"'THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES\n\nby\n\nSIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE\n\n\n\n I. A Scandal in Bohemia\n II. The Red-headed League\n III. A Case of Identity\n IV. The Boscombe Valley Mystery\n V. The Five Orange Pips\n VI. The Man with the Twisted Lip\n VII. The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle\nVIII. The Adventure of the Speckled Band\n IX. The Adventure of the Engineer\'s Thumb\n X. The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor\n XI. The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet\n XII. The Adventure of the Copper Beeches\n\n\n\n\nADVENTURE I. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA\n\nI.\n\nTo Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman. I have seldom heard\nhim mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses\nand predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt\nany emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that\none particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but\nadmirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect\nreasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a\nlover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never\nspoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They\nwere admirable things for the observer--excellent for drawing the\nveil from men\'s motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner\nto admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely\nadjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which\nmight throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a\nsensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power\nlenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a\nnature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and\nthat woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable\nmemory.\n\nI had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us\naway from each other. My own complete happiness, and the\nhome-centred interests which rise up around the man who first\nfinds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to\nabsorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of\nsociety with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in\nBaker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from\nweek to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the\ndrug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still,\nas ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his\nimmense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in\nfollowing out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which\nhad been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time\nto time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons\nto Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up\nof the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee,\nand finally of the mission which he had accomplished so\ndelicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland.\nBeyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely\nshared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of\nmy former friend and companion.\n\nOne night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I was\nreturning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to\ncivil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I\npassed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated\nin my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the\nStudy in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes\nagain, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers.\nHis rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw\nhis tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against\nthe blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head\nsunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who\nknew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their\nown story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his\ndrug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new\nproblem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which\nhad formerly been in part my own.\n\nHis manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I\nthink, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly\neye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars,\nand indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he\nstood before the fire and looked me over in his singular\nintrospective fashion.\n\n\"Wedlock suits you,\" he remarked. \"I think, Watson, that you have\nput on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.\"\n\n\"Seven!\" I answered.\n\n\"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more,\nI fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not\ntell me that you intended to go into harness.\"\n\n\"Then, how do you know?\"\n\n\"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting\nyourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and\ncareless servant girl?\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes,\" said I, \"this is too much. You would certainly\nhave been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true\nthat I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful\nmess, but as I have changed my clothes I can\'t imagine how you\ndeduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has\ngiven her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work it\nout.\"\n\nHe chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands\ntogether.\n\n\"It is simplicity itself,\" said he; \"my eyes tell me that on the\ninside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it,\nthe leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they\nhave been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round\nthe edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it.\nHence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile\nweather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting\nspecimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a\ngentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black\nmark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge\non the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted\nhis stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce\nhim to be an active member of the medical profession.\"\n\nI could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his\nprocess of deduction. \"When I hear you give your reasons,\" I\nremarked, \"the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously\nsimple that I could easily do it myself, though at each\nsuccessive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you\nexplain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good\nas yours.\"\n\n\"Quite so,\" he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing\nhimself down into an armchair. \"You see, but you do not observe.\nThe distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen\nthe steps which lead up from the hall to this room.\"\n\n\"Frequently.\"\n\n\"How often?\"\n\n\"Well, some hundreds of times.\"\n\n\"Then how many are there?\"\n\n\"How many? I don\'t know.\"\n\n\"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is\njust my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps,\nbecause I have both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you are\ninterested in these little problems, and since you are good\nenough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you\nmay be interested in this.\" He threw over a sheet of thick,\npink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon the table.\n\"It came by the last post,\" said he. \"Read it aloud.\"\n\nThe note was undated, and without either signature or address.\n\n\"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight\no\'clock,\" it said, \"a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a\nmatter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of\nthe royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may\nsafely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which\ncan hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all\nquarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do\nnot take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.\"\n\n\"This is indeed a mystery,\" I remarked. \"What do you imagine that\nit means?\"\n\n\"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before\none has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit\ntheories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself.\nWhat do you deduce from it?\"\n\nI carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was\nwritten.\n\n\"The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,\" I remarked,\nendeavouring to imitate my companion\'s processes. \"Such paper\ncould not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly\nstrong and stiff.\"\n\n\"Peculiar--that is the very word,\" said Holmes. \"It is not an\nEnglish paper at all. Hold it up to the light.\"\n\nI did so, and saw a large \"E\" with a small \"g,\" a \"P,\" and a\nlarge \"G\" with a small \"t\" woven into the texture of the paper.\n\n\"What do you make of that?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.\"\n\n\"Not at all. The \'G\' with the small \'t\' stands for\n\'Gesellschaft,\' which is the German for \'Company.\' It is a\ncustomary contraction like our \'Co.\' \'P,\' of course, stands for\n\'Papier.\' Now for the \'Eg.\' Let us glance at our Continental\nGazetteer.\" He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves.\n\"Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking\ncountry--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. \'Remarkable as being\nthe scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous\nglass-factories and paper-mills.\' Ha, ha, my boy, what do you\nmake of that?\" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue\ntriumphant cloud from his cigarette.\n\n\"The paper was made in Bohemia,\" I said.\n\n\"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you\nnote the peculiar construction of the sentence--\'This account of\nyou we have from all quarters received.\' A Frenchman or Russian\ncould not have written that. It is the German who is so\nuncourteous to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover\nwhat is wanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian paper and\nprefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if\nI am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts.\"\n\nAs he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses\' hoofs and\ngrating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the\nbell. Holmes whistled.\n\n\"A pair, by the sound,\" said he. \"Yes,\" he continued, glancing\nout of the window. \"A nice little brougham and a pair of\nbeauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There\'s money in\nthis case, Watson, if there is nothing else.\"\n\n\"I think that I had better go, Holmes.\"\n\n\"Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my\nBoswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity\nto miss it.\"\n\n\"But your client--\"\n\n\"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he\ncomes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best\nattention.\"\n\nA slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and\nin the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there\nwas a loud and authoritative tap.\n\n\"Come in!\" said Holmes.\n\nA man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six\ninches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His\ndress was rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked\nupon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed\nacross the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while\nthe deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined\nwith flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch\nwhich consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended\nhalfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with\nrich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence\nwhich was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a\nbroad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper\npart of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black\nvizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment,\nfor his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower\npart of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character,\nwith a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive\nof resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.\n\n\"You had my note?\" he asked with a deep harsh voice and a\nstrongly marked German accent. \"I told you that I would call.\" He\nlooked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to\naddress.\n\n\"Pray take a seat,\" said Holmes. \"This is my friend and\ncolleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me\nin my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?\"\n\n\"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman.\nI understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour\nand discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most\nextreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate\nwith you alone.\"\n\nI rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me\nback into my chair. \"It is both, or none,\" said he. \"You may say\nbefore this gentleman anything which you may say to me.\"\n\nThe Count shrugged his broad shoulders. \"Then I must begin,\" said\nhe, \"by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at\nthe end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At\npresent it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it\nmay have an influence upon European history.\"\n\n\"I promise,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"And I.\"\n\n\"You will excuse this mask,\" continued our strange visitor. \"The\naugust person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to\nyou, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have\njust called myself is not exactly my own.\"\n\n\"I was aware of it,\" said Holmes dryly.\n\n\"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution\nhas to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense\nscandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of\nEurope. To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great House\nof Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia.\"\n\n\"I was also aware of that,\" murmured Holmes, settling himself\ndown in his armchair and closing his eyes.\n\nOur visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,\nlounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him\nas the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe.\nHolmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his\ngigantic client.\n\n\"If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,\" he\nremarked, \"I should be better able to advise you.\"\n\nThe man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in\nuncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he\ntore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. \"You\nare right,\" he cried; \"I am the King. Why should I attempt to\nconceal it?\"\n\n\"Why, indeed?