Mrs. Barclay should prove to\nbe in serious trouble.\"\n\n\"In that case, of course, I\'d come forward.\"\n\n\"But if not, there is no object in raking up this scandal against a\ndead man, foully as he has acted. You have at least the satisfaction\nof knowing that for thirty years of his life his conscience bitterly\nreproached him for this wicked deed. Ah, there goes Major Murphy on the\nother side of the street. Good-by, Wood. I want to learn if anything has\nhappened since yesterday.\"\n\nWe were in time to overtake the major before he reached the corner.\n\n\"Ah, Holmes,\" he said: \"I suppose you have heard that all this fuss has\ncome to nothing?\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"The inquest is just over. The medical evidence showed conclusively\nthat death was due to apoplexy. You see it was quite a simple case after\nall.\"\n\n\"Oh, remarkably superficial,\" said Holmes, smiling. \"Come, Watson, I\ndon\'t think we shall be wanted in Aldershot any more.\"\n\n\"There\'s one thing,\" said I, as we walked down to the station. \"If the\nhusband\'s name was James, and the other was Henry, what was this talk\nabout David?\"\n\n\"That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me the whole story had\nI been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond of depicting. It was\nevidently a term of reproach.\"\n\n\"Of reproach?\"\n\n\"Yes; David strayed a little occasionally, you know, and on one occasion\nin the same direction as Sergeant James Barclay. You remember the small\naffair of Uriah and Bathsheba? My biblical knowledge is a trifle rusty,\nI fear, but you will find the story in the first or second of Samuel.\"\n\n\n\n\nAdventure VIII. The Resident Patient\n\n\nIn glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs with which I\nhave endeavored to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities of my\nfriend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty which I\nhave experienced in picking out examples which shall in every way answer\nmy purpose. For in those cases in which Holmes has performed some tour\nde force of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his\npeculiar methods of investigation, the facts themselves have often been\nso slight or so commonplace that I could not feel justified in laying\nthem before the public. On the other hand, it has frequently happened\nthat he has been concerned in some research where the facts have been of\nthe most remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share which he\nhas himself taken in determining their causes has been less pronounced\nthan I, as his biographer, could wish. The small matter which I have\nchronicled under the heading of \"A Study in Scarlet,\" and that other\nlater one connected with the loss of the Gloria Scott, may serve as\nexamples of this Scylla and Charybdis which are forever threatening the\nhistorian. It may be that in the business of which I am now about to\nwrite the part which my friend played is not sufficiently accentuated;\nand yet the whole train of circumstances is so remarkable that I cannot\nbring myself to omit it entirely from this series.\n\nIt had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds were half-drawn,\nand Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter\nwhich he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of\nservice in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and\na thermometer of 90 was no hardship. But the paper was uninteresting.\nParliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the\nglades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank\naccount had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion,\nneither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to\nhim. He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with\nhis filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to\nevery little rumor or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of\nNature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was\nwhen he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his\nbrother of the country.\n\nFinding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossed\naside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair, I fell into a\nbrown study. Suddenly my companion\'s voice broke in upon my thoughts.\n\n\"You are right, Watson,\" said he. \"It does seem a very preposterous way\nof settling a dispute.\"\n\n\"Most preposterous!\" I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realizing how\nhe had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and\nstared at him in blank amazement.\n\n\"What is this, Holmes?\" I cried. \"This is beyond anything which I could\nhave imagined.\"\n\nHe laughed heartily at my perplexity.\n\n\"You remember,\" said he, \"that some little time ago, when I read you the\npassage in one of Poe\'s sketches, in which a close reasoner follows the\nunspoken thought of his companion, you were inclined to treat the\nmatter as a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that I\nwas constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed\nincredulity.\"\n\n\"Oh, no!\"\n\n\"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your\neyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train\nof thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it\noff, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in\nrapport with you.\"\n\nBut I was still far from satisfied. \"In the example which you read to\nme,\" said I, \"the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the\nman whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap\nof stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated\nquietly in my chair, and what clues can I have given you?\"\n\n\"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the\nmeans by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful\nservants.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my\nfeatures?\"\n\n\"Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself\nrecall how your reverie commenced?\"\n\n\"No, I cannot.\"\n\n\"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was the\naction which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with\na vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your\nnewly-framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in\nyour face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead\nvery far. Your eyes turned across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward\nBeecher which stands upon the top of your books. You then glanced up at\nthe wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking\nthat if the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and\ncorrespond with Gordon\'s picture over there.\"\n\n\"You have followed me wonderfully!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went\nback to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying\nthe character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but\nyou continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You were\nrecalling the incidents of Beecher\'s career. I was well aware that you\ncould not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook\non behalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember\nyou expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was\nreceived by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about\nit that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that\nalso. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture,\nI suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when\nI observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands\nclinched, I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry\nwhich was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then,\nagain, your face grew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling\nupon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole\ntowards your own old wound, and a smile quivered on your lips,\nwhich showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling\ninternational questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point\nI agreed with you that it was preposterous, and was glad to find that\nall my deductions had been correct.\"\n\n\"Absolutely!\" said I. \"And now that you have explained it, I confess\nthat I am as amazed as before.\"\n\n\"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should not\nhave intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity\nthe other day. But the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do you\nsay to a ramble through London?\"\n\nI was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. For\nthree hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changing\nkaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet Street and the\nStrand. His characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail\nand subtle power of inference held me amused and enthralled. It was ten\no\'clock before we reached Baker Street again. A brougham was waiting at\nour door.\n\n\"Hum! A doctor\'s--general practitioner, I perceive,\" said Holmes. \"Not\nbeen long in practice, but has had a good deal to do. Come to consult\nus, I fancy! Lucky we came back!\"\n\nI was sufficiently conversant with Holmes\'s methods to be able to follow\nhis reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the various\nmedical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamplight\ninside the brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction.\nThe light in our window above showed that this late visit was indeed\nintended for us. With some curiosity as to what could have sent a\nbrother medico to us at such an hour, I followed Holmes into our\nsanctum.\n\nA pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by the\nfire as we entered. His age may not have been more than three or four\nand thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a life\nwhich has sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His manner\nwas nervous and shy, like that of a sensitive gentleman, and the thin\nwhite hand which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of an\nartist rather than of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre--a black\nfrock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch of color about his necktie.\n\n\"Good-evening, doctor,\" said Holmes, cheerily. \"I am glad to see that\nyou have only been waiting a very few minutes.\"\n\n\"You spoke to my coachman, then?\"\n\n\"No, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. Pray resume your\nseat and let me know how I can serve you.\"\n\n\"My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan,\" said our visitor, \"and I live at\n403 Brook Street.\"\n\n\"Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?\" I\nasked.\n\nHis pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was known\nto me.\n\n\"I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead,\" said\nhe. \"My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. You\nare yourself, I presume, a medical man?\"\n\n\"A retired army surgeon.\"\n\n\"My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish to make it\nan absolute specialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can get\nat first. This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\nand I quite appreciate how valuable your time is. The fact is that a\nvery singular train of events has occurred recently at my house in Brook\nStreet, and to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quite\nimpossible for me to wait another hour before asking for your advice and\nassistance.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. \"You are very welcome\nto both,\" said he. \"Pray let me have a detailed account of what the\ncircumstances are which have disturbed you.\"\n\n\"One or two of them are so trivial,\" said Dr. Trevelyan, \"that really\nI am almost ashamed to mention them. But the matter is so inexplicable,\nand the recent turn which it has taken is so elaborate, that I shall\nlay it all before you, and you shall judge what is essential and what is\nnot.\n\n\"I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own college\ncareer. I am a London University man, you know, and I am sure that you\nwill not think that I am unduly singing my own praises if I say that my\nstudent career was considered by my professors to be a very promising\none. After I had graduated I continued to devote myself to research,\noccupying a minor position in King\'s College Hospital, and I was\nfortunate enough to excite considerable interest by my research into the\npathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize and\nmedal by the monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend has\njust alluded. I should not go too far if I were to say that there was a\ngeneral impression at that time that a distinguished career lay before\nme.\n\n\"But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As you\nwill readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled to\nstart in one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, all\nof which entail enormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides this\npreliminary outlay, he must be prepared to keep himself for some years,\nand to hire a presentable carriage and horse. To do this was quite\nbeyond my power, and I could only hope that by economy I might in ten\nyears\' time save enough to enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly,\nhowever, an unexpected incident opened up quite a new prospect to me.\n\n\"This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington, who was a\ncomplete stranger to me. He came up to my room one morning, and plunged\ninto business in an instant.\n\n\"\'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished a career\nand won a great prize lately?\' said he.\n\n\"I bowed.\n\n\"\'Answer me frankly,\' he continued, \'for you will find it to your\ninterest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a successful\nman. Have you the tact?\'\n\n\"I could not help smiling at the abruptness of the question.\n\n\"\'I trust that I have my share,\' I said.\n\n\"\'Any bad habits? Not drawn towards drink, eh?\'\n\n\"\'Really, sir!\' I cried.\n\n\"\'Quite right! That\'s all right! But I was bound to ask. With all these\nqualities, why are you not in practice?\'\n\n\"I shrugged my shoulders.\n\n\"\'Come, come!\' said he, in his bustling way. \'It\'s the old story. More\nin your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were to\nstart you in Brook Street?\'\n\n\"I stared at him in astonishment.\n\n\"\'Oh, it\'s for my sake, not for yours,\' he cried. \'I\'ll be perfectly\nfrank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have a\nfew thousands to invest, d\'ye see, and I think I\'ll sink them in you.\'\n\n\"\'But why?\' I gasped.\n\n\"\'Well, it\'s just like any other speculation, and safer than most.\'\n\n\"\'What am I to do, then?\'\n\n\"\'I\'ll tell you. I\'ll take the house, furnish it, pay the maids, and run\nthe whole place. All you have to do is just to wear out your chair in\nthe consulting-room. I\'ll let you have pocket-money and everything. Then\nyou hand over to me three quarters of what you earn, and you keep the\nother quarter for yourself.\'\n\n\"This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the man\nBlessington approached me. I won\'t weary you with the account of how\nwe bargained and negotiated. It ended in my moving into the house next\nLady-day, and starting in practice on very much the same conditions as\nhe had suggested. He came himself to live with me in the character of a\nresident patient. His heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant\nmedical supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor\ninto a sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singular\nhabits, shunning company and very seldom going out. His life was\nirregular, but in one respect he was regularity itself. Every evening,\nat the same hour, he walked into the consulting-room, examined the\nbooks, put down five and three-pence for every guinea that I had earned,\nand carried the rest off to the strong-box in his own room.\n\n\"I may say with confidence that he never had occasion to regret his\nspeculation. From the first it was a success. A few good cases and the\nreputation which I had won in the hospital brought me rapidly to the\nfront, and during the last few years I have made him a rich man.\n\n\"So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations with Mr.\nBlessington. It only remains for me now to tell you what has occurred to\nbring me here to-night.\n\n\"Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it seemed to me,\na state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglary which, he\nsaid, had been committed in the West End, and he appeared, I remember,\nto be quite unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a day should\nnot pass before we should add stronger bolts to our windows and doors.\nFor a week he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness,\npeering continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the short\nwalk which had usually been the prelude to his dinner. From his manner\nit struck me that he was in mortal dread of something or somebody, but\nwhen I questioned him upon the point he became so offensive that I was\ncompelled to drop the subject. Gradually, as time passed, his fears\nappeared to die away, and he had renewed his former habits, when a fresh\nevent reduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which he now\nlies.\n\n\"What happened was this. Two days ago I received the letter which I now\nread to you. Neither address nor date is attached to it.\n\n\"\'A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England,\' it runs, \'would\nbe glad to avail himself of the professional assistance of Dr. Percy\nTrevelyan. He has been for some years a victim to cataleptic attacks, on\nwhich, as is well known, Dr. Trevelyan is an authority. He proposes to\ncall at about quarter past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Trevelyan will\nmake it convenient to be at home.\'\n\n\"This letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficulty in the\nstudy of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. You may believe,\nthen, that I was in my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the\npage showed in the patient.\n\n\"He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and commonplace--by no means the\nconception one forms of a Russian nobleman. I was much more struck by\nthe appearance of his companion. This was a tall young man, surprisingly\nhandsome, with a dark, fierce face, and the limbs and chest of a\nHercules. He had his hand under the other\'s arm as they entered, and\nhelped him to a chair with a tenderness which one would hardly have\nexpected from his appearance.\n\n\"\'You will excuse my coming in, doctor,\' said he to me, speaking English\nwith a slight lisp. \'This is my father, and his health is a matter of\nthe most overwhelming importance to me.\'\n\n\"I was touched by this filial anxiety. \'You would, perhaps, care to\nremain during the consultation?\' said I.\n\n\"\'Not for the world,\' he cried with a gesture of horror. \'It is more\npainful to me than I can express. If I were to see my father in one of\nthese dreadful seizures I am convinced that I should never survive\nit. My own nervous system is an exceptionally sensitive one. With your\npermission, I will remain in the waiting-room while you go into my\nfather\'s case.\'\n\n\"To this, of course, I assented, and the young man withdrew. The patient\nand I then plunged into a discussion of his case, of which I took\nexhaustive notes. He was not remarkable for intelligence, and his\nanswers were frequently obscure, which I attributed to his limited\nacquaintance with our language. Suddenly, however, as I sat writing,\nhe ceased to give any answer at all to my inquiries, and on my turning\ntowards him I was shocked to see that he was sitting bolt upright in his\nchair, staring at me with a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again\nin the grip of his mysterious malady.\n\n\"My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity and horror.\nMy second, I fear, was rather one of professional satisfaction. I made\nnotes of my patient\'s pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity of his\nmuscles, and examined his reflexes. There was nothing markedly abnormal\nin any of these conditions, which harmonized with my former experiences.\nI had obtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite\nof amyl, and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of testing\nits virtues. The bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so leaving my\npatient seated in his chair, I ran down to get it. There was some little\ndelay in finding it--five minutes, let us say--and then I returned.\nImagine my amazement to find the room empty and the patient gone.\n\n\"Of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room. The son had\ngone also. The hall door had been closed, but not shut. My page who\nadmits patients is a new boy and by no means quick. He waits downstairs,\nand runs up to show patients out when I ring the consulting-room bell.\nHe had heard nothing, and the affair remained a complete mystery. Mr.\nBlessington came in from his walk shortly afterwards, but I did not say\nanything to him upon the subject, for, to tell the truth, I have got in\nthe way of late of holding as little communication with him as possible.\n\n\"Well, I never thought that I should see anything more of the Russian\nand his son, so you can imagine my amazement when, at the very same hour\nthis evening, they both came marching into my consulting-room, just as\nthey had done before.\n\n\"\'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my abrupt departure\nyesterday, doctor,\' said my patient.\n\n\"\'I confess that I was very much surprised at it,\' said I.\n\n\"\'Well, the fact is,\' he remarked, \'that when I recover from these\nattacks my mind is always very clouded as to all that has gone before. I\nwoke up in a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made my way out into\nthe street in a sort of dazed way when you were absent.\'\n\n\"\'And I,\' said the son, \'seeing my father pass the door of the\nwaiting-room, naturally thought that the consultation had come to an\nend. It was not until we had reached home that I began to realize the\ntrue state of affairs.\'\n\n\"\'Well,\' said I, laughing, \'there is no harm done except that you\npuzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into the\nwaiting-room I shall be happy to continue our consultation which was\nbrought to so abrupt an ending.\'\n\n\"\'For half an hour or so I discussed that old gentleman\'s symptoms with\nhim, and then, having prescribed for him, I saw him go off upon the arm\nof his son.\n\n\"I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose this hour of the\nday for his exercise. He came in shortly afterwards and passed upstairs.\nAn instant later I heard him running down, and he burst into my\nconsulting-room like a man who is mad with panic.\n\n\"\'Who has been in my room?\' he cried.\n\n\"\'No one,\' said I.\n\n\"\'It\'s a lie! He yelled. \'Come up and look!\'\n\n\"I passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed half out of\nhis mind with fear. When I went upstairs with him he pointed to several\nfootprints upon the light carpet.\n\n\"\'D\'you mean to say those are mine?\' he cried.\n\n\"They were certainly very much larger than any which he could have made,\nand were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard this afternoon, as you\nknow, and my patients were the only people who called. It must have been\nthe case, then, that the man in the waiting-room had, for some unknown\nreason, while I was busy with the other, ascended to the room of my\nresident patient. Nothing had been touched or taken, but there were the\nfootprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact.\n\n\"Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I should have\nthought possible, though of course it was enough to disturb anybody\'s\npeace of mind. He actually sat crying in an arm-chair, and I could\nhardly get him to speak coherently. It was his suggestion that I should\ncome round to you, and of course I at once saw the propriety of it,\nfor certainly the incident is a very singular one, though he appears to\ncompletely overrate its importance. If you would only come back with me\nin my brougham, you would at least be able to soothe him, though I\ncan hardly hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable\noccurrence.