\" murmured Holmes. \"Your Majesty had not spoken\nbefore I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich\nSigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and\nhereditary King of Bohemia.\"\n\n\"But you can understand,\" said our strange visitor, sitting down\nonce more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, \"you\ncan understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in\nmy own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not\nconfide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. I\nhave come incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting\nyou.\"\n\n\"Then, pray consult,\" said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.\n\n\"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a\nlengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known\nadventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.\"\n\n\"Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,\" murmured Holmes without\nopening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of\ndocketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it\nwas difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not\nat once furnish information. In this case I found her biography\nsandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a\nstaff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea\nfishes.\n\n\"Let me see!\" said Holmes. \"Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year\n1858. Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera\nof Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in\nLondon--quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled\nwith this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and\nis now desirous of getting those letters back.\"\n\n\"Precisely so. But how--\"\n\n\"Was there a secret marriage?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"No legal papers or certificates?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should\nproduce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is\nshe to prove their authenticity?\"\n\n\"There is the writing.\"\n\n\"Pooh, pooh! Forgery.\"\n\n\"My private note-paper.\"\n\n\"Stolen.\"\n\n\"My own seal.\"\n\n\"Imitated.\"\n\n\"My photograph.\"\n\n\"Bought.\"\n\n\"We were both in the photograph.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an\nindiscretion.\"\n\n\"I was mad--insane.\"\n\n\"You have compromised yourself seriously.\"\n\n\"I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.\"\n\n\"It must be recovered.\"\n\n\"We have tried and failed.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought.\"\n\n\"She will not sell.\"\n\n\"Stolen, then.\"\n\n\"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked\nher house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice\nshe has been waylaid. There has been no result.\"\n\n\"No sign of it?\"\n\n\"Absolutely none.\"\n\nHolmes laughed. \"It is quite a pretty little problem,\" said he.\n\n\"But a very serious one to me,\" returned the King reproachfully.\n\n\"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the\nphotograph?\"\n\n\"To ruin me.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"I am about to be married.\"\n\n\"So I have heard.\"\n\n\"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the\nKing of Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her\nfamily. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a\ndoubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end.\"\n\n\"And Irene Adler?\"\n\n\"Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I\nknow that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul\nof steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and\nthe mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry\nanother woman, there are no lengths to which she would not\ngo--none.\"\n\n\"You are sure that she has not sent it yet?\"\n\n\"I am sure.\"\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the\nbetrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.\"\n\n\"Oh, then we have three days yet,\" said Holmes with a yawn. \"That\nis very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to\nlook into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in\nLondon for the present?\"\n\n\"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the\nCount Von Kramm.\"\n\n\"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress.\"\n\n\"Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety.\"\n\n\"Then, as to money?\"\n\n\"You have carte blanche.\"\n\n\"Absolutely?\"\n\n\"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom\nto have that photograph.\"\n\n\"And for present expenses?\"\n\nThe King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak\nand laid it on the table.\n\n\"There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in\nnotes,\" he said.\n\nHolmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and\nhanded it to him.\n\n\"And Mademoiselle\'s address?\" he asked.\n\n\"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John\'s Wood.\"\n\nHolmes took a note of it. \"One other question,\" said he. \"Was the\nphotograph a cabinet?\"\n\n\"It was.\"\n\n\"Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon\nhave some good news for you. And good-night, Watson,\" he added,\nas the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. \"If\nyou will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three\no\'clock I should like to chat this little matter over with you.\"\n\n\nII.\n\nAt three o\'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had\nnot yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the\nhouse shortly after eight o\'clock in the morning. I sat down\nbeside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him,\nhowever long he might be. I was already deeply interested in his\ninquiry, for, though it was surrounded by none of the grim and\nstrange features which were associated with the two crimes which\nI have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and the\nexalted station of his client gave it a character of its own.\nIndeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my\nfriend had on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of\na situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a\npleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the\nquick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most\ninextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable\nsuccess that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to\nenter into my head.\n\nIt was close upon four before the door opened, and a\ndrunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an\ninflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room.\nAccustomed as I was to my friend\'s amazing powers in the use of\ndisguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that it\nwas indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence he\nemerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old.\nPutting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in\nfront of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.\n\n\"Well, really!\" he cried, and then he choked and laughed again\nuntil he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the\nchair.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"It\'s quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I\nemployed my morning, or what I ended by doing.\"\n\n\"I can\'t imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the\nhabits, and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler.\"\n\n\"Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you,\nhowever. I left the house a little after eight o\'clock this\nmorning in the character of a groom out of work. There is a\nwonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of\nthem, and you will know all that there is to know. I soon found\nBriony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but\nbuilt out in front right up to the road, two stories. Chubb lock\nto the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well\nfurnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those\npreposterous English window fasteners which a child could open.\nBehind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window\ncould be reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round\nit and examined it closely from every point of view, but without\nnoting anything else of interest.\n\n\"I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that\nthere was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the\ngarden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses,\nand received in exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two\nfills of shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire\nabout Miss Adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in\nthe neighbourhood in whom I was not in the least interested, but\nwhose biographies I was compelled to listen to.\"\n\n\"And what of Irene Adler?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh, she has turned all the men\'s heads down in that part. She is\nthe daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the\nSerpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts,\ndrives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for\ndinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings.\nHas only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark,\nhandsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and\noften twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple. See\nthe advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven him\nhome a dozen times from Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him.\nWhen I had listened to all they had to tell, I began to walk up\nand down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think over my plan\nof campaign.\n\n\"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the\nmatter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the\nrelation between them, and what the object of his repeated\nvisits? Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? If the\nformer, she had probably transferred the photograph to his\nkeeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On the issue of this\nquestion depended whether I should continue my work at Briony\nLodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman\'s chambers in the\nTemple. It was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my\ninquiry. I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to\nlet you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the\nsituation.\"\n\n\"I am following you closely,\" I answered.\n\n\"I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab\ndrove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a\nremarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--evidently\nthe man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a\ngreat hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the\nmaid who opened the door with the air of a man who was thoroughly\nat home.\n\n\"He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch\nglimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and\ndown, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see\nnothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than\nbefore. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from\nhis pocket and looked at it earnestly, \'Drive like the devil,\' he\nshouted, \'first to Gross & Hankey\'s in Regent Street, and then to\nthe Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if\nyou do it in twenty minutes!\'\n\n\"Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do\nwell to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau,\nthe coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under\nhis ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of\nthe buckles. It hadn\'t pulled up before she shot out of the hall\ndoor and into it. I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment,\nbut she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die for.\n\n\"\'The Church of St. Monica, John,\' she cried, \'and half a\nsovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.\'\n\n\"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing\nwhether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her\nlandau when a cab came through the street. The driver looked\ntwice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could\nobject. \'The Church of St. Monica,\' said I, \'and half a sovereign\nif you reach it in twenty minutes.\' It was twenty-five minutes to\ntwelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind.\n\n\"My cabby drove fast. I don\'t think I ever drove faster, but the\nothers were there before us. The cab and the landau with their\nsteaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid\nthe man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul there\nsave the two whom I had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who\nseemed to be expostulating with them. They were all three\nstanding in a knot in front of the altar. I lounged up the side\naisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church.\nSuddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to\nme, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards\nme.\n\n\"\'Thank God,\' he cried. \'You\'ll do. Come! Come!\'\n\n\"\'What then?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won\'t be legal.\'\n\n\"I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was\nI found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear,\nand vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally\nassisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to\nGodfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and\nthere was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady\non the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was\nthe most preposterous position in which I ever found myself in my\nlife, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing just\nnow. It seems that there had been some informality about their\nlicense, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them\nwithout a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance\nsaved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the streets in\nsearch of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I mean\nto wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the occasion.\"\n\n\"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,\" said I; \"and what\nthen?\"\n\n\"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if\nthe pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate\nvery prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church\ndoor, however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple, and\nshe to her own house. \'I shall drive out in the park at five as\nusual,\' she said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove\naway in different directions, and I went off to make my own\narrangements.\"\n\n\"Which are?\"\n\n\"Some cold beef and a glass of beer,\" he answered, ringing the\nbell. \"I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to\nbe busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want\nyour co-operation.\"\n\n\"I shall be delighted.\"\n\n\"You don\'t mind breaking the law?\"\n\n\"Not in the least.\"\n\n\"Nor running a chance of arrest?\"\n\n\"Not in a good cause.