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with an intentness\nwhich showed me that his interest was keenly aroused. His face was as\nimpassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily over his eyes,\nand his smoke had curled up more thickly from his pipe to emphasize each\ncurious episode in the doctor\'s tale. As our visitor concluded, Holmes\nsprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his own from the\ntable, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarter of an\nhour we had been dropped at the door of the physician\'s residence\nin Brook Street, one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which one\nassociates with a West-End practice. A small page admitted us, and we\nbegan at once to ascend the broad, well-carpeted stair.\n\nBut a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. The light at\nthe top was suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy,\nquivering voice.\n\n\"I have a pistol,\" it cried. \"I give you my word that I\'ll fire if you\ncome any nearer.\"\n\n\"This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington,\" cried Dr. Trevelyan.\n\n\"Oh, then it is you, doctor,\" said the voice, with a great heave of\nrelief. \"But those other gentlemen, are they what they pretend to be?\"\n\nWe were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness.\n\n\"Yes, yes, it\'s all right,\" said the voice at last. \"You can come up,\nand I am sorry if my precautions have annoyed you.\"\n\nHe relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a\nsingular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice, testified\nto his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently at some time\nbeen much fatter, so that the skin hung about his face in loose pouches,\nlike the cheeks of a blood-hound. He was of a sickly color, and his\nthin, sandy hair seemed to bristle up with the intensity of his emotion.\nIn his hand he held a pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket as we\nadvanced.\n\n\"Good-evening, Mr. Holmes,\" said he. \"I am sure I am very much obliged\nto you for coming round. No one ever needed your advice more than I do.\nI suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this most unwarrantable\nintrusion into my rooms.\"\n\n\"Quite so,\" said Holmes. \"Who are these two men Mr. Blessington, and why\ndo they wish to molest you?\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the resident patient, in a nervous fashion, \"of\ncourse it is hard to say that. You can hardly expect me to answer that,\nMr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that you don\'t know?\"\n\n\"Come in here, if you please. Just have the kindness to step in here.\"\n\nHe led the way into his bedroom, which was large and comfortably\nfurnished.\n\n\"You see that,\" said he, pointing to a big black box at the end of his\nbed. \"I have never been a very rich man, Mr. Holmes--never made but\none investment in my life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tell you. But I don\'t\nbelieve in bankers. I would never trust a banker, Mr. Holmes. Between\nourselves, what little I have is in that box, so you can understand what\nit means to me when unknown people force themselves into my rooms.\"\n\nHolmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and shook his head.\n\n\"I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me,\" said he.\n\n\"But I have told you everything.\"\n\nHolmes turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. \"Good-night, Dr.\nTrevelyan,\" said he.\n\n\"And no advice for me?\" cried Blessington, in a breaking voice.\n\n\"My advice to you, sir, is to speak the truth.\"\n\nA minute later we were in the street and walking for home. We had\ncrossed Oxford Street and were half way down Harley Street before I\ncould get a word from my companion.\n\n\"Sorry to bring you out on such a fool\'s errand, Watson,\" he said at\nlast. \"It is an interesting case, too, at the bottom of it.\"\n\n\"I can make little of it,\" I confessed.\n\n\"Well, it is quite evident that there are two men--more, perhaps, but\nat least two--who are determined for some reason to get at this fellow\nBlessington. I have no doubt in my mind that both on the first and on\nthe second occasion that young man penetrated to Blessington\'s room,\nwhile his confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor from\ninterfering.\"\n\n\"And the catalepsy?\"\n\n\"A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare to hint as\nmuch to our specialist. It is a very easy complaint to imitate. I have\ndone it myself.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion. Their reason\nfor choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was obviously to\ninsure that there should be no other patient in the waiting-room. It\njust happened, however, that this hour coincided with Blessington\'s\nconstitutional, which seems to show that they were not very well\nacquainted with his daily routine. Of course, if they had been merely\nafter plunder they would at least have made some attempt to search for\nit. Besides, I can read in a man\'s eye when it is his own skin that he\nis frightened for. It is inconceivable that this fellow could have made\ntwo such vindictive enemies as these appear to be without knowing of it.\nI hold it, therefore, to be certain that he does know who these men are,\nand that for reasons of his own he suppresses it. It is just possible\nthat to-morrow may find him in a more communicative mood.\"\n\n\"Is there not one alternative,\" I suggested, \"grotesquely improbable,\nno doubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole story of the\ncataleptic Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr. Trevelyan\'s, who\nhas, for his own purposes, been in Blessington\'s rooms?\"\n\nI saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliant\ndeparture of mine.\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" said he, \"it was one of the first solutions which\noccurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate the doctor\'s tale.\nThis young man has left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it quite\nsuperfluous for me to ask to see those which he had made in the room.\nWhen I tell you that his shoes were square-toed instead of being pointed\nlike Blessington\'s, and were quite an inch and a third longer than the\ndoctor\'s, you will acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to his\nindividuality. But we may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if\nwe do not hear something further from Brook Street in the morning.\"\n\n\nSherlock Holmes\'s prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramatic\nfashion. At half-past seven next morning, in the first glimmer of\ndaylight, I found him standing by my bedside in his dressing-gown.\n\n\"There\'s a brougham waiting for us, Watson,\" said he.\n\n\"What\'s the matter, then?\"\n\n\"The Brook Street business.\"\n\n\"Any fresh news?\"\n\n\"Tragic, but ambiguous,\" said he, pulling up the blind. \"Look at this--a\nsheet from a note-book, with \'For God\'s sake come at once--P. T.,\'\nscrawled upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor, was hard put to\nit when he wrote this. Come along, my dear fellow, for it\'s an urgent\ncall.\"\n\nIn a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician\'s house. He\ncame running out to meet us with a face of horror.\n\n\"Oh, such a business!\" he cried, with his hands to his temples.\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"Blessington has committed suicide!\"\n\nHolmes whistled.\n\n\"Yes, he hanged himself during the night.\"\n\nWe had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what was evidently\nhis waiting-room.\n\n\"I really hardly know what I am doing,\" he cried. \"The police are\nalready upstairs. It has shaken me most dreadfully.\"\n\n\"When did you find it out?\"\n\n\"He has a cup of tea taken in to him early every morning. When the maid\nentered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging in the\nmiddle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hook on which the heavy\nlamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of the very box\nthat he showed us yesterday.\"\n\nHolmes stood for a moment in deep thought.\n\n\"With your permission,\" said he at last, \"I should like to go upstairs\nand look into the matter.\"\n\nWe both ascended, followed by the doctor.\n\nIt was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroom door. I\nhave spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man Blessington\nconveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was exaggerated and intensified\nuntil he was scarce human in his appearance. The neck was drawn out\nlike a plucked chicken\'s, making the rest of him seem the more obese and\nunnatural by the contrast. He was clad only in his long night-dress, and\nhis swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath it.\nBeside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who was taking notes\nin a pocket-book.\n\n\"Ah, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, heartily, as my friend entered, \"I am\ndelighted to see you.\"\n\n\"Good-morning, Lanner,\" answered Holmes; \"you won\'t think me an\nintruder, I am sure. Have you heard of the events which led up to this\naffair?\"\n\n\"Yes, I heard something of them.\"\n\n\"Have you formed any opinion?\"\n\n\"As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his senses by\nfright. The bed has been well slept in, you see. There\'s his impression\ndeep enough. It\'s about five in the morning, you know, that suicides are\nmost common. That would be about his time for hanging himself. It seems\nto have been a very deliberate affair.\"\n\n\"I should say that he has been dead about three hours, judging by the\nrigidity of the muscles,\" said I.\n\n\"Noticed anything peculiar about the room?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand stand. Seems to\nhave smoked heavily during the night, too. Here are four cigar-ends that\nI picked out of the fireplace.\"\n\n\"Hum!\" said Holmes, \"have you got his cigar-holder?\"\n\n\"No, I have seen none.\"\n\n\"His cigar-case, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, it was in his coat-pocket.\"\n\nHolmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it contained.\n\n\"Oh, this is an Havana, and these others are cigars of the peculiar sort\nwhich are imported by the Dutch from their East Indian colonies. They\nare usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are thinner for their length\nthan any other brand.\" He picked up the four ends and examined them with\nhis pocket-lens.\n\n\"Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two without,\" said he.\n\"Two have been cut by a not very sharp knife, and two have had the ends\nbitten off by a set of excellent teeth. This is no suicide, Mr. Lanner.\nIt is a very deeply planned and cold-blooded murder.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried the inspector.\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"Why should any one murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as by hanging\nhim?\"\n\n\"That is what we have to find out.\"\n\n\"How could they get in?\"\n\n\"Through the front door.\"\n\n\"It was barred in the morning.\"\n\n\"Then it was barred after them.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I may be able to give you\nsome further information about it.\"\n\nHe went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it in his\nmethodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on the inside, and\ninspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs the mantelpiece,\nthe dead body, and the rope were each in turn examined, until at last he\nprofessed himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspector\ncut down the wretched object and laid it reverently under a sheet.\n\n\"How about this rope?\" he asked.\n\n\"It is cut off this,\" said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coil from\nunder the bed. \"He was morbidly nervous of fire, and always kept this\nbeside him, so that he might escape by the window in case the stairs\nwere burning.\"\n\n\"That must have saved them trouble,\" said Holmes, thoughtfully. \"Yes,\nthe actual facts are very plain, and I shall be surprised if by the\nafternoon I cannot give you the reasons for them as well. I will take\nthis photograph of Blessington, which I see upon the mantelpiece, as it\nmay help me in my inquiries.\"\n\n\"But you have told us nothing!\" cried the doctor.\n\n\"Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of events,\" said Holmes.\n\"There were three of them in it: the young man, the old man, and a\nthird, to whose identity I have no clue. The first two, I need hardly\nremark, are the same who masqueraded as the Russian count and his son,\nso we can give a very full description of them. They were admitted by\na confederate inside the house. If I might offer you a word of advice,\nInspector, it would be to arrest the page, who, as I understand, has\nonly recently come into your service, Doctor.\"\n\n\"The young imp cannot be found,\" said Dr. Trevelyan; \"the maid and the\ncook have just been searching for him.\"\n\nHolmes shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"He has played a not unimportant part in this drama,\" said he. \"The\nthree men having ascended the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the\nelder man first, the younger man second, and the unknown man in the\nrear--\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes!\" I ejaculated.\n\n\"Oh, there could be no question as to the superimposing of the\nfootmarks. I had the advantage of learning which was which last night.\nThey ascended, then, to Mr. Blessington\'s room, the door of which they\nfound to be locked. With the help of a wire, however, they forced round\nthe key. Even without the lens you will perceive, by the scratches on\nthis ward, where the pressure was applied.\n\n\"On entering the room their first proceeding must have been to gag Mr.\nBlessington. He may have been asleep, or he may have been so paralyzed\nwith terror as to have been unable to cry out. These walls are thick,\nand it is conceivable that his shriek, if he had time to utter one, was\nunheard.\n\n\"Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of some\nsort was held. Probably it was something in the nature of a judicial\nproceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it was then that\nthese cigars were smoked. The older man sat in that wicker chair; it\nwas he who used the cigar-holder. The younger man sat over yonder; he\nknocked his ash off against the chest of drawers. The third fellow paced\nup and down. Blessington, I think, sat upright in the bed, but of that I\ncannot be absolutely certain.\n\n\"Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. The matter\nwas so prearranged that it is my belief that they brought with them\nsome sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gallows. That\nscrew-driver and those screws were, as I conceive, for fixing it up.\nSeeing the hook, however they naturally saved themselves the trouble.\nHaving finished their work they made off, and the door was barred behind\nthem by their confederate.\"\n\nWe had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of the\nnight\'s doings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so subtle and minute\nthat, even when he had pointed them out to us, we could scarcely follow\nhim in his reasoning. The inspector hurried away on the instant to make\ninquiries about the page, while Holmes and I returned to Baker Street\nfor breakfast.\n\n\"I\'ll be back by three,\" said he, when we had finished our meal. \"Both\nthe inspector and the doctor will meet me here at that hour, and I hope\nby that time to have cleared up any little obscurity which the case may\nstill present.\"\n\n\nOur visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarter to\nfour before my friend put in an appearance. From his expression as he\nentered, however, I could see that all had gone well with him.\n\n\"Any news, Inspector?\"\n\n\"We have got the boy, sir.\"\n\n\"Excellent, and I have got the men.\"\n\n\"You have got them!\" we cried, all three.\n\n\"Well, at least I have got their identity. This so-called Blessington\nis, as I expected, well known at headquarters, and so are his\nassailants. Their names are Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat.\"\n\n\"The Worthingdon bank gang,\" cried the inspector.\n\n\"Precisely,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Then Blessington must have been Sutton.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Why, that makes it as clear as crystal,\" said the inspector.\n\nBut Trevelyan and I looked at each other in bewilderment.\n\n\"You must surely remember the great Worthingdon bank business,\" said\nHolmes. \"Five men were in it--these four and a fifth called Cartwright.\nTobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got away with seven\nthousand pounds. This was in 1875. They were all five arrested, but the\nevidence against them was by no means conclusive. This Blessington or\nSutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned informer. On his evidence\nCartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteen years apiece. When\nthey got out the other day, which was some years before their full term,\nthey set themselves, as you perceive, to hunt down the traitor and to\navenge the death of their comrade upon him. Twice they tried to get at\nhim and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. Is there anything\nfurther which I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?\"\n\n\"I think you have made it all remarkably clear,\" said the doctor. \"No\ndoubt the day on which he was perturbed was the day when he had seen of\ntheir release in the newspapers.\"\n\n\"Quite so. His talk about a burglary was the merest blind.\"\n\n\"But why could he not tell you this?\"\n\n\"Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive character of his old\nassociates, he was trying to hide his own identity from everybody as\nlong as he could. His secret was a shameful one, and he could not bring\nhimself to divulge it. However, wretch as he was, he was still living\nunder the shield of British law, and I have no doubt, Inspector, that\nyou will see that, though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of\njustice is still there to avenge.\"\n\n\nSuch were the singular circumstances in connection with the Resident\nPatient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night nothing has\nbeen seen of the three murderers by the police, and it is surmised\nat Scotland Yard that they were among the passengers of the ill-fated\nsteamer Norah Creina, which was lost some years ago with all hands\nupon the Portuguese coast, some leagues to the north of Oporto. The\nproceedings against the page broke down for want of evidence, and the\nBrook Street Mystery, as it was called, has never until now been fully\ndealt with in any public print.\n\n\n\n\nAdventure IX. The Greek Interpreter\n\n\nDuring my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes I had\nnever heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his own early\nlife. This reticence upon his part had increased the somewhat inhuman\neffect which he produced upon me, until sometimes I found myself\nregarding him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart, as\ndeficient in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in intelligence. His\naversion to women and his disinclination to form new friendships were\nboth typical of his unemotional character, but not more so than his\ncomplete suppression of every reference to his own people. I had come to\nbelieve that he was an orphan with no relatives living, but one day, to\nmy very great surprise, he began to talk to me about his brother.\n\nIt was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which had\nroamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes\nof the change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at last\nto the question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. The point under\ndiscussion was, how far any singular gift in an individual was due to\nhis ancestry and how far to his own early training.\n\n\"In your own case,\" said I, \"from all that you have told me, it seems\nobvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiar facility for\ndeduction are due to your own systematic training.\"\n\n\"To some extent,\" he answered, thoughtfully. \"My ancestors were country\nsquires, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural to\ntheir class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and\nmay have come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, the\nFrench artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.\"\n\n\"But how do you know that it is hereditary?\"\n\n\"Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do.\"\n\nThis was news to me indeed. If there were another man with such singular\npowers in England, how was it that neither police nor public had heard\nof him? I put the question, with a hint that it was my companion\'s\nmodesty which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior. Holmes\nlaughed at my suggestion.\n\n\"My dear Watson,\" said he, \"I cannot agree with those who rank modesty\namong the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as\nthey are, and to underestimate one\'s self is as much a departure from\ntruth as to exaggerate one\'s own powers. When I say, therefore, that\nMycroft has better powers of observation than I, you may take it that I\nam speaking the exact and literal truth.\"\n\n\"Is he your junior?\"\n\n\"Seven years my senior.\"\n\n\"How comes it that he is unknown?\"\n\n\"Oh, he is very well known in his own circle.\"\n\n\"Where, then?\"\n\n\"Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example.\"\n\nI had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimed\nas much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch.\n\n\"The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one of\nthe queerest men. He\'s always there from quarter to five to twenty to\neight. It\'s six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening\nI shall be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities.\"\n\nFive minutes later we were in the street, walking towards Regent\'s\nCircus.\n\n\"You wonder,\" said my companion, \"why it is that Mycroft does not use\nhis powers for detective work. He is incapable of it.\"\n\n\"But I thought you said--\"\n\n\"I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the\nart of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my\nbrother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has\nno ambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verify\nhis own solutions, and would rather be considered wrong than take the\ntrouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problem\nto him, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to\nbe the correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out\nthe practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid\nbefore a judge or jury.\"\n\n\"It is not his profession, then?\"\n\n\"By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the merest\nhobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and\naudits the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodges\nin Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morning\nand back every evening. From year\'s end to year\'s end he takes no other\nexercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club,\nwhich is just opposite his rooms.\"\n\n\"I cannot recall the name.\"\n\n\"Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who, some from\nshyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their\nfellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest\nperiodicals. It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club\nwas started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubable men\nin town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any\nother one. Save in the Stranger\'s Room, no talking is, under any\ncircumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of\nthe committee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one\nof the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere.\"\n\nWe had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it from the\nSt. James\'s end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door some little distance\nfrom the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the way into\nthe hall. Through the glass paneling I caught a glimpse of a large and\nluxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sitting about\nand reading papers, each in his own little nook. Holmes showed me into a\nsmall chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for\na minute, he came back with a companion whom I knew could only be his\nbrother.\n\nMycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock. His body\nwas absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, had preserved\nsomething of the sharpness of expression which was so remarkable in that\nof his brother. His eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery gray,\nseemed to always retain that far-away, introspective look which I had\nonly observed in Sherlock\'s when he was exerting his full powers.\n\n\"I am glad to meet you, sir,\" said he, putting out a broad, fat hand\nlike the flipper of a seal. \"I hear of Sherlock everywhere since you\nbecame his chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see you round\nlast week, to consult me over that Manor House case. I thought you might\nbe a little out of your depth.\"\n\n\"No, I solved it,\" said my friend, smiling.\n\n\"It was Adams, of course.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was Adams.\"\n\n\"I was sure of it from the first.\" The two sat down together in the\nbow-window of the club. \"To any one who wishes to study mankind this is\nthe spot,\" said Mycroft. \"Look at the magnificent types! Look at these\ntwo men who are coming towards us, for example.\"\n\n\"The billiard-marker and the other?\"\n\n\"Precisely. What do you make of the other?\"\n\nThe two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marks over the\nwaistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which I could see\nin one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hat\npushed back and several packages under his arm.\n\n\"An old soldier, I perceive,\" said Sherlock.\n\n\"And very recently discharged,\" remarked the brother.\n\n\"Served in India, I see.\"\n\n\"And a non-commissioned officer.\"\n\n\"Royal Artillery, I fancy,\" said Sherlock.\n\n\"And a widower.\"\n\n\"But with a child.\"\n\n\"Children, my dear boy, children.\"\n\n\"Come,\" said I, laughing, \"this is a little too much.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" answered Holmes, \"it is not hard to say that a man with that\nbearing, expression of authority, and sunbaked skin, is a soldier, is\nmore than a private, and is not long from India.\"\n\n\"That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing his\nammunition boots, as they are called,\" observed Mycroft.\n\n\"He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as\nis shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. His weight is\nagainst his being a sapper. He is in the artillery.\"\n\n\"Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lost some one\nvery dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks as though\nit were his wife. He has been buying things for children, you perceive.\nThere is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very young. The wife\nprobably died in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-book under his\narm shows that there is another child to be thought of.\"\n\nI began to understand what my friend meant when he said that his brother\npossessed even keener faculties that he did himself. He glanced across\nat me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box, and\nbrushed away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, red\nsilk handkerchief.\n\n\"By the way, Sherlock,\" said he, \"I have had something quite after your\nown heart--a most singular problem--submitted to my judgment. I really\nhad not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion,\nbut it gave me a basis for some pleasing speculation. If you would care\nto hear the facts--\"\n\n\"My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted.\"\n\nThe brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book, and,\nringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter.\n\n\"I have asked Mr. Melas to step across,\" said he. \"He lodges on the\nfloor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him, which led\nhim to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction,\nas I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. He earns his living\npartly as interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide to\nany wealthy Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. I\nthink I will leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his own\nfashion.\"\n\nA few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose olive\nface and coal-black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though his\nspeech was that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands eagerly\nwith Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when he\nunderstood that the specialist was anxious to hear his story.\n\n\"I do not believe that the police credit me--on my word, I do not,\" said\nhe in a wailing voice. \"Just because they have never heard of it before,\nthey think that such a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall never\nbe easy in my mind until I know what has become of my poor man with the\nsticking-plaster upon his face.\"\n\n\"I am all attention,\" said Sherlock Holmes.\n\n\"This is Wednesday evening,\" said Mr. Melas. \"Well then, it was Monday\nnight--only two days ago, you understand--that all this happened. I am\nan interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there has told you. I interpret\nall languages--or nearly all--but as I am a Greek by birth and with a\nGrecian name, it is with that particular tongue that I am principally\nassociated. For many years I have been the chief Greek interpreter in\nLondon, and my name is very well known in the hotels.\n\n\"It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hours by\nforeigners who get into difficulties, or by travelers who arrive late\nand wish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday night\nwhen a Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to my\nrooms and asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at the\ndoor. A Greek friend had come to see him upon business, he said, and\nas he could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services of an\ninterpreter were indispensable. He gave me to understand that his house\nwas some little distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a\ngreat hurry, bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended to\nthe street.\n\n\"I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether it was not\na carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly more roomy than\nthe ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings, though\nfrayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to me\nand we started off through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue.\nWe had come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured some remark as to\nthis being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words were arrested\nby the extraordinary conduct of my companion.\n\n\"He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loaded with lead\nfrom his pocket, and switching it backward and forward several times,\nas if to test its weight and strength. Then he placed it without a word\nupon the seat beside him. Having done this, he drew up the windows on\neach side, and I found to my astonishment that they were covered with\npaper so as to prevent my seeing through them.\n\n\"\'I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,\' said he. \'The fact is\nthat I have no intention that you should see what the place is to which\nwe are driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could\nfind your way there again.\'\n\n\"As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such an address. My\ncompanion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apart from\nthe weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in a struggle\nwith him.\n\n\"\'This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,\' I stammered. \'You\nmust be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.\'\n\n\"\'It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,\' said he, \'but we\'ll make it\nup to you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time\nto-night you attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against\nmy interests, you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you to\nremember that no one knows where you are, and that, whether you are in\nthis carriage or in my house, you are equally in my power.\'\n\n\"His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them which\nwas very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earth could be\nhis reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. Whatever it\nmight be, it was perfectly clear that there was no possible use in my\nresisting, and that I could only wait to see what might befall.\n\n\"For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as to\nwhere we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a paved\ncauseway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt;\nbut, save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all which\ncould in the remotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were.\nThe paper over each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain\nwas drawn across the glass work in front. It was a quarter-past seven\nwhen we left Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes\nto nine when we at last came to a standstill. My companion let down\nthe window, and I caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a lamp\nburning above it. As I was hurried from the carriage it swung open, and\nI found myself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawn\nand trees on each side of me as I entered. Whether these were private\ngrounds, however, or bona-fide country was more than I could possibly\nventure to say.\n\n\"There was a colored gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that I\ncould see little save that the hall was of some size and hung with\npictures. In the dim light I could make out that the person who had\nopened the door was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with rounded\nshoulders. As he turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that\nhe was wearing glasses.\n\n\"\'Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?\' said he.\n\n\"\'Yes.\'\n\n\"\'Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but we could not\nget on without you. If you deal fair with us you\'ll not regret it,\nbut if you try any tricks, God help you!\' He spoke in a nervous, jerky\nfashion, and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he\nimpressed me with fear more than the other.\n\n\"\'What do you want with me?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us,\nand to let us have the answers. But say no more than you are told to\nsay, or--\' here came the nervous giggle again--\'you had better never\nhave been born.\'\n\n\"As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room which\nappeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light was\nafforded by a single lamp half-turned down. The chamber was certainly\nlarge, and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as I stepped\nacross it told me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a\nhigh white marble mantel-piece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese\narmor at one side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and the\nelderly man motioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left\nus, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him\na gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly\ntowards us. As he came into the circle of dim light which enables me to\nsee him more clearly I was thrilled with horror at his appearance. He\nwas deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant\neyes of a man whose spirit was greater than his strength. But what\nshocked me more than any signs of physical weakness was that his face\nwas grotesquely criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that one large\npad of it was fastened over his mouth.\n\n\"\'Have you the slate, Harold?\' cried the older man, as this strange\nbeing fell rather than sat down into a chair. \'Are his hands loose? Now,\nthen, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and\nhe will write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared\nto sign the papers?\'\n\n\"The man\'s eyes flashed fire.\n\n\"\'Never!\' he wrote in Greek upon the slate.\n\n\"\'On no condition?\' I asked, at the bidding of our tyrant.\n\n\"\'Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom I\nknow.\'\n\n\"The man giggled in his venomous way.\n\n\"\'You know what awaits you, then?\'\n\n\"\'I care nothing for myself.\'\n\n\"These are samples of the questions and answers which made up our\nstrange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had to\nask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again and again\nI had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came to me. I\ntook to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent\nones at first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything\nof the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no signs I played a\nmore dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:\n\n\"\'You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?\'\n\n\"\'I care not. I am a stranger in London.\'\n\n\"\'Your fate will be upon your own head. How long have you been here?\'\n\n\"\'Let it be so. Three weeks.\'\n\n\"\'The property can never be yours. What ails you?\'\n\n\"\'It shall not go to villains. They are starving me.\'\n\n\"\'You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?\'\n\n\"\'I will never sign. I do not know.\'\n\n\"\'You are not doing her any service. What is your name?\'\n\n\"\'Let me hear her say so. Kratides.\'\n\n\"\'You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?\'\n\n\"\'Then I shall never see her. Athens.\'\n\n\"Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wormed out the\nwhole story under their very noses. My very next question might have\ncleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a woman\nstepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know more\nthan that she was tall and graceful, with black hair, and clad in some\nsort of loose white gown.\n\n\"\'Harold,\' said she, speaking English with a broken accent. \'I could not\nstay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only--Oh, my God, it is\nPaul!\'\n\n\"These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the man with\na convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming out\n\'Sophy! Sophy!\' rushed into the woman\'s arms. Their embrace was but for\nan instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman and pushed\nher out of the room, while the elder easily overpowered his emaciated\nvictim, and dragged him away through the other door. For a moment I was\nleft alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet with some vague idea\nthat I might in some way get a clue to what this house was in which I\nfound myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for looking up I\nsaw that the older man was standing in the door-way with his eyes fixed\nupon me.\n\n\"\'That will do, Mr. Melas,\' said he. \'You perceive that we have taken\nyou into our confidence over some very private business. We should not\nhave troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who began\nthese negotiations has been forced to return to the East. It was\nquite necessary for us to find some one to take his place, and we were\nfortunate in hearing of your powers.\'\n\n\"I bowed.\n\n\"\'There are five sovereigns here,\' said he, walking up to me, \'which\nwill, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,\' he added, tapping me\nlightly on the chest and giggling, \'if you speak to a human soul about\nthis--one human soul, mind--well, may God have mercy upon your soul!\"\n\n\"I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which this\ninsignificant-looking man inspired me. I could see him better now as the\nlamp-light shone upon him. His features were peaky and sallow, and his\nlittle pointed beard was thready and ill-nourished. He pushed his face\nforward as he spoke and his lips and eyelids were continually twitching\nlike a man with St. Vitus\'s dance. I could not help thinking that his\nstrange, catchy little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady.\nThe terror of his face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, and\nglistening coldly with a malignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths.\n\n\"\'We shall know if you speak of this,\' said he. \'We have our own means\nof information. Now you will find the carriage waiting, and my friend\nwill see you on your way.\'\n\n\"I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtaining\nthat momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimer followed\nclosely at my heels, and took his place opposite to me without a word.\nIn silence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windows\nraised, until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up.\n\n\"\'You will get down here, Mr. Melas,\' said my companion. \'I am sorry\nto leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Any\nattempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury to\nyourself.\'\n\n\"He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring out\nwhen the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. I\nlooked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of a heathy common\nmottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. Far away stretched a\nline of houses, with a light here and there in the upper windows. On the\nother side I saw the red signal-lamps of a railway.\n\n\"The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stood\ngazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when I saw some\none coming towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me I made out\nthat he was a railway porter.\n\n\"\'Can you tell me what place this is?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Wandsworth Common,\' said he.\n\n\"\'Can I get a train into town?\'\n\n\"\'If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,\' said he, \'you\'ll\njust be in time for the last to Victoria.\'\n\n\"So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where I\nwas, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have told you. But\nI know that there is foul play going on, and I want to help that unhappy\nman if I can. I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes next morning,\nand subsequently to the police.\"\n\nWe all sat in silence for some little time after listening to this\nextraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at his brother.\n\n\"Any steps?\" he asked.\n\nMycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table.\n\n\"\'Anybody supplying any information to the whereabouts of a Greek\ngentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable to speak\nEnglish, will be rewarded. A similar reward paid to any one giving\ninformation about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy. X 2473.\' That\nwas in all the dailies. No answer.\"\n\n\"How about the Greek Legation?\"\n\n\"I have inquired. They know nothing.\"\n\n\"A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?\"\n\n\"Sherlock has all the energy of the family,\" said Mycroft, turning to\nme. \"Well, you take the case up by all means, and let me know if you do\nany good.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" answered my friend, rising from his chair. \"I\'ll let you\nknow, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly\nbe on my guard, if I were you, for of course they must know through\nthese advertisements that you have betrayed them.\"\n\nAs we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office and\nsent off several wires.\n\n\"You see, Watson,\" he remarked, \"our evening has been by no means\nwasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this way\nthrough Mycroft. The problem which we have just listened to, although\nit can admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing\nfeatures.\"\n\n\"You have hopes of solving it?\"\n\n\"Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail\nto discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory which\nwill explain the facts to which we have listened.\"\n\n\"In a vague way, yes.\"\n\n\"What was your idea, then?\"\n\n\"It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried off\nby the young Englishman named Harold Latimer.\"\n\n\"Carried off from where?\"\n\n\"Athens, perhaps.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes shook his head. \"This young man could not talk a word of\nGreek. The lady could talk English fairly well. Inference--that she had\nbeen in England some little time, but he had not been in Greece.\"\n\n\"Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a visit to England,\nand that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him.\"\n\n\"That is more probable.\"\n\n\"Then the brother--for that, I fancy, must be the relationship--comes\nover from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himself into the\npower of the young man and his older associate. They seize him and use\nviolence towards him in order to make him sign some papers to make over\nthe girl\'s fortune--of which he may be trustee--to them. This he refuses\nto do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter,\nand they pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before.\nThe girl is not told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out by\nthe merest accident.\"\n\n\"Excellent, Watson!\" cried Holmes. \"I really fancy that you are not far\nfrom the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and we have only to\nfear some sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us time we\nmust have them.\"\n\n\"But how can we find where this house lies?\"\n\n\"Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl\'s name is or was Sophy\nKratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be our\nmain hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It is\nclear that some time has elapsed since this Harold established these\nrelations with the girl--some weeks, at any rate--since the brother in\nGreece has had time to hear of it and come across. If they have been\nliving in the same place during this time, it is probable that we shall\nhave some answer to Mycroft\'s advertisement.\"\n\nWe had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking.\nHolmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room\nhe gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equally\nastonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the arm-chair.\n\n\"Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir,\" said he blandly, smiling at our\nsurprised faces. \"You don\'t expect such energy from me, do you,\nSherlock? But somehow this case attracts me.\"\n\n\"How did you get here?\"\n\n\"I passed you in a hansom.\"\n\n\"There has been some new development?\"\n\n\"I had an answer to my advertisement.\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\n\"Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving.\"\n\n\"And to what effect?\"\n\nMycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.\n\n\"Here it is,\" said he, \"written with a J pen on royal cream paper by a\nmiddle-aged man with a weak constitution. \'Sir,\' he says, \'in answer to\nyour advertisement of to-day\'s date, I beg to inform you that I know the\nyoung lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me I\ncould give you some particulars as to her painful history. She is living\nat present at The Myrtles, Beckenham. Yours faithfully, J. Davenport.