\"\n\n\"Oh, the cause is excellent!\"\n\n\"Then I am your man.\"\n\n\"I was sure that I might rely on you.\"\n\n\"But what is it you wish?\"\n\n\"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to\nyou. Now,\" he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that\nour landlady had provided, \"I must discuss it while I eat, for I\nhave not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must\nbe on the scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns\nfrom her drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.\"\n\n\"And what then?\"\n\n\"You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to\noccur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must\nnot interfere, come what may. You understand?\"\n\n\"I am to be neutral?\"\n\n\"To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small\nunpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being\nconveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the\nsitting-room window will open. You are to station yourself close\nto that open window.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room what\nI give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of\nfire. You quite follow me?\"\n\n\"Entirely.\"\n\n\"It is nothing very formidable,\" he said, taking a long cigar-shaped\nroll from his pocket. \"It is an ordinary plumber\'s smoke-rocket,\nfitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting.\nYour task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire,\nit will be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then\nwalk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten\nminutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?\"\n\n\"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you,\nand at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry\nof fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street.\"\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"Then you may entirely rely on me.\"\n\n\"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I\nprepare for the new role I have to play.\"\n\nHe disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in\nthe character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist\nclergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white\ntie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and\nbenevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could have\nequalled. It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His\nexpression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every\nfresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as\nscience lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in\ncrime.\n\nIt was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still\nwanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in\nSerpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just\nbeing lighted as we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge,\nwaiting for the coming of its occupant. The house was just such\nas I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes\' succinct description,\nbut the locality appeared to be less private than I expected. On\nthe contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it was\nremarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed men\nsmoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his\nwheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and\nseveral well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with\ncigars in their mouths.\n\n\"You see,\" remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of\nthe house, \"this marriage rather simplifies matters. The\nphotograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are\nthat she would be as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey\nNorton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his\nprincess. Now the question is, Where are we to find the\nphotograph?\"\n\n\"Where, indeed?\"\n\n\"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is\ncabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman\'s\ndress. She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid\nand searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We\nmay take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her.\"\n\n\"Where, then?\"\n\n\"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But\nI am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive,\nand they like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it\nover to anyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but\nshe could not tell what indirect or political influence might be\nbrought to bear upon a business man. Besides, remember that she\nhad resolved to use it within a few days. It must be where she\ncan lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own house.\"\n\n\"But it has twice been burgled.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! They did not know how to look.\"\n\n\"But how will you look?\"\n\n\"I will not look.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"I will get her to show me.\"\n\n\"But she will refuse.\"\n\n\"She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is\nher carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter.\"\n\nAs he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came round\nthe curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which\nrattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of\nthe loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in\nthe hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another\nloafer, who had rushed up with the same intention. A fierce\nquarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who\ntook sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder,\nwho was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and\nin an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was\nthe centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who\nstruck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes\ndashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but just as he reached\nher he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood\nrunning freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to\ntheir heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while\na number of better-dressed people, who had watched the scuffle\nwithout taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady and to\nattend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her,\nhad hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her\nsuperb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking\nback into the street.\n\n\"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?\" she asked.\n\n\"He is dead,\" cried several voices.\n\n\"No, no, there\'s life in him!\" shouted another. \"But he\'ll be\ngone before you can get him to hospital.\"\n\n\"He\'s a brave fellow,\" said a woman. \"They would have had the\nlady\'s purse and watch if it hadn\'t been for him. They were a\ngang, and a rough one, too. Ah, he\'s breathing now.\"\n\n\"He can\'t lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?\"\n\n\"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable\nsofa. This way, please!\"\n\nSlowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out\nin the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings\nfrom my post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the\nblinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay\nupon the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with\ncompunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but I\nknow that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life\nthan when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was\nconspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited\nupon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery\nto Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had intrusted\nto me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under\nmy ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her. We are\nbut preventing her from injuring another.\n\nHolmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man\nwho is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the\nwindow. At the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the\nsignal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of \"Fire!\" The\nword was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd of\nspectators, well dressed and ill--gentlemen, ostlers, and\nservant-maids--joined in a general shriek of \"Fire!\" Thick clouds\nof smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. I\ncaught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voice\nof Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm.\nSlipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner\nof the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my\nfriend\'s arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar.\nHe walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we\nhad turned down one of the quiet streets which lead towards the\nEdgeware Road.\n\n\"You did it very nicely, Doctor,\" he remarked. \"Nothing could\nhave been better. It is all right.\"\n\n\"You have the photograph?\"\n\n\"I know where it is.\"\n\n\"And how did you find out?\"\n\n\"She showed me, as I told you she would.\"\n\n\"I am still in the dark.\"\n\n\"I do not wish to make a mystery,\" said he, laughing. \"The matter\nwas perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the\nstreet was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening.\"\n\n\"I guessed as much.\"\n\n\"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in\nthe palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand\nto my face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick.\"\n\n\"That also I could fathom.\"\n\n\"Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else\ncould she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room\nwhich I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was\ndetermined to see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for\nair, they were compelled to open the window, and you had your\nchance.\"\n\n\"How did that help you?\"\n\n\"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on\nfire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she\nvalues most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have\nmore than once taken advantage of it. In the case of the\nDarlington substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in\nthe Arnsworth Castle business. A married woman grabs at her baby;\nan unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to\nme that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious\nto her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secure it.\nThe alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were\nenough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The\nphotograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the\nright bell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I caught a\nglimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I cried out that it\nwas a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed\nfrom the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, and, making\nmy excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to\nattempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had\ncome in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed safer to\nwait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all.\"\n\n\"And now?\" I asked.\n\n\"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King\nto-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be\nshown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is\nprobable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the\nphotograph. It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain\nit with his own hands.\"\n\n\"And when will you call?\"\n\n\"At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall\nhave a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage\nmay mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to\nthe King without delay.\"\n\nWe had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was\nsearching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:\n\n\"Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes.\"\n\nThere were several people on the pavement at the time, but the\ngreeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had\nhurried by.\n\n\"I\'ve heard that voice before,\" said Holmes, staring down the\ndimly lit street. \"Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have\nbeen.\"\n\n\nIII.\n\nI slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our\ntoast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed\ninto the room.\n\n\"You have really got it!\" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by\neither shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\n\"But you have hopes?\"\n\n\"I have hopes.\"\n\n\"Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone.\"\n\n\"We must have a cab.\"\n\n\"No, my brougham is waiting.\"\n\n\"Then that will simplify matters.\" We descended and started off\nonce more for Briony Lodge.\n\n\"Irene Adler is married,\" remarked Holmes.\n\n\"Married! When?\"\n\n\"Yesterday.\"\n\n\"But to whom?\"\n\n\"To an English lawyer named Norton.\"\n\n\"But she could not love him.\"\n\n\"I am in hopes that she does.\"\n\n\"And why in hopes?\"\n\n\"Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future\nannoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love your\nMajesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason\nwhy she should interfere with your Majesty\'s plan.\"\n\n\"It is true. And yet--Well! I wish she had been of my own\nstation! What a queen she would have made!\" He relapsed into a\nmoody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in\nSerpentine Avenue.\n\nThe door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood\nupon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped\nfrom the brougham.\n\n\"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?\" said she.\n\n\"I am Mr. Holmes,\" answered my companion, looking at her with a\nquestioning and rather startled gaze.\n\n\"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She\nleft this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing\nCross for the Continent.\"\n\n\"What!\" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and\nsurprise. \"Do you mean that she has left England?\"\n\n\"Never to return.\"\n\n\"And the papers?\" asked the King hoarsely. \"All is lost.\"\n\n\"We shall see.\" He pushed past the servant and rushed into the\ndrawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was\nscattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and\nopen drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before\nher flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small\nsliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a\nphotograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler\nherself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to\n\"Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for.