\'\n\n\"He writes from Lower Brixton,\" said Mycroft Holmes. \"Do you not think\nthat we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn these particulars?\"\n\n\"My dear Mycroft, the brother\'s life is more valuable than the sister\'s\nstory. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson,\nand go straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done to\ndeath, and every hour may be vital.\"\n\n\"Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way,\" I suggested. \"We may need an\ninterpreter.\"\n\n\"Excellent,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"Send the boy for a four-wheeler, and\nwe shall be off at once.\" He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I\nnoticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. \"Yes,\" said he, in\nanswer to my glance; \"I should say from what we have heard, that we are\ndealing with a particularly dangerous gang.\"\n\nIt was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the rooms\nof Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone.\n\n\"Can you tell me where?\" asked Mycroft Holmes.\n\n\"I don\'t know, sir,\" answered the woman who had opened the door; \"I only\nknow that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage.\"\n\n\"Did the gentleman give a name?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"He wasn\'t a tall, handsome, dark young man?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face,\nbut very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he\nwas talking.\"\n\n\"Come along!\" cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. \"This grows serious,\"\nhe observed, as we drove to Scotland Yard. \"These men have got hold of\nMelas again. He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well\naware from their experience the other night. This villain was able to\nterrorize him the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt\nthey want his professional services, but, having used him, they may be\ninclined to punish him for what they will regard as his treachery.\"\n\nOur hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soon\nor sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was\nmore than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply with\nthe legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house. It was a\nquarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and half past before the\nfour of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of half a mile\nbrought us to The Myrtles--a large, dark house standing back from the\nroad in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up\nthe drive together.\n\n\"The windows are all dark,\" remarked the inspector. \"The house seems\ndeserted.\"\n\n\"Our birds are flown and the nest empty,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Why do you say so?\"\n\n\"A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the last\nhour.\"\n\nThe inspector laughed. \"I saw the wheel-tracks in the light of the\ngate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?\"\n\n\"You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way. But\nthe outward-bound ones were very much deeper--so much so that we can\nsay for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on the\ncarriage.\"\n\n\"You get a trifle beyond me there,\" said the inspector, shrugging his\nshoulder. \"It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if we\ncannot make some one hear us.\"\n\nHe hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but without\nany success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a few minutes.\n\n\"I have a window open,\" said he.\n\n\"It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against\nit, Mr. Holmes,\" remarked the inspector, as he noted the clever way in\nwhich my friend had forced back the catch. \"Well, I think that under the\ncircumstances we may enter without an invitation.\"\n\nOne after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which was\nevidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The inspector\nhad lit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the\ncurtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he had described\nthem. On the table lay two glasses, and empty brandy-bottle, and the\nremains of a meal.\n\n\"What is that?\" asked Holmes, suddenly.\n\nWe all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming from\nsomewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into the\nhall. The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspector\nand I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as his\ngreat bulk would permit.\n\nThree doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was from the central\nof these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into a\ndull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but the\nkey had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushed\nin, but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat.\n\n\"It\'s charcoal,\" he cried. \"Give it time. It will clear.\"\n\nPeering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from a\ndull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre.\nIt threw a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadows\nbeyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against the\nwall. From the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalation\nwhich set us gasping and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of the\nstairs to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, he\nthrew up the window and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden.\n\n\"We can enter in a minute,\" he gasped, darting out again. \"Where is a\ncandle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold the\nlight at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!\"\n\nWith a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into the\nwell-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with\nswollen, congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were\ntheir features that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might\nhave failed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who had\nparted from us only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His hands\nand feet were securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye\nthe marks of a violent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar\nfashion, was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several\nstrips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over his\nface. He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed\nme that for him at least our aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however,\nstill lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia and\nbrandy I had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of\nknowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in which\nall paths meet.\n\nIt was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did but\nconfirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms, had\ndrawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed him with\nthe fear of instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him for\nthe second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which this\ngiggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he\ncould not speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek.\nHe had been taken swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in\na second interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two\nEnglishmen had menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did not\ncomply with their demands. Finally, finding him proof against every\nthreat, they had hurled him back into his prison, and after\nreproaching Melas with his treachery, which appeared from the newspaper\nadvertisement, they had stunned him with a blow from a stick, and he\nremembered nothing more until he found us bending over him.\n\nAnd this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, the\nexplanation of which is still involved in some mystery. We were able\nto find out, by communicating with the gentleman who had answered the\nadvertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecian\nfamily, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in England.\nWhile there she had met a young man named Harold Latimer, who had\nacquired an ascendancy over her and had eventually persuaded her to fly\nwith him. Her friends, shocked at the event, had contented themselves\nwith informing her brother at Athens, and had then washed their hands\nof the matter. The brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently\nplaced himself in the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose name\nwas Wilson Kemp--a man of the foulest antecedents. These two, finding\nthat through his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their\nhands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavored by cruelty and\nstarvation to make him sign away his own and his sister\'s property. They\nhad kept him in the house without the girl\'s knowledge, and the plaster\nover the face had been for the purpose of making recognition difficult\nin case she should ever catch a glimpse of him. Her feminine perception,\nhowever, had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasion\nof the interpreter\'s visit, she had seen him for the first time. The\npoor girl, however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one about\nthe house except the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both of\nwhom were tools of the conspirators. Finding that their secret was out,\nand that their prisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with the\ngirl had fled away at a few hours\' notice from the furnished house which\nthey had hired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance both upon\nthe man who had defied and the one who had betrayed them.\n\nMonths afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from\nBuda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been traveling with a\nwoman had met with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, it seems,\nand the Hungarian police were of opinion that they had quarreled and had\ninflicted mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy,\nof a different way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one could\nfind the Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her\nbrother came to be avenged.\n\n\n\n\nAdventure X. The Naval Treaty\n\n\nThe July which immediately succeeded my marriage was made memorable\nby three cases of interest, in which I had the privilege of being\nassociated with Sherlock Holmes and of studying his methods. I find them\nrecorded in my notes under the headings of \"The Adventure of the Second\nStain,\" \"The Adventure of the Naval Treaty,\" and \"The Adventure of the\nTired Captain.\" The first of these, however, deals with interest of such\nimportance and implicates so many of the first families in the kingdom\nthat for many years it will be impossible to make it public. No case,\nhowever, in which Holmes was engaged has ever illustrated the value\nof his analytical methods so clearly or has impressed those who were\nassociated with him so deeply. I still retain an almost verbatim report\nof the interview in which he demonstrated the true facts of the case\nto Monsieur Dubugue of the Paris police, and Fritz von Waldbaum, the\nwell-known specialist of Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energies\nupon what proved to be side-issues. The new century will have come,\nhowever, before the story can be safely told. Meanwhile I pass on to\nthe second on my list, which promised also at one time to be of national\nimportance, and was marked by several incidents which give it a quite\nunique character.\n\nDuring my school-days I had been intimately associated with a lad named\nPercy Phelps, who was of much the same age as myself, though he was two\nclasses ahead of me. He was a very brilliant boy, and carried away every\nprize which the school had to offer, finished his exploits by winning\na scholarship which sent him on to continue his triumphant career at\nCambridge. He was, I remember, extremely well connected, and even when\nwe were all little boys together we knew that his mother\'s brother\nwas Lord Holdhurst, the great conservative politician. This gaudy\nrelationship did him little good at school. On the contrary, it seemed\nrather a piquant thing to us to chevy him about the playground and hit\nhim over the shins with a wicket. But it was another thing when he\ncame out into the world. I heard vaguely that his abilities and the\ninfluences which he commanded had won him a good position at the Foreign\nOffice, and then he passed completely out of my mind until the following\nletter recalled his existence:\n\n\nBriarbrae, Woking. My dear Watson,--I have no doubt that you can\nremember \"Tadpole\" Phelps, who was in the fifth form when you were in\nthe third. It is possible even that you may have heard that through my\nuncle\'s influence I obtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office,\nand that I was in a situation of trust and honor until a horrible\nmisfortune came suddenly to blast my career.\n\nThere is no use writing of the details of that dreadful event. In the\nevent of your acceding to my request it is probable that I shall have\nto narrate them to you. I have only just recovered from nine weeks of\nbrain-fever, and am still exceedingly weak. Do you think that you could\nbring your friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? I should like to have his\nopinion of the case, though the authorities assure me that nothing more\ncan be done. Do try to bring him down, and as soon as possible. Every\nminute seems an hour while I live in this state of horrible suspense.\nAssure him that if I have not asked his advice sooner it was not because\nI did not appreciate his talents, but because I have been off my head\never since the blow fell. Now I am clear again, though I dare not think\nof it too much for fear of a relapse. I am still so weak that I have to\nwrite, as you see, by dictating. Do try to bring him.\n\nYour old school-fellow,\n\nPercy Phelps.\n\n\nThere was something that touched me as I read this letter, something\npitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. So moved was I\nthat even had it been a difficult matter I should have tried it, but\nof course I knew well that Holmes loved his art, so that he was ever\nas ready to bring his aid as his client could be to receive it. My wife\nagreed with me that not a moment should be lost in laying the matter\nbefore him, and so within an hour of breakfast-time I found myself back\nonce more in the old rooms in Baker Street.\n\nHolmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown, and\nworking hard over a chemical investigation. A large curved retort\nwas boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner, and the\ndistilled drops were condensing into a two-litre measure. My friend\nhardly glanced up as I entered, and I, seeing that his investigation\nmust be of importance, seated myself in an arm-chair and waited. He\ndipped into this bottle or that, drawing out a few drops of each with\nhis glass pipette, and finally brought a test-tube containing a solution\nover to the table. In his right hand he held a slip of litmus-paper.\n\n\"You come at a crisis, Watson,\" said he. \"If this paper remains blue,\nall is well. If it turns red, it means a man\'s life.\" He dipped it into\nthe test-tube and it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson. \"Hum!\nI thought as much!\" he cried. \"I will be at your service in an instant,\nWatson. You will find tobacco in the Persian slipper.\" He turned to his\ndesk and scribbled off several telegrams, which were handed over to the\npage-boy. Then he threw himself down into the chair opposite, and drew\nup his knees until his fingers clasped round his long, thin shins.\n\n\"A very commonplace little murder,\" said he. \"You\'ve got something\nbetter, I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson. What is\nit?\"\n\nI handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentrated\nattention.\n\n\"It does not tell us very much, does it?\" he remarked, as he handed it\nback to me.\n\n\"Hardly anything.\"\n\n\"And yet the writing is of interest.\"\n\n\"But the writing is not his own.\"\n\n\"Precisely. It is a woman\'s.\"\n\n\"A man\'s surely,\" I cried.\n\n\"No, a woman\'s, and a woman of rare character. You see, at the\ncommencement of an investigation it is something to know that your\nclient is in close contact with some one who, for good or evil, has an\nexceptional nature. My interest is already awakened in the case. If you\nare ready we will start at once for Woking, and see this diplomatist who\nis in such evil case, and the lady to whom he dictates his letters.\"\n\nWe were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo, and in\na little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir-woods and\nthe heather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be a large detached house\nstanding in extensive grounds within a few minutes\' walk of the station.\nOn sending in our cards we were shown into an elegantly appointed\ndrawing-room, where we were joined in a few minutes by a rather stout\nman who received us with much hospitality. His age may have been nearer\nforty than thirty, but his cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry\nthat he still conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous boy.\n\n\"I am so glad that you have come,\" said he, shaking our hands with\neffusion. \"Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Ah, poor old\nchap, he clings to any straw! His father and his mother asked me to see\nyou, for the mere mention of the subject is very painful to them.\"\n\n\"We have had no details yet,\" observed Holmes. \"I perceive that you are\nnot yourself a member of the family.\"\n\nOur acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he began to\nlaugh.\n\n\"Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket,\" said he. \"For a\nmoment I thought you had done something clever. Joseph Harrison is my\nname, and as Percy is to marry my sister Annie I shall at least be a\nrelation by marriage. You will find my sister in his room, for she has\nnursed him hand-and-foot this two months back. Perhaps we\'d better go in\nat once, for I know how impatient he is.\"\n\nThe chamber in which we were shown was on the same floor as the\ndrawing-room. It was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as a\nbedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and corner. A\nyoung man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near the open\nwindow, through which came the rich scent of the garden and the balmy\nsummer air. A woman was sitting beside him, who rose as we entered.\n\n\"Shall I leave, Percy?\" she asked.\n\nHe clutched her hand to detain her. \"How are you, Watson?\" said he,\ncordially. \"I should never have known you under that moustache, and I\ndare say you would not be prepared to swear to me. This I presume is\nyour celebrated friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?\"\n\nI introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. The stout young\nman had left us, but his sister still remained with her hand in that of\nthe invalid. She was a striking-looking woman, a little short and\nthick for symmetry, but with a beautiful olive complexion, large, dark,\nItalian eyes, and a wealth of deep black hair. Her rich tints made the\nwhite face of her companion the more worn and haggard by the contrast.\n\n\"I won\'t waste your time,\" said he, raising himself upon the sofa.\n\"I\'ll plunge into the matter without further preamble. I was a happy\nand successful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of being married, when a\nsudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all my prospects in life.\n\n\"I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, and\nthrough the influences of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidly to\na responsible position. When my uncle became foreign minister in this\nadministration he gave me several missions of trust, and as I always\nbrought them to a successful conclusion, he came at last to have the\nutmost confidence in my ability and tact.\n\n\"Nearly ten weeks ago--to be more accurate, on the 23d of May--he called\nme into his private room, and, after complimenting me on the good work\nwhich I had done, he informed me that he had a new commission of trust\nfor me to execute.\n\n\"\'This,\' said he, taking a gray roll of paper from his bureau, \'is the\noriginal of that secret treaty between England and Italy of which, I\nregret to say, some rumors have already got into the public press. It is\nof enormous importance that nothing further should leak out. The French\nor the Russian embassy would pay an immense sum to learn the contents\nof these papers. They should not leave my bureau were it not that it\nis absolutely necessary to have them copied. You have a desk in your\noffice?\"\n\n\"\'Yes, sir.\'\n\n\"\'Then take the treaty and lock it up there. I shall give directions\nthat you may remain behind when the others go, so that you may copy\nit at your leisure without fear of being overlooked. When you have\nfinished, relock both the original and the draft in the desk, and hand\nthem over to me personally to-morrow morning.\'\n\n\"I took the papers and--\"\n\n\"Excuse me an instant,\" said Holmes. \"Were you alone during this\nconversation?\"\n\n\"Absolutely.\"\n\n\"In a large room?\"\n\n\"Thirty feet each way.\"\n\n\"In the centre?\"\n\n\"Yes, about it.\"\n\n\"And speaking low?\"\n\n\"My uncle\'s voice is always remarkably low. I hardly spoke at all.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Holmes, shutting his eyes; \"pray go on.\"\n\n\"I did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the other clerks had\ndeparted. One of them in my room, Charles Gorot, had some arrears\nof work to make up, so I left him there and went out to dine. When I\nreturned he was gone. I was anxious to hurry my work, for I knew that\nJoseph--the Mr. Harrison whom you saw just now--was in town, and that he\nwould travel down to Woking by the eleven-o\'clock train, and I wanted if\npossible to catch it.\n\n\"When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that it was of such\nimportance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration in what\nhe had said. Without going into details, I may say that it defined the\nposition of Great Britain towards the Triple Alliance, and fore-shadowed\nthe policy which this country would pursue in the event of the\nFrench fleet gaining a complete ascendancy over that of Italy in the\nMediterranean. The questions treated in it were purely naval. At the end\nwere the signatures of the high dignitaries who had signed it. I glanced\nmy eyes over it, and then settled down to my task of copying.\n\n\"It was a long document, written in the French language, and containing\ntwenty-six separate articles. I copied as quickly as I could, but at\nnine o\'clock I had only done nine articles, and it seemed hopeless for\nme to attempt to catch my train. I was feeling drowsy and stupid, partly\nfrom my dinner and also from the effects of a long day\'s work. A cup of\ncoffee would clear my brain. A commissionnaire remains all night in a\nlittle lodge at the foot of the stairs, and is in the habit of making\ncoffee at his spirit-lamp for any of the officials who may be working\nover time. I rang the bell, therefore, to summon him.\n\n\"To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, a large,\ncoarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. She explained that she was the\ncommissionnaire\'s wife, who did the charing, and I gave her the order\nfor the coffee.\n\n\"I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more drowsy than ever, I\nrose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs. My coffee had\nnot yet come, and I wondered what the cause of the delay could be.\nOpening the door, I started down the corridor to find out. There was a\nstraight passage, dimly lighted, which led from the room in which I\nhad been working, and was the only exit from it. It ended in a curving\nstaircase, with the commissionnaire\'s lodge in the passage at the\nbottom. Half way down this staircase is a small landing, with another\npassage running into it at right angles. This second one leads by means\nof a second small stair to a side door, used by servants, and also as\na short cut by clerks when coming from Charles Street. Here is a rough\nchart of the place.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I think that I quite follow you,\" said Sherlock Holmes.\n\n\"It is of the utmost importance that you should notice this point.\nI went down the stairs and into the hall, where I found the\ncommissionnaire fast asleep in his box, with the kettle boiling\nfuriously upon the spirit-lamp. I took off the kettle and blew out the\nlamp, for the water was spurting over the floor. Then I put out my hand\nand was about to shake the man, who was still sleeping soundly, when a\nbell over his head rang loudly, and he woke with a start.\n\n\"\'Mr. Phelps, sir!\' said he, looking at me in bewilderment.\n\n\"\'I came down to see if my coffee was ready.\'\n\n\"\'I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir.\' He looked at me and\nthen up at the still quivering bell with an ever-growing astonishment\nupon his face.\n\n\"\'If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'The bell!\' I cried. \'What bell is it?\'\n\n\"\'It\'s the bell of the room you were working in.\'\n\n\"A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Some one, then, was in that\nroom where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ran frantically up\nthe stair and along the passage. There was no one in the corridors, Mr.\nHolmes. There was no one in the room. All was exactly as I left it, save\nonly that the papers which had been committed to my care had been taken\nfrom the desk on which they lay. The copy was there, and the original\nwas gone.\"\n\nHolmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could see that the\nproblem was entirely to his heart. \"Pray, what did you do then?\" he\nmurmured.\n\n\"I recognized in an instant that the thief must have come up the stairs\nfrom the side door. Of course I must have met him if he had come the\nother way.\"\n\n\"You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in the room\nall the time, or in the corridor which you have just described as dimly\nlighted?\"\n\n\"It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal himself either in\nthe room or the corridor. There is no cover at all.\"\n\n\"Thank you. Pray proceed.\"\n\n\"The commissionnaire, seeing by my pale face that something was to be\nfeared, had followed me upstairs. Now we both rushed along the corridor\nand down the steep steps which led to Charles Street. The door at the\nbottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung it open and rushed out. I can\ndistinctly remember that as we did so there came three chimes from a\nneighboring clock. It was quarter to ten.\"\n\n\"That is of enormous importance,\" said Holmes, making a note upon his\nshirt-cuff.\n\n\"The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was falling. There was\nno one in Charles Street, but a great traffic was going on, as usual, in\nWhitehall, at the extremity. We rushed along the pavement, bare-headed\nas we were, and at the far corner we found a policeman standing.\n\n\"\'A robbery has been committed,\' I gasped. \'A document of immense value\nhas been stolen from the Foreign Office. Has any one passed this way?\'\n\n\"\'I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir,\' said he;\n\'only one person has passed during that time--a woman, tall and elderly,\nwith a Paisley shawl.\'\n\n\"\'Ah, that is only my wife,\' cried the commissionnaire; \'has no one else\npassed?\'\n\n\"\'No one.\'\n\n\"\'Then it must be the other way that the thief took,\' cried the fellow,\ntugging at my sleeve.\n\n\"\'But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to draw me\naway increased my suspicions.\n\n\"\'Which way did the woman go?\' I cried.\n\n\"\'I don\'t know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no special reason for\nwatching her. She seemed to be in a hurry.\'\n\n\"\'How long ago was it?\'\n\n\"\'Oh, not very many minutes.\'\n\n\"\'Within the last five?\'\n\n\"\'Well, it could not be more than five.\'\n\n\"\'You\'re only wasting your time, sir, and every minute now is of\nimportance,\' cried the commissionnaire; \'take my word for it that my old\nwoman has nothing to do with it, and come down to the other end of the\nstreet. Well, if you won\'t, I will.\' And with that he rushed off in the\nother direction.\n\n\"But I was after him in an instant and caught him by the sleeve.\n\n\"\'Where do you live?\' said I.\n\n\"\'16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,\' he answered. \'But don\'t let yourself be drawn\naway upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps. Come to the other end of the street\nand let us see if we can hear of anything.\'\n\n\"Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With the policeman we\nboth hurried down, but only to find the street full of traffic, many\npeople coming and going, but all only too eager to get to a place of\nsafety upon so wet a night. There was no lounger who could tell us who\nhad passed.\n\n\"Then we returned to the office, and searched the stairs and the passage\nwithout result. The corridor which led to the room was laid down with\na kind of creamy linoleum which shows an impression very easily. We\nexamined it very carefully, but found no outline of any footmark.\"\n\n\"Had it been raining all evening?\"\n\n\"Since about seven.\"\n\n\"How is it, then, that the woman who came into the room about nine left\nno traces with her muddy boots?\"\n\n\"I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at the time.\nThe charwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at the\ncommissionnaire\'s office, and putting on list slippers.\"\n\n\"That is very clear. There were no marks, then, though the night was a\nwet one? The chain of events is certainly one of extraordinary interest.\nWhat did you do next?\n\n\"We examined the room also. There is no possibility of a secret door,\nand the windows are quite thirty feet from the ground. Both of them\nwere fastened on the inside. The carpet prevents any possibility of a\ntrap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinary whitewashed kind. I will\npledge my life that whoever stole my papers could only have come through\nthe door.\"\n\n\"How about the fireplace?\"\n\n\"They use none. There is a stove. The bell-rope hangs from the wire just\nto the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have come right up to the\ndesk to do it. But why should any criminal wish to ring the bell? It is\na most insoluble mystery.\"\n\n\"Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your next steps? You\nexamined the room, I presume, to see if the intruder had left any\ntraces--any cigar-end or dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle?\"\n\n\"There was nothing of the sort.\"\n\n\"No smell?\"\n\n\"Well, we never thought of that.\"\n\n\"Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great deal to us in such\nan investigation.\"\n\n\"I never smoke myself, so I think I should have observed it if there had\nbeen any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely no clue of any kind. The\nonly tangible fact was that the commissionnaire\'s wife--Mrs. Tangey was\nthe name--had hurried out of the place. He could give no explanation\nsave that it was about the time when the woman always went home. The\npoliceman and I agreed that our best plan would be to seize the woman\nbefore she could get rid of the papers, presuming that she had them.\n\n\"The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr. Forbes, the\ndetective, came round at once and took up the case with a great deal of\nenergy. We hired a hansom, and in half an hour we were at the address\nwhich had been given to us. A young woman opened the door, who proved to\nbe Mrs. Tangey\'s eldest daughter. Her mother had not come back yet, and\nwe were shown into the front room to wait.\n\n\"About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here we made the\none serious mistake for which I blame myself. Instead of opening the\ndoor ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. We heard her say, \'Mother,\nthere are two men in the house waiting to see you,\' and an instant\nafterwards we heard the patter of feet rushing down the passage. Forbes\nflung open the door, and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, but\nthe woman had got there before us. She stared at us with defiant\neyes, and then, suddenly recognizing me, an expression of absolute\nastonishment came over her face.\n\n\"\'Why, if it isn\'t Mr. Phelps, of the office!\' she cried.\n\n\"\'Come, come, who did you think we were when you ran away from us?\'\nasked my companion.\n\n\"\'I thought you were the brokers,\' said she, \'we have had some trouble\nwith a tradesman.\'\n\n\"\'That\'s not quite good enough,\' answered Forbes. \'We have reason to\nbelieve that you have taken a paper of importance from the Foreign\nOffice, and that you ran in here to dispose of it. You must come back\nwith us to Scotland Yard to be searched.\'\n\n\"It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A four-wheeler was\nbrought, and we all three drove back in it. We had first made an\nexamination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire, to see\nwhether she might have made away with the papers during the instant that\nshe was alone. There were no signs, however, of any ashes or scraps.\nWhen we reached Scotland Yard she was handed over at once to the female\nsearcher. I waited in an agony of suspense until she came back with her\nreport. There were no signs of the papers.\n\n\"Then for the first time the horror of my situation came in its full\nforce. Hitherto I had been acting, and action had numbed thought. I had\nbeen so confident of regaining the treaty at once that I had not dared\nto think of what would be the consequence if I failed to do so. But\nnow there was nothing more to be done, and I had leisure to realize\nmy position. It was horrible. Watson there would tell you that I was a\nnervous, sensitive boy at school. It is my nature. I thought of my uncle\nand of his colleagues in the Cabinet, of the shame which I had brought\nupon him, upon myself, upon every one connected with me. What though I\nwas the victim of an extraordinary accident? No allowance is made\nfor accidents where diplomatic interests are at stake. I was ruined,\nshamefully, hopelessly ruined. I don\'t know what I did. I fancy I must\nhave made a scene. I have a dim recollection of a group of officials who\ncrowded round me, endeavoring to soothe me. One of them drove down with\nme to Waterloo, and saw me into the Woking train. I believe that he\nwould have come all the way had it not been that Dr. Ferrier, who lives\nnear me, was going down by that very train. The doctor most kindly took\ncharge of me, and it was well he did so, for I had a fit in the station,\nand before we reached home I was practically a raving maniac.\n\n\"You can imagine the state of things here when they were roused from\ntheir beds by the doctor\'s ringing and found me in this condition. Poor\nAnnie here and my mother were broken-hearted. Dr. Ferrier had just heard\nenough from the detective at the station to be able to give an idea of\nwhat had happened, and his story did not mend matters. It was evident to\nall that I was in for a long illness, so Joseph was bundled out of this\ncheery bedroom, and it was turned into a sick-room for me. Here I have\nlain, Mr. Holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving with\nbrain-fever. If it had not been for Miss Harrison here and for the\ndoctor\'s care I should not be speaking to you now. She has nursed me by\nday and a hired nurse has looked after me by night, for in my mad fits\nI was capable of anything. Slowly my reason has cleared, but it is only\nduring the last three days that my memory has quite returned. Sometimes\nI wish that it never had. The first thing that I did was to wire to\nMr. Forbes, who had the case in hand. He came out, and assures me that,\nthough everything has been done, no trace of a clue has been discovered.\nThe commissionnaire and his wife have been examined in every way without\nany light being thrown upon the matter. The suspicions of the police\nthen rested upon young Gorot, who, as you may remember, stayed over time\nin the office that night. His remaining behind and his French name were\nreally the only two points which could suggest suspicion; but, as a\nmatter of fact, I did not begin work until he had gone, and his people\nare of Huguenot extraction, but as English in sympathy and tradition as\nyou and I are. Nothing was found to implicate him in any way, and there\nthe matter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as absolutely my last\nhope. If you fail me, then my honor as well as my position are forever\nforfeited.\"\n\nThe invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this long recital,\nwhile his nurse poured him out a glass of some stimulating medicine.\nHolmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, in\nan attitude which might seem listless to a stranger, but which I knew\nbetokened the most intense self-absorption.\n\n\"You statement has been so explicit,\" said he at last, \"that you have\nreally left me very few questions to ask. There is one of the very\nutmost importance, however. Did you tell any one that you had this\nspecial task to perform?\"\n\n\"No one.\"\n\n\"Not Miss Harrison here, for example?\"\n\n\"No. I had not been back to Woking between getting the order and\nexecuting the commission.\"\n\n\"And none of your people had by chance been to see you?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Did any of them know their way about in the office?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it.\"\n\n\"Still, of course, if you said nothing to any one about the treaty these\ninquiries are irrelevant.\"\n\n\"I said nothing.\"\n\n\"Do you know anything of the commissionnaire?\"\n\n\"Nothing except that he is an old soldier.\"\n\n\"What regiment?\"\n\n\"Oh, I have heard--Coldstream Guards.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I have no doubt I can get details from Forbes. The\nauthorities are excellent at amassing facts, though they do not always\nuse them to advantage. What a lovely thing a rose is!\"\n\nHe walked past the couch to the open window, and held up the drooping\nstalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and\ngreen. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before\nseen him show any keen interest in natural objects.\n\n\"There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion,\"\nsaid he, leaning with his back against the shutters. \"It can be built\nup as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the\ngoodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other\nthings, our powers our desires, our food, are all really necessary for\nour existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its\nsmell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it.\nIt is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have\nmuch to hope from the flowers.\"\n\nPercy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during this demonstration\nwith surprise and a good deal of disappointment written upon their\nfaces. He had fallen into a reverie, with the moss-rose between his\nfingers. It had lasted some minutes before the young lady broke in upon\nit.\n\n\"Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr. Holmes?\" she\nasked, with a touch of asperity in her voice.\n\n\"Oh, the mystery!\" he answered, coming back with a start to the\nrealities of life. \"Well, it would be absurd to deny that the case is\na very abstruse and complicated one, but I can promise you that I will\nlook into the matter and let you know any points which may strike me.\"\n\n\"Do you see any clue?\"\n\n\"You have furnished me with seven, but, of course, I must test them\nbefore I can pronounce upon their value.\"\n\n\"You suspect some one?\"\n\n\"I suspect myself.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Of coming to conclusions too rapidly.\"\n\n\"Then go to London and test your conclusions.\"\n\n\"Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison,\" said Holmes, rising. \"I\nthink, Watson, we cannot do better. Do not allow yourself to indulge in\nfalse hopes, Mr. Phelps. The affair is a very tangled one.\"\n\n\"I shall be in a fever until I see you again,\" cried the diplomatist.\n\n\"Well, I\'ll come out by the same train to-morrow, though it\'s more than\nlikely that my report will be a negative one.\"\n\n\"God bless you for promising to come,\" cried our client. \"It gives me\nfresh life to know that something is being done. By the way, I have had\na letter from Lord Holdhurst.\"\n\n\"Ha! What did he say?\"\n\n\"He was cold, but not harsh. I dare say my severe illness prevented\nhim from being that. He repeated that the matter was of the utmost\nimportance, and added that no steps would be taken about my future--by\nwhich he means, of course, my dismissal--until my health was restored\nand I had an opportunity of repairing my misfortune.\"\n\n\"Well, that was reasonable and considerate,\" said Holmes. \"Come, Watson,\nfor we have a good day\'s work before us in town.\"\n\nMr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and we were soon\nwhirling up in a Portsmouth train. Holmes was sunk in profound thought,\nand hardly opened his mouth until we had passed Clapham Junction.\n\n\"It\'s a very cheery thing to come into London by any of these lines\nwhich run high, and allow you to look down upon the houses like this.\"\n\nI thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but he soon\nexplained himself.\n\n\"Look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising up above the\nslates, like brick islands in a lead-colored sea.\"\n\n\"The board-schools.\"\n\n\"Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with hundreds of\nbright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wise, better\nEngland of the future. I suppose that man Phelps does not drink?\"\n\n\"I should not think so.\"\n\n\"Nor should I, but we are bound to take every possibility into account.\nThe poor devil has certainly got himself into very deep water, and it\'s\na question whether we shall ever be able to get him ashore. What did you\nthink of Miss Harrison?\"\n\n\"A girl of strong character.\"\n\n\"Yes, but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken. She and her brother are\nthe only children of an iron-master somewhere up Northumberland way. He\ngot engaged to her when traveling last winter, and she came down to\nbe introduced to his people, with her brother as escort. Then came\nthe smash, and she stayed on to nurse her lover, while brother Joseph,\nfinding himself pretty snug, stayed on too. I\'ve been making a few\nindependent inquiries, you see. But to-day must be a day of inquiries.\"\n\n\"My practice--\" I began.\n\n\"Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mine--\" said\nHolmes, with some asperity.\n\n\"I was going to say that my practice could get along very well for a day\nor two, since it is the slackest time in the year.\"\n\n\"Excellent,\" said he, recovering his good-humor. \"Then we\'ll look into\nthis matter together. I think that we should begin by seeing Forbes.\nHe can probably tell us all the details we want until we know from what\nside the case is to be approached.\"\n\n\"You said you had a clue?\"\n\n\"Well, we have several, but we can only test their value by further\ninquiry. The most difficult crime to track is the one which is\npurposeless. Now this is not purposeless. Who is it who profits by it?\nThere is the French ambassador, there is the Russian, there is whoever\nmight sell it to either of these, and there is Lord Holdhurst.\"\n\n\"Lord Holdhurst!\"\n\n\"Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might find himself in\na position where he was not sorry to have such a document accidentally\ndestroyed.\"\n\n\"Not a statesman with the honorable record of Lord Holdhurst?\"\n\n\"It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it. We shall see\nthe noble lord to-day and find out if he can tell us anything. Meanwhile\nI have already set inquiries on foot.\"\n\n\"Already?\"\n\n\"Yes, I sent wires from Woking station to every evening paper in London.\nThis advertisement will appear in each of them.\"\n\nHe handed over a sheet torn from a note-book. On it was scribbled in\npencil: \"L10 reward. The number of the cab which dropped a fare at or\nabout the door of the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter to ten\nin the evening of May 23d. Apply 221 B, Baker Street.\"\n\n\"You are confident that the thief came in a cab?\"\n\n\"If not, there is no harm done. But if Mr. Phelps is correct in stating\nthat there is no hiding-place either in the room or the corridors, then\nthe person must have come from outside. If he came from outside on so\nwet a night, and yet left no trace of damp upon the linoleum, which\nwas examined within a few minutes of his passing, then it is exceeding\nprobable that he came in a cab. Yes, I think that we may safely deduce a\ncab.\"\n\n\"It sounds plausible.\"\n\n\"That is one of the clues of which I spoke. It may lead us to something.\nAnd then, of course, there is the bell--which is the most distinctive\nfeature of the case. Why should the bell ring? Was it the thief who did\nit out of bravado? Or was it some one who was with the thief who did it\nin order to prevent the crime? Or was it an accident? Or was it--?\" He\nsank back into the state of intense and silent thought from which he\nhad emerged; but it seemed to me, accustomed as I was to his every mood,\nthat some new possibility had dawned suddenly upon him.\n\nIt was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and after a hasty\nluncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to Scotland Yard. Holmes\nhad already wired to Forbes, and we found him waiting to receive us--a\nsmall, foxy man with a sharp but by no means amiable expression. He\nwas decidedly frigid in his manner to us, especially when he heard the\nerrand upon which we had come.\n\n\"I\'ve heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, tartly.\n\"You are ready enough to use all the information that the police can lay\nat your disposal, and then you try to finish the case yourself and bring\ndiscredit on them.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said Holmes, \"out of my last fifty-three cases my\nname has only appeared in four, and the police have had all the credit\nin forty-nine. I don\'t blame you for not knowing this, for you are young\nand inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in your new duties you will\nwork with me and not against me.\"\n\n\"I\'d be very glad of a hint or two,\" said the detective, changing his\nmanner. \"I\'ve certainly had no credit from the case so far.\"\n\n\"What steps have you taken?\"\n\n\"Tangey, the commissionnaire, has been shadowed. He left the Guards with\na good character and we can find nothing against him. His wife is a bad\nlot, though. I fancy she knows more about this than appears.\"\n\n\"Have you shadowed her?\"\n\n\"We have set one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, and our\nwoman has been with her twice when she was well on, but she could get\nnothing out of her.\"\n\n\"I understand that they have had brokers in the house?\"\n\n\"Yes, but they were paid off.\"\n\n\"Where did the money come from?\"\n\n\"That was all right. His pension was due. They have not shown any sign\nof being in funds.\"\n\n\"What explanation did she give of having answered the bell when Mr.\nPhelps rang for the coffee?\"\n\n\"She said that her husband was very tired and she wished to relieve him.\"\n\n\"Well, certainly that would agree with his being found a little later\nasleep in his chair. There is nothing against them then but the woman\'s\ncharacter. Did you ask her why she hurried away that night? Her haste\nattracted the attention of the police constable.\"\n\n\"She was later than usual and wanted to get home.\"\n\n\"Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who started at least\ntwenty minutes after her, got home before her?\"\n\n\"She explains that by the difference between a \'bus and a hansom.