\" My friend\ntore it open and we all three read it together. It was dated at\nmidnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:\n\n\"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,--You really did it very well. You\ntook me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a\nsuspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I\nbegan to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had\nbeen told that if the King employed an agent it would certainly\nbe you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this,\nyou made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became\nsuspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind\nold clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress\nmyself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage\nof the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to\nwatch you, ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call\nthem, and came down just as you departed.\n\n\"Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was\nreally an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and\nstarted for the Temple to see my husband.\n\n\"We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by\nso formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when\nyou call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in\npeace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may\ndo what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly\nwronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a\nweapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might\ntake in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to\npossess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\n\n \"Very truly yours,\n \"IRENE NORTON, née ADLER.\"\n\n\"What a woman--oh, what a woman!\" cried the King of Bohemia, when\nwe had all three read this epistle. \"Did I not tell you how quick\nand resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen?\nIs it not a pity that she was not on my level?\"\n\n\"From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a\nvery different level to your Majesty,\" said Holmes coldly. \"I am\nsorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty\'s business\nto a more successful conclusion.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, my dear sir,\" cried the King; \"nothing could be\nmore successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The\nphotograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so.\"\n\n\"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can\nreward you. This ring--\" He slipped an emerald snake ring from\nhis finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.\n\n\"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more\nhighly,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"You have but to name it.\"\n\n\"This photograph!\"\n\nThe King stared at him in amazement.\n\n\"Irene\'s photograph!\" he cried. \"Certainly, if you wish it.\"\n\n\"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the\nmatter. I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning.\" He\nbowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the\nKing had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his\nchambers.\n\nAnd that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom\nof Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were\nbeaten by a woman\'s wit. He used to make merry over the\ncleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And\nwhen he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her\nphotograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.\n\n\n\nADVENTURE II. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE\n\nI had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the\nautumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a\nvery stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.\nWith an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when\nHolmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door\nbehind me.\n\n\"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear\nWatson,\" he said cordially.\n\n\"I was afraid that you were engaged.\"\n\n\"So I am. Very much so.\"\n\n\"Then I can wait in the next room.\"\n\n\"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and\nhelper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no\ndoubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also.\"\n\nThe stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of\ngreeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small\nfat-encircled eyes.\n\n\"Try the settee,\" said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and\nputting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in\njudicial moods. \"I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love\nof all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum\nroutine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by\nthe enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you\nwill excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own\nlittle adventures.\"\n\n\"Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,\" I\nobserved.\n\n\"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we\nwent into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary\nSutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary\ncombinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more\ndaring than any effort of the imagination.\"\n\n\"A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.\"\n\n\"You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my\nview, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you\nuntil your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to\nbe right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call\nupon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to\nbe one of the most singular which I have listened to for some\ntime. You have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique\nthings are very often connected not with the larger but with the\nsmaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for\ndoubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as I\nhave heard it is impossible for me to say whether the present\ncase is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is\ncertainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.\nPerhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to\nrecommence your narrative. I ask you not merely because my friend\nDr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because the\npeculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every\npossible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some\nslight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide\nmyself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my\nmemory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the\nfacts are, to the best of my belief, unique.\"\n\nThe portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some\nlittle pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the\ninside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the\nadvertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper\nflattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and\nendeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the\nindications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.\n\nI did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor\nbore every mark of being an average commonplace British\ntradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey\nshepherd\'s check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat,\nunbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy\nAlbert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as\nan ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a\nwrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether,\nlook as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save\nhis blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and\ndiscontent upon his features.\n\nSherlock Holmes\' quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook\nhis head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances.\n\"Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual\nlabour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has\nbeen in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of\nwriting lately, I can deduce nothing else.\"\n\nMr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger\nupon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.\n\n\"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr.\nHolmes?\" he asked. \"How did you know, for example, that I did\nmanual labour. It\'s as true as gospel, for I began as a ship\'s\ncarpenter.\"\n\n\"Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger\nthan your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more\ndeveloped.\"\n\n\"Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?\"\n\n\"I won\'t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,\nespecially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you\nuse an arc-and-compass breastpin.\"\n\n\"Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?\"\n\n\"What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for\nfive inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the\nelbow where you rest it upon the desk?\"\n\n\"Well, but China?\"\n\n\"The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right\nwrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small\nstudy of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature\nof the subject. That trick of staining the fishes\' scales of a\ndelicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I\nsee a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter\nbecomes even more simple.\"\n\nMr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. \"Well, I never!\" said he. \"I\nthought at first that you had done something clever, but I see\nthat there was nothing in it, after all.\"\n\n\"I begin to think, Watson,\" said Holmes, \"that I make a mistake\nin explaining. \'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,\' you know, and my\npoor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I\nam so candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have got it now,\" he answered with his thick red finger\nplanted halfway down the column. \"Here it is. This is what began\nit all. You just read it for yourself, sir.\"\n\nI took the paper from him and read as follows:\n\n\"TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late\nEzekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now\nanother vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a\nsalary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All\nred-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age\nof twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at\neleven o\'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7\nPope\'s Court, Fleet Street.\"\n\n\"What on earth does this mean?\" I ejaculated after I had twice\nread over the extraordinary announcement.\n\nHolmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when\nin high spirits. \"It is a little off the beaten track, isn\'t it?\"\nsaid he. \"And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us\nall about yourself, your household, and the effect which this\nadvertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note,\nDoctor, of the paper and the date.\"\n\n\"It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months\nago.\"\n\n\"Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?\"\n\n\"Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes,\" said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; \"I have a small\npawnbroker\'s business at Coburg Square, near the City. It\'s not a\nvery large affair, and of late years it has not done more than\njust give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants,\nbut now I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but\nthat he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"What is the name of this obliging youth?\" asked Sherlock Holmes.\n\n\"His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he\'s not such a youth,\neither. It\'s hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter\nassistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could better\nhimself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after\nall, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?\"\n\n\"Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employé who\ncomes under the full market price. It is not a common experience\namong employers in this age. I don\'t know that your assistant is\nnot as remarkable as your advertisement.\"\n\n\"Oh, he has his faults, too,\" said Mr. Wilson. \"Never was such a\nfellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought\nto be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar\nlike a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his\nmain fault, but on the whole he\'s a good worker. There\'s no vice\nin him.\"\n\n\"He is still with you, I presume?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple\ncooking and keeps the place clean--that\'s all I have in the\nhouse, for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very\nquietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads\nand pay our debts, if we do nothing more.\n\n\"The first thing that put us out was that advertisement.\nSpaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight\nweeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says:\n\n\"\'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.\'\n\n\"\'Why that?\' I asks.\n\n\"\'Why,\' says he, \'here\'s another vacancy on the League of the\nRed-headed Men. It\'s worth quite a little fortune to any man who\ngets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than\nthere are men, so that the trustees are at their wits\' end what\nto do with the money. If my hair would only change colour, here\'s\na nice little crib all ready for me to step into.\'\n\n\"\'Why, what is it, then?\' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a\nvery stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of\nmy having to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting\nmy foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn\'t know much of what\nwas going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news.\n\n\"\'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?\' he\nasked with his eyes open.\n\n\"\'Never.\'\n\n\"\'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one\nof the vacancies.\'\n\n\"\'And what are they worth?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight,\nand it need not interfere very much with one\'s other\noccupations.\'\n\n\"Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears,\nfor the business has not been over-good for some years, and an\nextra couple of hundred would have been very handy.\n\n\"\'Tell me all about it,\' said I.\n\n\"\'Well,\' said he, showing me the advertisement, \'you can see for\nyourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address\nwhere you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out,\nthe League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah\nHopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself\nred-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men;\nso when he died it was found that he had left his enormous\nfortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the\ninterest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of\nthat colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to\ndo.