\"\n\n\"Did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she ran into the back\nkitchen?\"\n\n\"Because she had the money there with which to pay off the brokers.\"\n\n\"She has at least an answer for everything. Did you ask her whether in\nleaving she met any one or saw any one loitering about Charles Street?\"\n\n\"She saw no one but the constable.\"\n\n\"Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty thoroughly. What else\nhave you done?\"\n\n\"The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks, but without\nresult. We can show nothing against him.\"\n\n\"Anything else?\"\n\n\"Well, we have nothing else to go upon--no evidence of any kind.\"\n\n\"Have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?\"\n\n\"Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a cool hand, whoever it\nwas, to go and give the alarm like that.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was a queer thing to do. Many thanks to you for what you have\ntold me. If I can put the man into your hands you shall hear from me.\nCome along, Watson.\"\n\n\"Where are we going to now?\" I asked, as we left the office.\n\n\"We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the cabinet minister and\nfuture premier of England.\"\n\nWe were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still in his\nchambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his card we were\ninstantly shown up. The statesman received us with that old-fashioned\ncourtesy for which he is remarkable, and seated us on the two luxuriant\nlounges on either side of the fireplace. Standing on the rug between us,\nwith his slight, tall figure, his sharp features, thoughtful face, and\ncurling hair prematurely tinged with gray, he seemed to represent that\nnot too common type, a nobleman who is in truth noble.\n\n\"Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, smiling. \"And,\nof course, I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object of your visit.\nThere has only been one occurrence in these offices which could call for\nyour attention. In whose interest are you acting, may I ask?\"\n\n\"In that of Mr. Percy Phelps,\" answered Holmes.\n\n\"Ah, my unfortunate nephew! You can understand that our kinship makes\nit the more impossible for me to screen him in any way. I fear that the\nincident must have a very prejudicial effect upon his career.\"\n\n\"But if the document is found?\"\n\n\"Ah, that, of course, would be different.\"\n\n\"I had one or two questions which I wished to ask you, Lord Holdhurst.\"\n\n\"I shall be happy to give you any information in my power.\"\n\n\"Was it in this room that you gave your instructions as to the copying\nof the document?\"\n\n\"It was.\"\n\n\"Then you could hardly have been overheard?\"\n\n\"It is out of the question.\"\n\n\"Did you ever mention to any one that it was your intention to give any\none the treaty to be copied?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"You are certain of that?\"\n\n\"Absolutely.\"\n\n\"Well, since you never said so, and Mr. Phelps never said so, and nobody\nelse knew anything of the matter, then the thief\'s presence in the room\nwas purely accidental. He saw his chance and he took it.\"\n\nThe statesman smiled. \"You take me out of my province there,\" said he.\n\nHolmes considered for a moment. \"There is another very important\npoint which I wish to discuss with you,\" said he. \"You feared, as I\nunderstand, that very grave results might follow from the details of\nthis treaty becoming known.\"\n\nA shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman. \"Very grave\nresults indeed.\"\n\n\"And have they occurred?\"\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\n\"If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or Russian Foreign\nOffice, you would expect to hear of it?\"\n\n\"I should,\" said Lord Holdhurst, with a wry face.\n\n\"Since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and nothing has been heard,\nit is not unfair to suppose that for some reason the treaty has not\nreached them.\"\n\nLord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"We can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief took the treaty in\norder to frame it and hang it up.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he is waiting for a better price.\"\n\n\"If he waits a little longer he will get no price at all. The treaty\nwill cease to be secret in a few months.\"\n\n\"That is most important,\" said Holmes. \"Of course, it is a possible\nsupposition that the thief has had a sudden illness--\"\n\n\"An attack of brain-fever, for example?\" asked the statesman, flashing a\nswift glance at him.\n\n\"I did not say so,\" said Holmes, imperturbably. \"And now, Lord\nHoldhurst, we have already taken up too much of your valuable time, and\nwe shall wish you good-day.\"\n\n\"Every success to your investigation, be the criminal who it may,\"\nanswered the nobleman, as he bowed us out the door.\n\n\"He\'s a fine fellow,\" said Holmes, as we came out into Whitehall. \"But\nhe has a struggle to keep up his position. He is far from rich and has\nmany calls. You noticed, of course, that his boots had been resoled.\nNow, Watson, I won\'t detain you from your legitimate work any longer.\nI shall do nothing more to-day, unless I have an answer to my cab\nadvertisement. But I should be extremely obliged to you if you would\ncome down with me to Woking to-morrow, by the same train which we took\nyesterday.\"\n\n\nI met him accordingly next morning and we traveled down to Woking\ntogether. He had had no answer to his advertisement, he said, and no\nfresh light had been thrown upon the case. He had, when he so willed\nit, the utter immobility of countenance of a red Indian, and I could\nnot gather from his appearance whether he was satisfied or not with\nthe position of the case. His conversation, I remember, was about the\nBertillon system of measurements, and he expressed his enthusiastic\nadmiration of the French savant.\n\nWe found our client still under the charge of his devoted nurse, but\nlooking considerably better than before. He rose from the sofa and\ngreeted us without difficulty when we entered.\n\n\"Any news?\" he asked, eagerly.\n\n\"My report, as I expected, is a negative one,\" said Holmes. \"I have seen\nForbes, and I have seen your uncle, and I have set one or two trains of\ninquiry upon foot which may lead to something.\"\n\n\"You have not lost heart, then?\"\n\n\"By no means.\"\n\n\"God bless you for saying that!\" cried Miss Harrison. \"If we keep our\ncourage and our patience the truth must come out.\"\n\n\"We have more to tell you than you have for us,\" said Phelps, reseating\nhimself upon the couch.\n\n\"I hoped you might have something.\"\n\n\"Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one which might\nhave proved to be a serious one.\" His expression grew very grave as he\nspoke, and a look of something akin to fear sprang up in his eyes. \"Do\nyou know,\" said he, \"that I begin to believe that I am the unconscious\ncentre of some monstrous conspiracy, and that my life is aimed at as\nwell as my honor?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Holmes.\n\n\"It sounds incredible, for I have not, as far as I know, an enemy in\nthe world. Yet from last night\'s experience I can come to no other\nconclusion.\"\n\n\"Pray let me hear it.\"\n\n\"You must know that last night was the very first night that I have ever\nslept without a nurse in the room. I was so much better that I thought\nI could dispense with one. I had a night-light burning, however. Well,\nabout two in the morning I had sunk into a light sleep when I was\nsuddenly aroused by a slight noise. It was like the sound which a mouse\nmakes when it is gnawing a plank, and I lay listening to it for some\ntime under the impression that it must come from that cause. Then it\ngrew louder, and suddenly there came from the window a sharp metallic\nsnick. I sat up in amazement. There could be no doubt what the sounds\nwere now. The first ones had been caused by some one forcing an\ninstrument through the slit between the sashes, and the second by the\ncatch being pressed back.\n\n\"There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the person were\nwaiting to see whether the noise had awakened me. Then I heard a gentle\ncreaking as the window was very slowly opened. I could stand it no\nlonger, for my nerves are not what they used to be. I sprang out of bed\nand flung open the shutters. A man was crouching at the window. I could\nsee little of him, for he was gone like a flash. He was wrapped in some\nsort of cloak which came across the lower part of his face. One thing\nonly I am sure of, and that is that he had some weapon in his hand. It\nlooked to me like a long knife. I distinctly saw the gleam of it as he\nturned to run.\"\n\n\"This is most interesting,\" said Holmes. \"Pray what did you do then?\"\n\n\"I should have followed him through the open window if I had been\nstronger. As it was, I rang the bell and roused the house. It took me\nsome little time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and the servants all\nsleep upstairs. I shouted, however, and that brought Joseph down, and he\nroused the others. Joseph and the groom found marks on the bed outside\nthe window, but the weather has been so dry lately that they found it\nhopeless to follow the trail across the grass. There\'s a place, however,\non the wooden fence which skirts the road which shows signs, they tell\nme, as if some one had got over, and had snapped the top of the rail in\ndoing so. I have said nothing to the local police yet, for I thought I\nhad best have your opinion first.\"\n\nThis tale of our client\'s appeared to have an extraordinary effect upon\nSherlock Holmes. He rose from his chair and paced about the room in\nuncontrollable excitement.\n\n\"Misfortunes never come single,\" said Phelps, smiling, though it was\nevident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him.\n\n\"You have certainly had your share,\" said Holmes. \"Do you think you\ncould walk round the house with me?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine. Joseph will come, too.\"\n\n\"And I also,\" said Miss Harrison.\n\n\"I am afraid not,\" said Holmes, shaking his head. \"I think I must ask\nyou to remain sitting exactly where you are.\"\n\nThe young lady resumed her seat with an air of displeasure. Her brother,\nhowever, had joined us and we set off all four together. We passed round\nthe lawn to the outside of the young diplomatist\'s window. There were,\nas he had said, marks upon the bed, but they were hopelessly blurred and\nvague. Holmes stopped over them for an instant, and then rose shrugging\nhis shoulders.\n\n\"I don\'t think any one could make much of this,\" said he. \"Let us go\nround the house and see why this particular room was chosen by the\nburglar. I should have thought those larger windows of the drawing-room\nand dining-room would have had more attractions for him.\"\n\n\"They are more visible from the road,\" suggested Mr. Joseph Harrison.\n\n\"Ah, yes, of course. There is a door here which he might have attempted.\nWhat is it for?\"\n\n\"It is the side entrance for trades-people. Of course it is locked at\nnight.\"\n\n\"Have you ever had an alarm like this before?\"\n\n\"Never,\" said our client.\n\n\"Do you keep plate in the house, or anything to attract burglars?\"\n\n\"Nothing of value.\"\n\nHolmes strolled round the house with his hands in his pockets and a\nnegligent air which was unusual with him.\n\n\"By the way,\" said he to Joseph Harrison, \"you found some place, I\nunderstand, where the fellow scaled the fence. Let us have a look at\nthat!\"\n\nThe plump young man led us to a spot where the top of one of the wooden\nrails had been cracked. A small fragment of the wood was hanging down.\nHolmes pulled it off and examined it critically.\n\n\"Do you think that was done last night? It looks rather old, does it\nnot?\"\n\n\"Well, possibly so.\"\n\n\"There are no marks of any one jumping down upon the other side. No, I\nfancy we shall get no help here. Let us go back to the bedroom and talk\nthe matter over.\"\n\nPercy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of his future\nbrother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the lawn, and we were at\nthe open window of the bedroom long before the others came up.\n\n\"Miss Harrison,\" said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity of\nmanner, \"you must stay where you are all day. Let nothing prevent you\nfrom staying where you are all day. It is of the utmost importance.\"\n\n\"Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes,\" said the girl in astonishment.\n\n\"When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the outside and keep\nthe key. Promise to do this.\"\n\n\"But Percy?\"\n\n\"He will come to London with us.\"\n\n\"And am I to remain here?\"\n\n\"It is for his sake. You can serve him. Quick! Promise!\"\n\nShe gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up.\n\n\"Why do you sit moping there, Annie?\" cried her brother. \"Come out into\nthe sunshine!\"\n\n\"No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and this room is\ndeliciously cool and soothing.\"\n\n\"What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?\" asked our client.\n\n\"Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sight of our\nmain inquiry. It would be a very great help to me if you would come up\nto London with us.\"\n\n\"At once?\"\n\n\"Well, as soon as you conveniently can. Say in an hour.\"\n\n\"I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any help.\"\n\n\"The greatest possible.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?\"\n\n\"I was just going to propose it.\"\n\n\"Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he will find the\nbird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr. Holmes, and you must tell us\nexactly what you would like done. Perhaps you would prefer that Joseph\ncame with us so as to look after me?\"\n\n\"Oh, no; my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and he\'ll look\nafter you. We\'ll have our lunch here, if you will permit us, and then we\nshall all three set off for town together.\"\n\nIt was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excused herself\nfrom leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmes\'s suggestion. What\nthe object of my friend\'s manoeuvres was I could not conceive, unless it\nwere to keep the lady away from Phelps, who, rejoiced by his\nreturning health and by the prospect of action, lunched with us in the\ndining-room. Holmes had a still more startling surprise for us, however,\nfor, after accompanying us down to the station and seeing us into\nour carriage, he calmly announced that he had no intention of leaving\nWoking.\n\n\"There are one or two small points which I should desire to clear up\nbefore I go,\" said he. \"Your absence, Mr. Phelps, will in some ways\nrather assist me. Watson, when you reach London you would oblige me by\ndriving at once to Baker Street with our friend here, and remaining\nwith him until I see you again. It is fortunate that you are old\nschool-fellows, as you must have much to talk over. Mr. Phelps can\nhave the spare bedroom to-night, and I will be with you in time for\nbreakfast, for there is a train which will take me into Waterloo at\neight.\"\n\n\"But how about our investigation in London?\" asked Phelps, ruefully.\n\n\"We can do that to-morrow. I think that just at present I can be of more\nimmediate use here.\"\n\n\"You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be back to-morrow\nnight,\" cried Phelps, as we began to move from the platform.\n\n\"I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae,\" answered Holmes, and waved\nhis hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the station.\n\nPhelps and I talked it over on our journey, but neither of us could\ndevise a satisfactory reason for this new development.\n\n\"I suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the burglary last night,\nif a burglar it was. For myself, I don\'t believe it was an ordinary\nthief.\"\n\n\"What is your own idea, then?\"\n\n\"Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but I\nbelieve there is some deep political intrigue going on around me, and\nthat for some reason that passes my understanding my life is aimed at\nby the conspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd, but consider the\nfacts! Why should a thief try to break in at a bedroom window, where\nthere could be no hope of any plunder, and why should he come with a\nlong knife in his hand?\"\n\n\"You are sure it was not a house-breaker\'s jimmy?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of the blade quite distinctly.\"\n\n\"But why on earth should you be pursued with such animosity?\"\n\n\"Ah, that is the question.\"\n\n\"Well, if Holmes takes the same view, that would account for his action,\nwould it not? Presuming that your theory is correct, if he can lay his\nhands upon the man who threatened you last night he will have gone a\nlong way towards finding who took the naval treaty. It is absurd to\nsuppose that you have two enemies, one of whom robs you, while the other\nthreatens your life.\"\n\n\"But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae.\"\n\n\"I have known him for some time,\" said I, \"but I never knew him do\nanything yet without a very good reason,\" and with that our conversation\ndrifted off on to other topics.\n\nBut it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak after his long\nillness, and his misfortune made him querulous and nervous. In vain\nI endeavored to interest him in Afghanistan, in India, in social\nquestions, in anything which might take his mind out of the groove.\nHe would always come back to his lost treaty, wondering, guessing,\nspeculating, as to what Holmes was doing, what steps Lord Holdhurst was\ntaking, what news we should have in the morning. As the evening wore on\nhis excitement became quite painful.\n\n\"You have implicit faith in Holmes?\" he asked.\n\n\"I have seen him do some remarkable things.\"\n\n\"But he never brought light into anything quite so dark as this?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; I have known him solve questions which presented fewer clues\nthan yours.\"\n\n\"But not where such large interests are at stake?\"\n\n\"I don\'t know that. To my certain knowledge he has acted on behalf of\nthree of the reigning houses of Europe in very vital matters.\"\n\n\"But you know him well, Watson. He is such an inscrutable fellow that I\nnever quite know what to make of him. Do you think he is hopeful? Do you\nthink he expects to make a success of it?\"\n\n\"He has said nothing.\"\n\n\"That is a bad sign.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I have noticed that when he is off the trail he\ngenerally says so. It is when he is on a scent and is not quite\nabsolutely sure yet that it is the right one that he is most taciturn.\nNow, my dear fellow, we can\'t help matters by making ourselves nervous\nabout them, so let me implore you to go to bed and so be fresh for\nwhatever may await us to-morrow.\"\n\nI was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice, though I\nknew from his excited manner that there was not much hope of sleep for\nhim. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I lay tossing half the night\nmyself, brooding over this strange problem, and inventing a hundred\ntheories, each of which was more impossible than the last. Why had\nHolmes remained at Woking? Why had he asked Miss Harrison to remain\nin the sick-room all day? Why had he been so careful not to inform the\npeople at Briarbrae that he intended to remain near them? I cudgelled\nmy brains until I fell asleep in the endeavor to find some explanation\nwhich would cover all these facts.\n\nIt was seven o\'clock when I awoke, and I set off at once for Phelps\'s\nroom, to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night. His first\nquestion was whether Holmes had arrived yet.\n\n\"He\'ll be here when he promised,\" said I, \"and not an instant sooner or\nlater.\"\n\nAnd my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed up to\nthe door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the window we saw\nthat his left hand was swathed in a bandage and that his face was very\ngrim and pale. He entered the house, but it was some little time before\nhe came upstairs.\n\n\"He looks like a beaten man,\" cried Phelps.\n\nI was forced to confess that he was right. \"After all,\" said I, \"the\nclue of the matter lies probably here in town.\"\n\nPhelps gave a groan.\n\n\"I don\'t know how it is,\" said he, \"but I had hoped for so much from his\nreturn. But surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday. What\ncan be the matter?\"\n\n\"You are not wounded, Holmes?\" I asked, as my friend entered the room.\n\n\"Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness,\" he answered,\nnodding his good-mornings to us. \"This case of yours, Mr. Phelps, is\ncertainly one of the darkest which I have ever investigated.\"\n\n\"I feared that you would find it beyond you.\"\n\n\"It has been a most remarkable experience.\"\n\n\"That bandage tells of adventures,\" said I. \"Won\'t you tell us what has\nhappened?\"\n\n\"After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathed thirty\nmiles of Surrey air this morning. I suppose that there has been no\nanswer from my cabman advertisement? Well, well, we cannot expect to\nscore every time.\"\n\nThe table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs. Hudson\nentered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later she brought in\nthree covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmes ravenous, I\ncurious, and Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression.\n\n\"Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion,\" said Holmes, uncovering a dish\nof curried chicken. \"Her cuisine is a little limited, but she has\nas good an idea of breakfast as a Scotch-woman. What have you here,\nWatson?\"\n\n\"Ham and eggs,\" I answered.\n\n\"Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps--curried fowl or eggs, or\nwill you help yourself?\"\n\n\"Thank you. I can eat nothing,\" said Phelps.\n\n\"Oh, come! Try the dish before you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, I would really rather not.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, \"I suppose that\nyou have no objection to helping me?\"\n\nPhelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream, and sat\nthere staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he looked.\nAcross the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of blue-gray paper.\nHe caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then danced madly about\nthe room, pressing it to his bosom and shrieking out in his delight.\nThen he fell back into an arm-chair so limp and exhausted with his own\nemotions that we had to pour brandy down his throat to keep him from\nfainting.\n\n\"There! there!\" said Holmes, soothing, patting him upon the shoulder.\n\"It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watson here will tell\nyou that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic.\"\n\nPhelps seized his hand and kissed it. \"God bless you!\" he cried. \"You\nhave saved my honor.\"\n\n\"Well, my own was at stake, you know,\" said Holmes. \"I assure you it is\njust as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you to blunder\nover a commission.\"\n\nPhelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost pocket of\nhis coat.\n\n\"I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further, and yet I\nam dying to know how you got it and where it was.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned his attention to\nthe ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, and settled himself down\ninto his chair.\n\n\"I\'ll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do it afterwards,\"\nsaid he. \"After leaving you at the station I went for a charming walk\nthrough some admirable Surrey scenery to a pretty little village called\nRipley, where I had my tea at an inn, and took the precaution of filling\nmy flask and of putting a paper of sandwiches in my pocket. There I\nremained until evening, when I set off for Woking again, and found\nmyself in the high-road outside Briarbrae just after sunset.\n\n\"Well, I waited until the road was clear--it is never a very frequented\none at any time, I fancy--and then I clambered over the fence into the\ngrounds.\"\n\n\"Surely the gate was open!\" ejaculated Phelps.\n\n\"Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters. I chose the place\nwhere the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen I got over\nwithout the least chance of any one in the house being able to see me.\nI crouched down among the bushes on the other side, and crawled from one\nto the other--witness the disreputable state of my trouser knees--until\nI had reached the clump of rhododendrons just opposite to your bedroom\nwindow. There I squatted down and awaited developments.\n\n\"The blind was not down in your room, and I could see Miss Harrison\nsitting there reading by the table. It was quarter-past ten when she\nclosed her book, fastened the shutters, and retired.\n\n\"I heard her shut the door, and felt quite sure that she had turned the\nkey in the lock.\"\n\n\"The key!\" ejaculated Phelps.\n\n\"Yes; I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door on the\noutside and take the key with her when she went to bed. She carried out\nevery one of my injunctions to the letter, and certainly without her\ncooperation you would not have that paper in your coat-pocket. She\ndeparted then and the lights went out, and I was left squatting in the\nrhododendron-bush.\n\n\"The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. Of course it\nhas the sort of excitement about it that the sportsman feels when he\nlies beside the water-course and waits for the big game. It was very\nlong, though--almost as long, Watson, as when you and I waited in that\ndeadly room when we looked into the little problem of the Speckled Band.\nThere was a church-clock down at Woking which struck the quarters, and I\nthought more than once that it had stopped. At last however about two\nin the morning, I suddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushed\nback and the creaking of a key. A moment later the servants\' door was\nopened, and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out into the moonlight.\"\n\n\"Joseph!\" ejaculated Phelps.\n\n\"He was bare-headed, but he had a black coat thrown over his shoulder so\nthat he could conceal his face in an instant if there were any alarm. He\nwalked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall, and when he reached the\nwindow he worked a long-bladed knife through the sash and pushed back\nthe catch. Then he flung open the window, and putting his knife through\nthe crack in the shutters, he thrust the bar up and swung them open.\n\n\"From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the room and of\nevery one of his movements. He lit the two candles which stood upon the\nmantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back the corner of the carpet\nin the neighborhood of the door. Presently he stopped and picked out a\nsquare piece of board, such as is usually left to enable plumbers to get\nat the joints of the gas-pipes. This one covered, as a matter of\nfact, the T joint which gives off the pipe which supplies the kitchen\nunderneath. Out of this hiding-place he drew that little cylinder\nof paper, pushed down the board, rearranged the carpet, blew out the\ncandles, and walked straight into my arms as I stood waiting for him\noutside the window.\n\n\"Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him credit for, has\nMaster Joseph. He flew at me with his knife, and I had to grasp him\ntwice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before I had the upper hand of\nhim. He looked murder out of the only eye he could see with when we had\nfinished, but he listened to reason and gave up the papers. Having\ngot them I let my man go, but I wired full particulars to Forbes this\nmorning. If he is quick enough to catch his bird, well and good. But\nif, as I shrewdly suspect, he finds the nest empty before he gets there,\nwhy, all the better for the government. I fancy that Lord Holdhurst for\none, and Mr. Percy Phelps for another, would very much rather that the\naffair never got as far as a police-court.\n\n\"My God!\" gasped our client. \"Do you tell me that during these long ten\nweeks of agony the stolen papers were within the very room with me all\nthe time?\"\n\n\"So it was.\"\n\n\"And Joseph! Joseph a villain and a thief!\"\n\n\"Hum! I am afraid Joseph\'s character is a rather deeper and more\ndangerous one than one might judge from his appearance. From what I\nhave heard from him this morning, I gather that he has lost heavily in\ndabbling with stocks, and that he is ready to do anything on earth to\nbetter his fortunes. Being an absolutely selfish man, when a chance\npresented itself he did not allow either his sister\'s happiness or your\nreputation to hold his hand.\"\n\nPercy Phelps sank back in his chair. \"My head whirls,\" said he. \"Your\nwords have dazed me.\"\n\n\"The principal difficulty in your case,\" remarked Holmes, in his\ndidactic fashion, \"lay in the fact of there being too much evidence.\nWhat was vital was overlaid and hidden by what was irrelevant. Of all\nthe facts which were presented to us we had to pick just those which we\ndeemed to be essential, and then piece them together in their order, so\nas to reconstruct this very remarkable chain of events. I had already\nbegun to suspect Joseph, from the fact that you had intended to travel\nhome with him that night, and that therefore it was a likely enough\nthing that he should call for you, knowing the Foreign Office well, upon\nhis way. When I heard that some one had been so anxious to get into the\nbedroom, in which no one but Joseph could have concealed anything--you\ntold us in your narrative how you had turned Joseph out when you arrived\nwith the doctor--my suspicions all changed to certainties, especially as\nthe attempt was made on the first night upon which the nurse was absent,\nshowing that the intruder was well acquainted with the ways of the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"How blind I have been!\"\n\n\"The facts of the case, as far as I have worked them out, are these:\nthis Joseph Harrison entered the office through the Charles Street door,\nand knowing his way he walked straight into your room the instant after\nyou left it. Finding no one there he promptly rang the bell, and at\nthe instant that he did so his eyes caught the paper upon the table.\nA glance showed him that chance had put in his way a State document of\nimmense value, and in an instant he had thrust it into his pocket and\nwas gone. A few minutes elapsed, as you remember, before the sleepy\ncommissionnaire drew your attention to the bell, and those were just\nenough to give the thief time to make his escape.\n\n\"He made his way to Woking by the first train, and having examined his\nbooty and assured himself that it really was of immense value, he\nhad concealed it in what he thought was a very safe place, with the\nintention of taking it out again in a day or two, and carrying it to the\nFrench embassy, or wherever he thought that a long price was to be\nhad. Then came your sudden return. He, without a moment\'s warning, was\nbundled out of his room, and from that time onward there were always at\nleast two of you there to prevent him from regaining his treasure. The\nsituation to him must have been a maddening one. But at last he thought\nhe saw his chance. He tried to steal in, but was baffled by your\nwakefulness. You remember that you did not take your usual draught that\nnight.\"\n\n\"I remember.\"\n\n\"I fancy that he had taken steps to make that draught efficacious,\nand that he quite relied upon your being unconscious. Of course, I\nunderstood that he would repeat the attempt whenever it could be done\nwith safety. Your leaving the room gave him the chance he wanted. I kept\nMiss Harrison in it all day so that he might not anticipate us. Then,\nhaving given him the idea that the coast was clear, I kept guard as\nI have described. I already knew that the papers were probably in the\nroom, but I had no desire to rip up all the planking and skirting in\nsearch of them. I let him take them, therefore, from the hiding-place,\nand so saved myself an infinity of trouble. Is there any other point\nwhich I can make clear?\"\n\n\"Why did he try the window on the first occasion,\" I asked, \"when he\nmight have entered by the door?\"\n\n\"In reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms. On the other\nhand, he could get out on to the lawn with ease. Anything else?\"\n\n\"You do not think,\" asked Phelps, \"that he had any murderous intention?\nThe knife was only meant as a tool.\"\n\n\"It may be so,\" answered Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. \"I can only\nsay for certain that Mr. Joseph Harrison is a gentleman to whose mercy I\nshould be extremely unwilling to trust.\"\n\n\n\n\nAdventure XI. The Final Problem\n\n\nIt is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last\nwords in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend\nMr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In an incoherent and, as I deeply\nfeel, an entirely inadequate fashion, I have endeavored to give some\naccount of my strange experiences in his company from the chance which\nfirst brought us together at the period of the \"Study in Scarlet,\" up\nto the time of his interference in the matter of the \"Naval Treaty\"--an\ninterference which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a serious\ninternational complication. It was my intention to have stopped there,\nand to have said nothing of that event which has created a void in my\nlife which the lapse of two years has done little to fill. My hand\nhas been forced, however, by the recent letters in which Colonel James\nMoriarty defends the memory of his brother, and I have no choice but to\nlay the facts before the public exactly as they occurred. I alone know\nthe absolute truth of the matter, and I am satisfied that the time has\ncome when no good purpose is to be served by its suppression. As far as\nI know, there have been only three accounts in the public press: that\nin the Journal de Geneve on May 6th, 1891, the Reuter\'s despatch in the\nEnglish papers on May 7th, and finally the recent letter to which I have\nalluded. Of these the first and second were extremely condensed, while\nthe last is, as I shall now show, an absolute perversion of the facts.\nIt lies with me to tell for the first time what really took place\nbetween Professor Moriarty and Mr. Sherlock Holmes.\n\nIt may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in\nprivate practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between\nHolmes and myself became to some extent modified. He still came to me\nfrom time to time when he desired a companion in his investigation, but\nthese occasions grew more and more seldom, until I find that in the year\n1890 there were only three cases of which I retain any record. During\nthe winter of that year and the early spring of 1891, I saw in the\npapers that he had been engaged by the French government upon a matter\nof supreme importance, and I received two notes from Holmes, dated from\nNarbonne and from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay in France\nwas likely to be a long one. It was with some surprise, therefore, that\nI saw him walk into my consulting-room upon the evening of April 24th.\nIt struck me that he was looking even paler and thinner than usual.\n\n\"Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely,\" he remarked, in\nanswer to my look rather than to my words; \"I have been a little pressed\nof late. Have you any objection to my closing your shutters?\"\n\nThe only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at which I\nhad been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall and flinging the\nshutters together, he bolted them securely.\n\n\"You are afraid of something?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, I am.\"\n\n\"Of what?\"\n\n\"Of air-guns.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes, what do you mean?\"\n\n\"I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to understand that I am\nby no means a nervous man. At the same time, it is stupidity rather than\ncourage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you. Might\nI trouble you for a match?\" He drew in the smoke of his cigarette as if\nthe soothing influence was grateful to him.\n\n\"I must apologize for calling so late,\" said he, \"and I must further beg\nyou to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave your house presently\nby scrambling over your back garden wall.\"\n\n\"But what does it all mean?\" I asked.\n\nHe held out his hand, and I saw in the light of the lamp that two of his\nknuckles were burst and bleeding.\n\n\"It is not an airy nothing, you see,\" said he, smiling. \"On the\ncontrary, it is solid enough for a man to break his hand over. Is Mrs.\nWatson in?\"\n\n\"She is away upon a visit.\"\n\n\"Indeed! You are alone?\"\n\n\"Quite.\"\n\n\"Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should come away\nwith me for a week to the Continent.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Oh, anywhere. It\'s all the same to me.\"\n\nThere was something very strange in all this. It was not Holmes\'s nature\nto take an aimless holiday, and something about his pale, worn face told\nme that his nerves were at their highest tension. He saw the question in\nmy eyes, and, putting his finger-tips together and his elbows upon his\nknees, he explained the situation.\n\n\"You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?\" said he.\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Aye, there\'s the genius and the wonder of the thing!\" he cried. \"The\nman pervades London, and no one has heard of him. That\'s what puts\nhim on a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you, Watson, in all\nseriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I could free society\nof him, I should feel that my own career had reached its summit, and\nI should be prepared to turn to some more placid line in life. Between\nourselves, the recent cases in which I have been of assistance to the\nroyal family of Scandinavia, and to the French republic, have left me in\nsuch a position that I could continue to live in the quiet fashion\nwhich is most congenial to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my\nchemical researches. But I could not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet\nin my chair, if I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty were\nwalking the streets of London unchallenged.\"\n\n\"What has he done, then?\"\n\n\"His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good birth and\nexcellent education, endowed by nature with a phenomenal mathematical\nfaculty. At the age of twenty-one he wrote a treatise upon the Binomial\nTheorem, which has had a European vogue. On the strength of it he won\nthe Mathematical Chair at one of our smaller universities, and had, to\nall appearances, a most brilliant career before him. But the man had\nhereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind. A criminal strain\nran in his blood, which, instead of being modified, was increased and\nrendered infinitely more dangerous by his extraordinary mental powers.\nDark rumors gathered round him in the university town, and eventually he\nwas compelled to resign his chair and to come down to London, where he\nset up as an army coach. So much is known to the world, but what I am\ntelling you now is what I have myself discovered.\n\n\"As you are aware, Watson, there is no one who knows the higher criminal\nworld of London so well as I do. For years past I have continually been\nconscious of some power behind the malefactor, some deep organizing\npower which forever stands in the way of the law, and throws its shield\nover the wrong-doer. Again and again in cases of the most varying\nsorts--forgery cases, robberies, murders--I have felt the presence of\nthis force, and I have deduced its action in many of those undiscovered\ncrimes in which I have not been personally consulted. For years I have\nendeavored to break through the veil which shrouded it, and at last\nthe time came when I seized my thread and followed it, until it led\nme, after a thousand cunning windings, to ex-Professor Moriarty of\nmathematical celebrity.\n\n\"He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half that\nis evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a\ngenius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first\norder. He sits motionless, like a spider in the center of its web, but\nthat web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of\neach of them. He does little himself. He only plans. But his agents are\nnumerous and splendidly organized. Is there a crime to be done, a\npaper to be abstracted, we will say, a house to be rifled, a man to be\nremoved--the word is passed to the Professor, the matter is organized\nand carried out. The agent may be caught. In that case money is found\nfor his bail or his defence. But the central power which uses the agent\nis never caught--never so much as suspected. This was the organization\nwhich I deduced, Watson, and which I devoted my whole energy to exposing\nand breaking up.\n\n\"But the Professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunningly devised\nthat, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get evidence which would\nconvict in a court of law. You know my powers, my dear Watson, and yet\nat the end of three months I was forced to confess that I had at last\nmet an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes\nwas lost in my admiration at his skill. But at last he made a trip--only\na little, little trip--but it was more than he could afford when I was\nso close upon him. I had my chance, and, starting from that point, I\nhave woven my net round him until now it is all ready to close. In three\ndays--that is to say, on Monday next--matters will be ripe, and the\nProfessor, with all the principal members of his gang, will be in the\nhands of the police. Then will come the greatest criminal trial of the\ncentury, the clearing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all\nof them; but if we move at all prematurely, you understand, they may\nslip out of our hands even at the last moment.\n\n\"Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of Professor\nMoriarty, all would have been well. But he was too wily for that. He saw\nevery step which I took to draw my toils round him. Again and again\nhe strove to break away, but I as often headed him off. I tell you,\nmy friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could\nbe written, it would take its place as the most brilliant bit of\nthrust-and-parry work in the history of detection. Never have I risen to\nsuch a height, and never have I been so hard pressed by an opponent. He\ncut deep, and yet I just undercut him. This morning the last steps were\ntaken, and three days only were wanted to complete the business. I was\nsitting in my room thinking the matter over, when the door opened and\nProfessor Moriarty stood before me.\n\n\"My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must confess to a start when\nI saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughts standing there on\nmy threshhold. His appearance was quite familiar to me. He is extremely\ntall and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and his two\neyes are deeply sunken in his head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and\nascetic-looking, retaining something of the professor in his features.\nHis shoulders are rounded from much study, and his face protrudes\nforward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a\ncuriously reptilian fashion. He peered at me with great curiosity in his\npuckered eyes.\n\n\"\'You have less frontal development than I should have expected,\' said\nhe, at last. \'It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the\npocket of one\'s dressing-gown.\'\n\n\"The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly recognized the\nextreme personal danger in which I lay. The only conceivable escape for\nhim lay in silencing my tongue. In an instant I had slipped the revolver\nfrom the drawer into my pocket, and was covering him through the cloth.\nAt his remark I drew the weapon out and laid it cocked upon the table.\nHe still smiled and blinked, but there was something about his eyes\nwhich made me feel very glad that I had it there.\n\n\"\'You evidently don\'t know me,\' said he.\n\n\"\'On the contrary,\' I answered, \'I think it is fairly evident that I do.\nPray take a chair. I can spare you five minutes if you have anything to\nsay.\'\n\n\"\'All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,\' said he.\n\n\"\'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,\' I replied.\n\n\"\'You stand fast?\'\n\n\"\'Absolutely.\'\n\n\"He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the pistol from\nthe table. But he merely drew out a memorandum-book in which he had\nscribbled some dates.\n\n\"\'You crossed my path on the 4th of January,\' said he. \'On the 23d you\nincommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced\nby you; at the end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans; and\nnow, at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position\nthrough your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of\nlosing my liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one.\'\n\n\"\'Have you any suggestion to make?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,\' said he, swaying his face about. \'You\nreally must, you know.\'\n\n\"\'After Monday,\' said I.\n\n\"\'Tut, tut,\' said he. \'I am quite sure that a man of your intelligence\nwill see that there can be but one outcome to this affair. It is\nnecessary that you should withdraw. You have worked things in such a\nfashion that we have only one resource left. It has been an intellectual\ntreat to me to see the way in which you have grappled with this affair,\nand I say, unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to be forced\nto take any extreme measure. You smile, sir, but I assure you that it\nreally would.\'\n\n\"\'Danger is part of my trade,\' I remarked.\n\n\"\'That is not danger,\' said he. \'It is inevitable destruction. You stand\nin the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organization,\nthe full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable\nto realize. You must stand clear, Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot.\'\n\n\"\'I am afraid,\' said I, rising, \'that in the pleasure of this\nconversation I am neglecting business of importance which awaits me\nelsewhere.\'\n\n\"He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head sadly.\n\n\"\'Well, well,\' said he, at last. \'It seems a pity, but I have done\nwhat I could. I know every move of your game. You can do nothing before\nMonday. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes. You hope to\nplace me in the dock. I tell you that I will never stand in the dock.\nYou hope to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me. If you are\nclever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do\nas much to you.\'\n\n\"\'You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty,\' said I. \'Let me\npay you one in return when I say that if I were assured of the former\neventuality I would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept\nthe latter.\'\n\n\"\'I can promise you the one, but not the other,\' he snarled, and so\nturned his rounded back upon me, and went peering and blinking out of\nthe room.\n\n\"That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty. I confess that\nit left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. His soft, precise fashion\nof speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which a mere bully could\nnot produce. Of course, you will say: \'Why not take police precautions\nagainst him?\' the reason is that I am well convinced that it is from his\nagents the blow will fall. I have the best proofs that it would be so.\"\n\n\"You have already been assaulted?