\'\n\n\"\'But,\' said I, \'there would be millions of red-headed men who\nwould apply.\'\n\n\"\'Not so many as you might think,\' he answered. \'You see it is\nreally confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had\nstarted from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the\nold town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your\napplying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but\nreal bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr.\nWilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be\nworth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a\nfew hundred pounds.\'\n\n\"Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves,\nthat my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed\nto me that if there was to be any competition in the matter I\nstood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent\nSpaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might\nprove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for\nthe day and to come right away with me. He was very willing to\nhave a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for\nthe address that was given us in the advertisement.\n\n\"I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From\nnorth, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in\nhis hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement.\nFleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope\'s Court\nlooked like a coster\'s orange barrow. I should not have thought\nthere were so many in the whole country as were brought together\nby that single advertisement. Every shade of colour they\nwere--straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay;\nbut, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real\nvivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I\nwould have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear\nof it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and\npulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up\nto the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream\nupon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back\ndejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found\nourselves in the office.\"\n\n\"Your experience has been a most entertaining one,\" remarked\nHolmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge\npinch of snuff. \"Pray continue your very interesting statement.\"\n\n\"There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs\nand a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that\nwas even redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate\nas he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in\nthem which would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem\nto be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn\ncame the little man was much more favourable to me than to any of\nthe others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he\nmight have a private word with us.\n\n\"\'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,\' said my assistant, \'and he is\nwilling to fill a vacancy in the League.\'\n\n\"\'And he is admirably suited for it,\' the other answered. \'He has\nevery requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so\nfine.\' He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and\ngazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he\nplunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my\nsuccess.\n\n\"\'It would be injustice to hesitate,\' said he. \'You will,\nhowever, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.\'\nWith that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I\nyelled with the pain. \'There is water in your eyes,\' said he as\nhe released me. \'I perceive that all is as it should be. But we\nhave to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and\nonce by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler\'s wax which\nwould disgust you with human nature.\' He stepped over to the\nwindow and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the\nvacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,\nand the folk all trooped away in different directions until there\nwas not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the\nmanager.\n\n\"\'My name,\' said he, \'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of\nthe pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are\nyou a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?\'\n\n\"I answered that I had not.\n\n\"His face fell immediately.\n\n\"\'Dear me!\' he said gravely, \'that is very serious indeed! I am\nsorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the\npropagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their\nmaintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a\nbachelor.\'\n\n\"My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was\nnot to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for\na few minutes he said that it would be all right.\n\n\"\'In the case of another,\' said he, \'the objection might be\nfatal, but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a\nhead of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your\nnew duties?\'\n\n\"\'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,\'\nsaid I.\n\n\"\'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!\' said Vincent Spaulding.\n\'I should be able to look after that for you.\'\n\n\"\'What would be the hours?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Ten to two.\'\n\n\"Now a pawnbroker\'s business is mostly done of an evening, Mr.\nHolmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just\nbefore pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in\nthe mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man,\nand that he would see to anything that turned up.\n\n\"\'That would suit me very well,\' said I. \'And the pay?\'\n\n\"\'Is 4 pounds a week.\'\n\n\"\'And the work?\'\n\n\"\'Is purely nominal.\'\n\n\"\'What do you call purely nominal?\'\n\n\"\'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the\nbuilding, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole\nposition forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You\ndon\'t comply with the conditions if you budge from the office\nduring that time.\'\n\n\"\'It\'s only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,\'\nsaid I.\n\n\"\'No excuse will avail,\' said Mr. Duncan Ross; \'neither sickness\nnor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose\nyour billet.\'\n\n\"\'And the work?\'\n\n\"\'Is to copy out the \"Encyclopaedia Britannica.\" There is the first\nvolume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and\nblotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be\nready to-morrow?\'\n\n\"\'Certainly,\' I answered.\n\n\"\'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you\nonce more on the important position which you have been fortunate\nenough to gain.\' He bowed me out of the room and I went home with\nmy assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased\nat my own good fortune.\n\n\"Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in\nlow spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the\nwhole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its\nobject might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past\nbelief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay\nsuch a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the\n\'Encyclopaedia Britannica.\' Vincent Spaulding did what he could to\ncheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the\nwhole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look\nat it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a\nquill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for\nPope\'s Court.\n\n\"Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as\npossible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross\nwas there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off\nupon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from\ntime to time to see that all was right with me. At two o\'clock he\nbade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had\nwritten, and locked the door of the office after me.\n\n\"This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the\nmanager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my\nweek\'s work. It was the same next week, and the same the week\nafter. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I\nleft at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only\nonce of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at\nall. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an\ninstant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet\nwas such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk\nthe loss of it.\n\n\"Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about\nAbbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and\nhoped with diligence that I might get on to the B\'s before very\nlong. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly\nfilled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole\nbusiness came to an end.\"\n\n\"To an end?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as\nusual at ten o\'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a\nlittle square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the\npanel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself.\"\n\nHe held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet\nof note-paper. It read in this fashion:\n\n THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE\n\n IS\n\n DISSOLVED.\n\n October 9, 1890.\n\nSherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the\nrueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so\ncompletely overtopped every other consideration that we both\nburst out into a roar of laughter.\n\n\"I cannot see that there is anything very funny,\" cried our\nclient, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. \"If you can\ndo nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from\nwhich he had half risen. \"I really wouldn\'t miss your case for\nthe world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you\nwill excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it.\nPray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the\ndoor?\"\n\n\"I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called\nat the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything\nabout it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant\nliving on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me\nwhat had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had\nnever heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan\nRoss was. He answered that the name was new to him.\n\n\"\'Well,\' said I, \'the gentleman at No. 4.\'\n\n\"\'What, the red-headed man?\'\n\n\"\'Yes.\'\n\n\"\'Oh,\' said he, \'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor\nand was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new\npremises were ready. He moved out yesterday.\'\n\n\"\'Where could I find him?\'\n\n\"\'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17\nKing Edward Street, near St. Paul\'s.\'\n\n\"I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was\na manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever\nheard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.\"\n\n\"And what did you do then?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my\nassistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say\nthat if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite\ngood enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place\nwithout a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough\nto give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right\naway to you.\"\n\n\"And you did very wisely,\" said Holmes. \"Your case is an\nexceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it.\nFrom what you have told me I think that it is possible that\ngraver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear.\"\n\n\"Grave enough!\" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. \"Why, I have lost four\npound a week.\"\n\n\"As far as you are personally concerned,\" remarked Holmes, \"I do\nnot see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary\nleague. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some\n30 pounds, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have\ngained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have\nlost nothing by them.\"\n\n\"No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are,\nand what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a\nprank--upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it\ncost them two and thirty pounds.\"\n\n\"We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first,\none or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who\nfirst called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he\nbeen with you?\"\n\n\"About a month then.\"\n\n\"How did he come?\"\n\n\"In answer to an advertisement.\"\n\n\"Was he the only applicant?\"\n\n\"No, I had a dozen.\"\n\n\"Why did you pick him?\"\n\n\"Because he was handy and would come cheap.\"\n\n\"At half-wages, in fact.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?\"\n\n\"Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,\nthough he\'s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon\nhis forehead.\"\n\nHolmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. \"I thought\nas much,\" said he. \"Have you ever observed that his ears are\npierced for earrings?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he\nwas a lad.\"\n\n\"Hum!\" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. \"He is still\nwith you?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.\"\n\n\"And has your business been attended to in your absence?\"\n\n\"Nothing to complain of, sir. There\'s never very much to do of a\nmorning.\"\n\n\"That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an\nopinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is\nSaturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.\"\n\n\"Well, Watson,\" said Holmes when our visitor had left us, \"what\ndo you make of it all?\"\n\n\"I make nothing of it,\" I answered frankly. \"It is a most\nmysterious business.\"\n\n\"As a rule,\" said Holmes, \"the more bizarre a thing is the less\nmysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless\ncrimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is\nthe most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this\nmatter.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do, then?\" I asked.\n\n\"To smoke,\" he answered. \"It is quite a three pipe problem, and I\nbeg that you won\'t speak to me for fifty minutes.\" He curled\nhimself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his\nhawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his\nblack clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird.\nI had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and\nindeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his\nchair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put\nhis pipe down upon the mantelpiece.