\"\n\n\"My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets the grass grow\nunder his feet. I went out about mid-day to transact some business in\nOxford Street. As I passed the corner which leads from Bentinck Street\non to the Welbeck Street crossing a two-horse van furiously driven\nwhizzed round and was on me like a flash. I sprang for the foot-path\nand saved myself by the fraction of a second. The van dashed round by\nMarylebone Lane and was gone in an instant. I kept to the pavement after\nthat, Watson, but as I walked down Vere Street a brick came down from\nthe roof of one of the houses, and was shattered to fragments at my\nfeet. I called the police and had the place examined. There were slates\nand bricks piled up on the roof preparatory to some repairs, and they\nwould have me believe that the wind had toppled over one of these. Of\ncourse I knew better, but I could prove nothing. I took a cab after that\nand reached my brother\'s rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now\nI have come round to you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough with a\nbludgeon. I knocked him down, and the police have him in custody; but\nI can tell you with the most absolute confidence that no possible\nconnection will ever be traced between the gentleman upon whose front\nteeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring mathematical coach, who\nis, I dare say, working out problems upon a black-board ten miles away.\nYou will not wonder, Watson, that my first act on entering your rooms\nwas to close your shutters, and that I have been compelled to ask your\npermission to leave the house by some less conspicuous exit than the\nfront door.\"\n\nI had often admired my friend\'s courage, but never more than now, as he\nsat quietly checking off a series of incidents which must have combined\nto make up a day of horror.\n\n\"You will spend the night here?\" I said.\n\n\"No, my friend, you might find me a dangerous guest. I have my plans\nlaid, and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now that they can\nmove without my help as far as the arrest goes, though my presence is\nnecessary for a conviction. It is obvious, therefore, that I cannot do\nbetter than get away for the few days which remain before the police are\nat liberty to act. It would be a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you\ncould come on to the Continent with me.\"\n\n\"The practice is quiet,\" said I, \"and I have an accommodating neighbor.\nI should be glad to come.\"\n\n\"And to start to-morrow morning?\"\n\n\"If necessary.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, it is most necessary. Then these are your instructions, and I\nbeg, my dear Watson, that you will obey them to the letter, for you are\nnow playing a double-handed game with me against the cleverest rogue and\nthe most powerful syndicate of criminals in Europe. Now listen! You\nwill dispatch whatever luggage you intend to take by a trusty messenger\nunaddressed to Victoria to-night. In the morning you will send for a\nhansom, desiring your man to take neither the first nor the second which\nmay present itself. Into this hansom you will jump, and you will drive\nto the Strand end of the Lowther Arcade, handing the address to the\ncabman upon a slip of paper, with a request that he will not throw it\naway. Have your fare ready, and the instant that your cab stops,\ndash through the Arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a\nquarter-past nine. You will find a small brougham waiting close to the\ncurb, driven by a fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped at the collar\nwith red. Into this you will step, and you will reach Victoria in time\nfor the Continental express.\"\n\n\"Where shall I meet you?\"\n\n\"At the station. The second first-class carriage from the front will be\nreserved for us.\"\n\n\"The carriage is our rendezvous, then?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nIt was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the evening. It was\nevident to me that he thought he might bring trouble to the roof he was\nunder, and that that was the motive which impelled him to go. With a few\nhurried words as to our plans for the morrow he rose and came out with\nme into the garden, clambering over the wall which leads into Mortimer\nStreet, and immediately whistling for a hansom, in which I heard him\ndrive away.\n\nIn the morning I obeyed Holmes\'s injunctions to the letter. A hansom was\nprocured with such precaution as would prevent its being one which was\nplaced ready for us, and I drove immediately after breakfast to the\nLowther Arcade, through which I hurried at the top of my speed. A\nbrougham was waiting with a very massive driver wrapped in a dark cloak,\nwho, the instant that I had stepped in, whipped up the horse and rattled\noff to Victoria Station. On my alighting there he turned the carriage,\nand dashed away again without so much as a look in my direction.\n\nSo far all had gone admirably. My luggage was waiting for me, and I had\nno difficulty in finding the carriage which Holmes had indicated, the\nless so as it was the only one in the train which was marked \"Engaged.\"\nMy only source of anxiety now was the non-appearance of Holmes. The\nstation clock marked only seven minutes from the time when we were\ndue to start. In vain I searched among the groups of travellers and\nleave-takers for the lithe figure of my friend. There was no sign of\nhim. I spent a few minutes in assisting a venerable Italian priest, who\nwas endeavoring to make a porter understand, in his broken English,\nthat his luggage was to be booked through to Paris. Then, having taken\nanother look round, I returned to my carriage, where I found that the\nporter, in spite of the ticket, had given me my decrepit Italian friend\nas a traveling companion. It was useless for me to explain to him that\nhis presence was an intrusion, for my Italian was even more limited than\nhis English, so I shrugged my shoulders resignedly, and continued to\nlook out anxiously for my friend. A chill of fear had come over me, as I\nthought that his absence might mean that some blow had fallen during the\nnight. Already the doors had all been shut and the whistle blown, when--\n\n\"My dear Watson,\" said a voice, \"you have not even condescended to say\ngood-morning.\"\n\nI turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The aged ecclesiastic had\nturned his face towards me. For an instant the wrinkles were smoothed\naway, the nose drew away from the chin, the lower lip ceased to protrude\nand the mouth to mumble, the dull eyes regained their fire, the drooping\nfigure expanded. The next the whole frame collapsed again, and Holmes\nhad gone as quickly as he had come.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I cried; \"how you startled me!\"\n\n\"Every precaution is still necessary,\" he whispered. \"I have reason to\nthink that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself.\"\n\nThe train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancing back, I\nsaw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the crowd, and waving\nhis hand as if he desired to have the train stopped. It was too late,\nhowever, for we were rapidly gathering momentum, and an instant later\nhad shot clear of the station.\n\n\"With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it rather fine,\"\nsaid Holmes, laughing. He rose, and throwing off the black cassock and\nhat which had formed his disguise, he packed them away in a hand-bag.\n\n\"Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You haven\'t\' seen about Baker Street, then?\"\n\n\"Baker Street?\"\n\n\"They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm was done.\"\n\n\"Good heavens, Holmes! this is intolerable.\"\n\n\"They must have lost my track completely after their bludgeon-man was\narrested. Otherwise they could not have imagined that I had returned\nto my rooms. They have evidently taken the precaution of watching you,\nhowever, and that is what has brought Moriarty to Victoria. You could\nnot have made any slip in coming?\"\n\n\"I did exactly what you advised.\"\n\n\"Did you find your brougham?\"\n\n\"Yes, it was waiting.\"\n\n\"Did you recognize your coachman?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in such a\ncase without taking a mercenary into your confidence. But we must plan\nwhat we are to do about Moriarty now.\"\n\n\"As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection with it, I\nshould think we have shaken him off very effectively.\"\n\n\"My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning when I said\nthat this man may be taken as being quite on the same intellectual plane\nas myself. You do not imagine that if I were the pursuer I should allow\nmyself to be baffled by so slight an obstacle. Why, then, should you\nthink so meanly of him?\"\n\n\"What will he do?\"\n\n\"What I should do?\"\n\n\"What would you do, then?\"\n\n\"Engage a special.\"\n\n\"But it must be late.\"\n\n\"By no means. This train stops at Canterbury; and there is always at\nleast a quarter of an hour\'s delay at the boat. He will catch us there.\"\n\n\"One would think that we were the criminals. Let us have him arrested on\nhis arrival.\"\n\n\"It would be to ruin the work of three months. We should get the big\nfish, but the smaller would dart right and left out of the net. On\nMonday we should have them all. No, an arrest is inadmissible.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"We shall get out at Canterbury.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to Newhaven, and so\nover to Dieppe. Moriarty will again do what I should do. He will get on\nto Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two days at the depot.\nIn the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a couple of carpet-bags,\nencourage the manufactures of the countries through which we travel, and\nmake our way at our leisure into Switzerland, via Luxembourg and Basle.\"\n\nAt Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we should have\nto wait an hour before we could get a train to Newhaven.\n\nI was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly disappearing\nluggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when Holmes pulled my sleeve\nand pointed up the line.\n\n\"Already, you see,\" said he.\n\nFar away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin spray of smoke.\nA minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying along the open\ncurve which leads to the station. We had hardly time to take our place\nbehind a pile of luggage when it passed with a rattle and a roar,\nbeating a blast of hot air into our faces.\n\n\"There he goes,\" said Holmes, as we watched the carriage swing and\nrock over the points. \"There are limits, you see, to our friend\'s\nintelligence. It would have been a coup-de-maitre had he deduced what I\nwould deduce and acted accordingly.\"\n\n\"And what would he have done had he overtaken us?\"\n\n\"There cannot be the least doubt that he would have made a murderous\nattack upon me. It is, however, a game at which two may play. The\nquestion now is whether we should take a premature lunch here, or run\nour chance of starving before we reach the buffet at Newhaven.\"\n\n\nWe made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days there, moving\non upon the third day as far as Strasburg. On the Monday morning Holmes\nhad telegraphed to the London police, and in the evening we found a\nreply waiting for us at our hotel. Holmes tore it open, and then with a\nbitter curse hurled it into the grate.\n\n\"I might have known it!\" he groaned. \"He has escaped!\"\n\n\"Moriarty?\"\n\n\"They have secured the whole gang with the exception of him. He has\ngiven them the slip. Of course, when I had left the country there was no\none to cope with him. But I did think that I had put the game in their\nhands. I think that you had better return to England, Watson.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. This man\'s\noccupation is gone. He is lost if he returns to London. If I read his\ncharacter right he will devote his whole energies to revenging himself\nupon me. He said as much in our short interview, and I fancy that he\nmeant it. I should certainly recommend you to return to your practice.\"\n\nIt was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an\nold campaigner as well as an old friend. We sat in the Strasburg\nsalle-à-manger arguing the question for half an hour, but the same night\nwe had resumed our journey and were well on our way to Geneva.\n\nFor a charming week we wandered up the Valley of the Rhone, and then,\nbranching off at Leuk, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass, still deep\nin snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen. It was a lovely\ntrip, the dainty green of the spring below, the virgin white of the\nwinter above; but it was clear to me that never for one instant did\nHolmes forget the shadow which lay across him. In the homely Alpine\nvillages or in the lonely mountain passes, I could tell by his quick\nglancing eyes and his sharp scrutiny of every face that passed us,\nthat he was well convinced that, walk where we would, we could not walk\nourselves clear of the danger which was dogging our footsteps.\n\nOnce, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along\nthe border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had been\ndislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and roared into\nthe lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up on to the ridge,\nand, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction.\nIt was in vain that our guide assured him that a fall of stones was a\ncommon chance in the spring-time at that spot. He said nothing, but\nhe smiled at me with the air of a man who sees the fulfillment of that\nwhich he had expected.\n\nAnd yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On the\ncontrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant\nspirits. Again and again he recurred to the fact that if he could\nbe assured that society was freed from Professor Moriarty he would\ncheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion.\n\n\"I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not lived\nwholly in vain,\" he remarked. \"If my record were closed to-night I could\nstill survey it with equanimity. The air of London is the sweeter for my\npresence. In over a thousand cases I am not aware that I have ever used\nmy powers upon the wrong side. Of late I have been tempted to look into\nthe problems furnished by nature rather than those more superficial ones\nfor which our artificial state of society is responsible. Your memoirs\nwill draw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by\nthe capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal in\nEurope.\"\n\nI shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for me to\ntell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell, and yet I am\nconscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no detail.\n\nIt was on the 3d of May that we reached the little village of Meiringen,\nwhere we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the\nelder. Our landlord was an intelligent man, and spoke excellent English,\nhaving served for three years as waiter at the Grosvenor Hotel in\nLondon. At his advice, on the afternoon of the 4th we set off together,\nwith the intention of crossing the hills and spending the night at the\nhamlet of Rosenlaui. We had strict injunctions, however, on no account\nto pass the falls of Reichenbach, which are about half-way up the hill,\nwithout making a small detour to see them.\n\nIt is indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the melting snow,\nplunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up like the\nsmoke from a burning house. The shaft into which the river hurls itself\nis an immense chasm, lined by glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing\ninto a creaming, boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and\nshoots the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green\nwater roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of spray\nhissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and\nclamor. We stood near the edge peering down at the gleam of the breaking\nwater far below us against the black rocks, and listening to the\nhalf-human shout which came booming up with the spray out of the abyss.\n\nThe path has been cut half-way round the fall to afford a complete view,\nbut it ends abruptly, and the traveler has to return as he came. We had\nturned to do so, when we saw a Swiss lad come running along it with\na letter in his hand. It bore the mark of the hotel which we had just\nleft, and was addressed to me by the landlord. It appeared that within a\nvery few minutes of our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in\nthe last stage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz, and was\njourneying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhage\nhad overtaken her. It was thought that she could hardly live a few\nhours, but it would be a great consolation to her to see an English\ndoctor, and, if I would only return, etc. The good Steiler assured me\nin a postscript that he would himself look upon my compliance as a very\ngreat favor, since the lady absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician,\nand he could not but feel that he was incurring a great responsibility.\n\nThe appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossible to\nrefuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange land. Yet\nI had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finally agreed, however,\nthat he should retain the young Swiss messenger with him as guide and\ncompanion while I returned to Meiringen. My friend would stay some\nlittle time at the fall, he said, and would then walk slowly over the\nhill to Rosenlaui, where I was to rejoin him in the evening. As I turned\naway I saw Holmes, with his back against a rock and his arms folded,\ngazing down at the rush of the waters. It was the last that I was ever\ndestined to see of him in this world.\n\nWhen I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back. It was\nimpossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I could see the\ncurving path which winds over the shoulder of the hill and leads to it.\nAlong this a man was, I remember, walking very rapidly.\n\nI could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green behind\nhim. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked but he passed from\nmy mind again as I hurried on upon my errand.\n\nIt may have been a little over an hour before I reached Meiringen. Old\nSteiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.\n\n\"Well,\" said I, as I came hurrying up, \"I trust that she is no worse?\"\n\nA look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiver of his\neyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast.\n\n\"You did not write this?\" I said, pulling the letter from my pocket.\n\"There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?\"\n\n\"Certainly not!\" he cried. \"But it has the hotel mark upon it! Ha, it\nmust have been written by that tall Englishman who came in after you had\ngone. He said--\"\n\nBut I waited for none of the landlord\'s explanations. In a tingle of\nfear I was already running down the village street, and making for the\npath which I had so lately descended. It had taken me an hour to come\ndown. For all my efforts two more had passed before I found myself at\nthe fall of Reichenbach once more. There was Holmes\'s Alpine-stock still\nleaning against the rock by which I had left him. But there was no sign\nof him, and it was in vain that I shouted. My only answer was my own\nvoice reverberating in a rolling echo from the cliffs around me.\n\nIt was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and sick.\nHe had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on that three-foot\npath, with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on the other, until his\nenemy had overtaken him. The young Swiss had gone too. He had probably\nbeen in the pay of Moriarty, and had left the two men together. And then\nwhat had happened? Who was to tell us what had happened then?\n\nI stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed with the\nhorror of the thing. Then I began to think of Holmes\'s own methods and\nto try to practise them in reading this tragedy. It was, alas, only too\neasy to do. During our conversation we had not gone to the end of the\npath, and the Alpine-stock marked the place where we had stood. The\nblackish soil is kept forever soft by the incessant drift of spray,\nand a bird would leave its tread upon it. Two lines of footmarks were\nclearly marked along the farther end of the path, both leading away from\nme. There were none returning. A few yards from the end the soil was\nall ploughed up into a patch of mud, and the branches and ferns which\nfringed the chasm were torn and bedraggled. I lay upon my face and\npeered over with the spray spouting up all around me. It had darkened\nsince I left, and now I could only see here and there the glistening of\nmoisture upon the black walls, and far away down at the end of the shaft\nthe gleam of the broken water. I shouted; but only the same half-human\ncry of the fall was borne back to my ears.\n\nBut it was destined that I should after all have a last word of greeting\nfrom my friend and comrade. I have said that his Alpine-stock had been\nleft leaning against a rock which jutted on to the path. From the top of\nthis bowlder the gleam of something bright caught my eye, and, raising\nmy hand, I found that it came from the silver cigarette-case which he\nused to carry. As I took it up a small square of paper upon which it\nhad lain fluttered down on to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it\nconsisted of three pages torn from his note-book and addressed to me. It\nwas characteristic of the man that the direction was a precise, and the\nwriting as firm and clear, as though it had been written in his study.\n\nMy dear Watson [it said], I write these few lines through the courtesy\nof Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of\nthose questions which lie between us. He has been giving me a sketch\nof the methods by which he avoided the English police and kept himself\ninformed of our movements. They certainly confirm the very high opinion\nwhich I had formed of his abilities. I am pleased to think that I shall\nbe able to free society from any further effects of his presence, though\nI fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and\nespecially, my dear Watson, to you. I have already explained to you,\nhowever, that my career had in any case reached its crisis, and that\nno possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this.\nIndeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I was quite convinced\nthat the letter from Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart\non that errand under the persuasion that some development of this sort\nwould follow. Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs\nto convict the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope\nand inscribed \"Moriarty.\" I made every disposition of my property before\nleaving England, and handed it to my brother Mycroft. Pray give my\ngreetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me to be, my dear fellow,\n\nVery sincerely yours,\n\nSherlock Holmes\n\n\nA few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An examination\nby experts leaves little doubt that a personal contest between the two\nmen ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their\nreeling over, locked in each other\'s arms. Any attempt at recovering the\nbodies was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful\ncaldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the\nmost dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their\ngeneration. The Swiss youth was never found again, and there can be no\ndoubt that he was one of the numerous agents whom Moriarty kept in his\nemploy. As to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public\nhow completely the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed their\norganization, and how heavily the hand of the dead man weighed\nupon them. Of their terrible chief few details came out during the\nproceedings, and if I have now been compelled to make a clear statement\nof his career it is due to those injudicious champions who have\nendeavored to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever\nregard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known.'"