\n\n\"Sarasate plays at the St. James\'s Hall this afternoon,\" he\nremarked. \"What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare\nyou for a few hours?\"\n\n\"I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very\nabsorbing.\"\n\n\"Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City\nfirst, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that\nthere is a good deal of German music on the programme, which is\nrather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is\nintrospective, and I want to introspect. Come along!\"\n\nWe travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short\nwalk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular\nstory which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky,\nlittle, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy\ntwo-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in\nenclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded\nlaurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and\nuncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with\n\"JABEZ WILSON\" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced\nthe place where our red-headed client carried on his business.\nSherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side\nand looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between\npuckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down\nagain to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally\nhe returned to the pawnbroker\'s, and, having thumped vigorously\nupon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up\nto the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a\nbright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step\nin.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Holmes, \"I only wished to ask you how you would\ngo from here to the Strand.\"\n\n\"Third right, fourth left,\" answered the assistant promptly,\nclosing the door.\n\n\"Smart fellow, that,\" observed Holmes as we walked away. \"He is,\nin my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring\nI am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known\nsomething of him before.\"\n\n\"Evidently,\" said I, \"Mr. Wilson\'s assistant counts for a good\ndeal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you\ninquired your way merely in order that you might see him.\"\n\n\"Not him.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"The knees of his trousers.\"\n\n\"And what did you see?\"\n\n\"What I expected to see.\"\n\n\"Why did you beat the pavement?\"\n\n\"My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We\nare spies in an enemy\'s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg\nSquare. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it.\"\n\nThe road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the\ncorner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a\ncontrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was\none of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City\nto the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense\nstream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward,\nwhile the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of\npedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we looked at the line\nof fine shops and stately business premises that they really\nabutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square\nwhich we had just quitted.\n\n\"Let me see,\" said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing\nalong the line, \"I should like just to remember the order of the\nhouses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of\nLondon. There is Mortimer\'s, the tobacconist, the little\nnewspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank,\nthe Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane\'s carriage-building\ndepot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now,\nDoctor, we\'ve done our work, so it\'s time we had some play. A\nsandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where\nall is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no\nred-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums.\"\n\nMy friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a\nvery capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All\nthe afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect\nhappiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the\nmusic, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes\nwere as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the\nrelentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was\npossible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature\nalternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and\nastuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction\nagainst the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally\npredominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from\nextreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was\nnever so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been\nlounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his\nblack-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase\nwould suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning\npower would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were\nunacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a\nman whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him\nthat afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James\'s Hall I\nfelt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set\nhimself to hunt down.\n\n\"You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor,\" he remarked as we\nemerged.\n\n\"Yes, it would be as well.\"\n\n\"And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This\nbusiness at Coburg Square is serious.\"\n\n\"Why serious?\"\n\n\"A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to\nbelieve that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being\nSaturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help\nto-night.\"\n\n\"At what time?\"\n\n\"Ten will be early enough.\"\n\n\"I shall be at Baker Street at ten.\"\n\n\"Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger,\nso kindly put your army revolver in your pocket.\" He waved his\nhand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the\ncrowd.\n\nI trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was\nalways oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings\nwith Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had\nseen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that\nhe saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to\nhappen, while to me the whole business was still confused and\ngrotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought\nover it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed\ncopier of the \"Encyclopaedia\" down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg\nSquare, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me.\nWhat was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?\nWhere were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from\nHolmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker\'s assistant was a\nformidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried to\npuzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside\nuntil night should bring an explanation.\n\nIt was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my\nway across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker\nStreet. Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered\nthe passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On entering\nhis room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men,\none of whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the official police\nagent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a\nvery shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.\n\n\"Ha! Our party is complete,\" said Holmes, buttoning up his\npea-jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack.\n\"Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me\nintroduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in\nto-night\'s adventure.\"\n\n\"We\'re hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see,\" said Jones in\nhis consequential way. \"Our friend here is a wonderful man for\nstarting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do\nthe running down.\"\n\n\"I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,\"\nobserved Mr. Merryweather gloomily.\n\n\"You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,\" said\nthe police agent loftily. \"He has his own little methods, which\nare, if he won\'t mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical\nand fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It\nis not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of\nthe Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly\ncorrect than the official force.\"\n\n\"Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right,\" said the\nstranger with deference. \"Still, I confess that I miss my rubber.\nIt is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I\nhave not had my rubber.\"\n\n\"I think you will find,\" said Sherlock Holmes, \"that you will\nplay for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and\nthat the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather,\nthe stake will be some 30,000 pounds; and for you, Jones, it will\nbe the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands.\"\n\n\"John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He\'s a\nyoung man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his\nprofession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on\nany criminal in London. He\'s a remarkable man, is young John\nClay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been\nto Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and\nthough we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to\nfind the man himself. He\'ll crack a crib in Scotland one week,\nand be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next.\nI\'ve been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him\nyet.\"\n\n\"I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night.\nI\'ve had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I\nagree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is\npast ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two\nwill take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the\nsecond.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive\nand lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in\nthe afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit\nstreets until we emerged into Farrington Street.\n\n\"We are close there now,\" my friend remarked. \"This fellow\nMerryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the\nmatter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is\nnot a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession.\nHe has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as\ntenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we\nare, and they are waiting for us.\"\n\nWe had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had\nfound ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and,\nfollowing the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a\nnarrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us.\nWithin there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive\niron gate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding\nstone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr.\nMerryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us\ndown a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a\nthird door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all\nround with crates and massive boxes.\n\n\"You are not very vulnerable from above,\" Holmes remarked as he\nheld up the lantern and gazed about him.\n\n\"Nor from below,\" said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon\nthe flags which lined the floor. \"Why, dear me, it sounds quite\nhollow!\" he remarked, looking up in surprise.\n\n\"I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!\" said Holmes\nseverely. \"You have already imperilled the whole success of our\nexpedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit\ndown upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?\"\n\nThe solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a\nvery injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his\nknees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens,\nbegan to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few\nseconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again\nand put his glass in his pocket.\n\n\"We have at least an hour before us,\" he remarked, \"for they can\nhardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed.\nThen they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their\nwork the longer time they will have for their escape. We are at\npresent, Doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar of\nthe City branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr.\nMerryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to\nyou that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of\nLondon should take a considerable interest in this cellar at\npresent.\"\n\n\"It is our French gold,\" whispered the director. \"We have had\nseveral warnings that an attempt might be made upon it.\"\n\n\"Your French gold?\"\n\n\"Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources\nand borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of\nFrance. It has become known that we have never had occasion to\nunpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The\ncrate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between\nlayers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger at\npresent than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the\ndirectors have had misgivings upon the subject.\"\n\n\"Which were very well justified,\" observed Holmes. \"And now it is\ntime that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an\nhour matters will come to a head. In the meantime Mr.\nMerryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern.\"\n\n\"And sit in the dark?\"\n\n\"I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and\nI thought that, as we were a partie carrée, you might have your\nrubber after all. But I see that the enemy\'s preparations have\ngone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And,\nfirst of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men,\nand though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us\nsome harm unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate,\nand do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a\nlight upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no\ncompunction about shooting them down.\"\n\nI placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case\nbehind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front\nof his lantern and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute\ndarkness as I have never before experienced. The smell of hot\nmetal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready\nto flash out at a moment\'s notice. To me, with my nerves worked\nup to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and\nsubduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the\nvault.\n\n\"They have but one retreat,\" whispered Holmes. \"That is back\nthrough the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have\ndone what I asked you, Jones?\"\n\n\"I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door.\"\n\n\"Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent\nand wait.\"\n\nWhat a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but\nan hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must\nhave almost gone and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs\nwere weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my\nnerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my\nhearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentle\nbreathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper,\nheavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note\nof the bank director. From my position I could look over the case\nin the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint\nof a light.\n\nAt first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then\nit lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then,\nwithout any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand\nappeared, a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the\ncentre of the little area of light. For a minute or more the\nhand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then\nit was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark\nagain save the single lurid spark which marked a chink between\nthe stones.\n\nIts disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending,\ntearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon\nits side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed\nthe light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut,\nboyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand\non either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and\nwaist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In another\ninstant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after\nhim a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face\nand a shock of very red hair.\n\n\"It\'s all clear,\" he whispered. \"Have you the chisel and the\nbags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I\'ll swing for it!\"\n\nSherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the\ncollar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of\nrending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed\nupon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes\' hunting crop came\ndown on the man\'s wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone\nfloor.\n\n\"It\'s no use, John Clay,\" said Holmes blandly. \"You have no\nchance at all.\"\n\n\"So I see,\" the other answered with the utmost coolness. \"I fancy\nthat my pal is all right, though I see you have got his\ncoat-tails.\"\n\n\"There are three men waiting for him at the door,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I\nmust compliment you.\"\n\n\"And I you,\" Holmes answered. \"Your red-headed idea was very new\nand effective.\"\n\n\"You\'ll see your pal again presently,\" said Jones. \"He\'s quicker\nat climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the\nderbies.\"\n\n\"I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands,\"\nremarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists.\n\"You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have\nthe goodness, also, when you address me always to say \'sir\' and\n\'please.\'\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Jones with a stare and a snigger. \"Well, would\nyou please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry\nyour Highness to the police-station?\"\n\n\"That is better,\" said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow\nto the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the\ndetective.\n\n\"Really, Mr. Holmes,\" said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them\nfrom the cellar, \"I do not know how the bank can thank you or\nrepay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated\nin the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts\nat bank robbery that have ever come within my experience.\"\n\n\"I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr.\nJohn Clay,\" said Holmes. \"I have been at some small expense over\nthis matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond\nthat I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in\nmany ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of\nthe Red-headed League.\"\n\n\n\"You see, Watson,\" he explained in the early hours of the morning\nas we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, \"it\nwas perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible\nobject of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of\nthe League, and the copying of the \'Encyclopaedia,\' must be to get\nthis not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of\nhours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but,\nreally, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was\nno doubt suggested to Clay\'s ingenious mind by the colour of his\naccomplice\'s hair. The 4 pounds a week was a lure which must draw\nhim, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands?\nThey put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporary\noffice, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, and\ntogether they manage to secure his absence every morning in the\nweek. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come for\nhalf wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive\nfor securing the situation.\"\n\n\"But how could you guess what the motive was?\"\n\n\"Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a\nmere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The\nman\'s business was a small one, and there was nothing in his\nhouse which could account for such elaborate preparations, and\nsuch an expenditure as they were at. It must, then, be something\nout of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant\'s\nfondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the\ncellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clue. Then\nI made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I\nhad to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in\nLondon. He was doing something in the cellar--something which\ntook many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, once\nmore? I could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel\nto some other building.\n\n\"So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I\nsurprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was\nascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind.\nIt was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the\nassistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had\nnever set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his\nface. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have\nremarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of\nthose hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they\nwere burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and\nSuburban Bank abutted on our friend\'s premises, and felt that I\nhad solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I\ncalled upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank\ndirectors, with the result that you have seen.\"\n\n\"And how could you tell that they would make their attempt\nto-night?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that\nthey cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson\'s presence--in other\nwords, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential\nthat they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the\nbullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than\nany other day, as it would give them two days for their escape.\nFor all these reasons I expected them to come to-night.\"\n\n\"You reasoned it out beautifully,\" I exclaimed in unfeigned\nadmiration. \"It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings\ntrue.\"\n\n\"It saved me from ennui,\" he answered, yawning. \"Alas! I already\nfeel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort\nto escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little\nproblems help me to do so.\"\n\n\"And you are a benefactor of the race,\" said I.\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders. \"Well, perhaps, after all, it is of\nsome little use,\" he remarked. \"\'L\'homme c\'est rien--l\'oeuvre\nc\'est tout,\' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand.\"\n\n\n\nADVENTURE III. A CASE OF IDENTITY\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side\nof the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, \"life is infinitely\nstranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We\nwould not dare to conceive the things which are really mere\ncommonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window\nhand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the\nroofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the\nstrange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the\nwonderful chains of events, working through generations, and\nleading to the most outré results, it would make all fiction with\nits conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and\nunprofitable.\"\n\n\"And yet I am not convinced of it,\" I answered. \"The cases which\ncome to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and\nvulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to\nits extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed,\nneither fascinating nor artistic.\"\n\n\"A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a\nrealistic effect,\" remarked Holmes. \"This is wanting in the\npolice report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the\nplatitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an\nobserver contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend\nupon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace.\"\n\nI smiled and shook my head. \"I can quite understand your thinking\nso,\" I said. \"Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser\nand helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout\nthree continents, you are brought in contact with all that is\nstrange and bizarre. But here\"--I picked up the morning paper\nfrom the ground--\"let us put it to a practical test. Here is the\nfirst heading upon which I come. \'A husband\'s cruelty to his\nwife.\' There is half a column of print, but I know without\nreading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of\ncourse, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the\nbruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of\nwriters could invent nothing more crude.\"\n\n\"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,\"\nsaid Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. \"This\nis the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged\nin clearing up some small points in connection with it. The\nhusband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the\nconduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of\nwinding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling\nthem at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely\nto occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a\npinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over\nyou in your example.\"\n\nHe held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in\nthe centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his\nhomely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon\nit.\n\n\"Ah,\" said he, \"I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks.\nIt is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my\nassistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers.\"\n\n\"And the ring?\" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which\nsparkled upon his finger.\n\n\"It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in\nwhich I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it\neven to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of\nmy little problems.\"\n\n\"And have you any on hand just now?\" I asked with interest.\n\n\"Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of\ninterest. They are important, you understand, without being\ninteresting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in\nunimportant matters that there is a field for the observation,\nand for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the\ncharm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the\nsimpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is\nthe motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter\nwhich has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing\nwhich presents any features of interest. It is possible, however,\nthat I may have something better before very many minutes are\nover, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken.\"\n\nHe had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted\nblinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.\nLooking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite\nthere stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck,\nand a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was\ntilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her\near. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous,\nhesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated\nbackward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove\nbuttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves\nthe bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp\nclang of the bell.\n\n\"I have seen those symptoms before,\" said Holmes, throwing his\ncigarette into the fire. \"Oscillation upon the pavement always\nmeans an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure\nthat the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet\neven here we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously\nwronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom\nis a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a love\nmatter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or\ngrieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts.\"\n\nAs he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons\nentered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself\nloomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed\nmerchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed\nher with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and,\nhaving closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked\nher over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was\npeculiar to him.\n\n\"Do you not find,\" he said, \"that with your short sight it is a\nlittle trying to do so much typewriting?\"\n\n\"I did at first,\" she answered, \"but now I know where the letters\nare without looking.\" Then, suddenly realising the full purport\nof his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear\nand astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. \"You\'ve\nheard about me, Mr. Holmes,\" she cried, \"else how could you know\nall that?\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Holmes, laughing; \"it is my business to know\nthings. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others\noverlook. If not, why should you come to consult me?\"\n\n\"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege,\nwhose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had\ngiven him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as\nmuch for me. I\'m not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in\nmy own right, besides the little that I make by the machine, and\nI would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\n\"Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?\" asked\nSherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to\nthe ceiling.\n\nAgain a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss\nMary Sutherland. \"Yes, I did bang out of the house,\" she said,\n\"for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr.\nWindibank--that is, my father--took it all. He would not go to\nthe police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he\nwould do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done,\nit made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away\nto you.\"\n\n\"Your father,\" said Holmes, \"your stepfather, surely, since the\nname is different.\"\n\n\"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny,\ntoo, for he is only five years and two months older than myself.\"\n\n\"And your mother is alive?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn\'t best pleased, Mr.\nHolmes, when she married again so soon after father\'s death, and\na man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father\nwas a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy\nbusiness behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the\nforeman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the\nbusiness, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines.\nThey got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which wasn\'t\nnear as much as father could have got if he had been alive.\"\n\nI had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this\nrambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he\nhad listened with the greatest concentration of attention.\n\n\"Your own little income,\" he asked, \"does it come out of the\nbusiness?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle\nNed in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1\/2 per\ncent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can\nonly touch the interest.\"\n\n\"You interest me extremely,\" said Holmes. \"And since you draw so\nlarge a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the\nbargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in\nevery way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely\nupon an income of about 60 pounds.\"\n\n\"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you\nunderstand that as long as I live at home I don\'t wish to be a\nburden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while\nI am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the\ntime. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it\nover to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I\nearn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can\noften do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day.\"\n\n\"You have made your position very clear to me,\" said Holmes.\n\"This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as\nfreely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your\nconnection with Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\nA flush stole over Miss Sutherland\'s face, and she picked\nnervously at the fringe of her jacket. \"I met him first at the\ngasfitters\' ball,\" she said. \"They used to send father tickets\nwhen he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and\nsent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He\nnever did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I\nwanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I\nwas set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to\nprevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all\nfather\'s friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing\nfit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much\nas taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do,\nhe went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we went,\nmother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it\nwas there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\n\"I suppose,\" said Holmes, \"that when Mr. Windibank came back from\nFrance he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and\nshrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying\nanything to a woman, for she would have her way.\"\n\n\"I see. Then at the gasfitters\' ball you met, as I understand, a\ngentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if\nwe had got home all safe, and after that we met him--that is to\nsay, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father\ncame back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the house\nany more.\"\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"Well, you know father didn\'t like anything of the sort. He\nwouldn\'t have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to\nsay that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But\nthen, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to\nbegin with, and I had not got mine yet.\"\n\n\"But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see\nyou?\"\n\n\"Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer\nwrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each\nother until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he\nused to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning, so\nthere was no need for father to know.\"\n\n\"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that\nwe took. Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office in\nLeadenhall Street--and--\"\n\n\"What office?\"\n\n\"That\'s the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don\'t know.\"\n\n\"Where did he live, then?\"\n\n\"He slept on the premises.\"\n\n\"And you don\'t know his address?\"\n\n\"No--except that it was Leadenhall Street.\"\n\n\"Where did you address your letters, then?\"\n\n\"To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called\nfor. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be\nchaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady,\nso I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn\'t\nhave that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to come\nfrom me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the\nmachine had come between us. That will just show you how fond he\nwas of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think\nof.\"\n\n\"It was most suggestive,\" said Holmes. \"It has long been an axiom\nof mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.\nCan you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?\"\n\n\"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me\nin the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to\nbe conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his\nvoice was gentle. He\'d had the quinsy and swollen glands when he\nwas young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat,\nand a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always\nwell dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just\nas mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare.\"\n\n\"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather,\nreturned to France?\"\n\n\"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we\nshould marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest\nand made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever\nhappened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite\nright to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion.\nMother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder\nof him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the\nweek, I began to ask about father; but they both said never to\nmind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother\nsaid she would make it all right with him. I didn\'t quite like\nthat, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as\nhe was only a few years older than me; but I didn\'t want to do\nanything on the sly, so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the\ncompany has its French offices, but the letter came back to me on\nthe very morning of the wedding.\"\n\n\"It missed him, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived.\"\n\n\"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for\nthe Friday. Was it to be in church?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour\'s, near\nKing\'s Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St.\nPancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were\ntwo of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a\nfour-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the\nstreet. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler\ndrove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and\nwhen the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one\nthere! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become\nof him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was\nlast Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything\nsince then to throw any light upon what became of him.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,\" said\nHolmes.\n\n\"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all\nthe morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to\nbe true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to\nseparate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him,\nand that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed\nstrange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since\ngives a meaning to it.\"\n\n\"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some\nunforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he\nwould not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw\nhappened.\"\n\n\"But you have no notion as to what it could have been?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"One more question. How did your mother take the matter?\"\n\n\"She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter\nagain.\"\n\n\"And your father? Did you tell him?\"\n\n\"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had\nhappened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said,\nwhat interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of\nthe church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my\nmoney, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him,\nthere might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about\nmoney and never would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what\ncould have happened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives me\nhalf-mad to think of it, and I can\'t sleep a wink at night.\" She\npulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob\nheavily into it.\n\n\"I shall glance into the case for you,\" said Holmes, rising, \"and\nI have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the\nweight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind\ndwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel\nvanish from your memory, as he has done from your life.\"\n\n\"Then you don\'t think I\'ll see him again?\"\n\n\"I fear not.\"\n\n\"Then what has happened to him?\"\n\n\"You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an\naccurate description of him and any letters of his which you can\nspare.\"\n\n\"I advertised for him in last Saturday\'s Chronicle,\" said she.\n\"Here is the slip and here are four letters from him.\"\n\n\"Thank you. And your address?\"\n\n\"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell.\"\n\n\"Mr. Angel\'s address you never had, I understand. Where is your\nfather\'s place of business?\"\n\n\"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers\nof Fenchurch Street.\"\n\n\"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will\nleave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given\nyou. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it\nto affect your life.\"\n\n\"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be\ntrue to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back.\"\n\nFor all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was\nsomething noble in the simple faith of our visitor which\ncompelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon\nthe table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever\nshe might be summoned.\n\nSherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips\nstill pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him,\nand his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down\nfrom the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a\ncounsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with\nthe thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of\ninfinite languor in his face.\n\n\"Quite an interesting study, that maiden,\" he observed. \"I found\nher more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way,\nis rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you\nconsult my index, in Andover in \'77, and there was something of\nthe sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however,\nthere were one or two details which were new to me. But the\nmaiden herself was most instructive.\"\n\n\"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite\ninvisible to me,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to\nlook, and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring\nyou to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of\nthumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace.\nNow, what did you gather from that woman\'s appearance? Describe\nit.\"\n\n\"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a\nfeather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads\nsewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her\ndress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little\npurple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and\nwere worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn\'t\nobserve. She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a\ngeneral air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable,\neasy-going way.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.\n\n\"\'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have\nreally done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed\neverything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and\nyou have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general\nimpressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My\nfirst glance is always at a woman\'s sleeve. In a man it is\nperhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you\nobserve, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most\nuseful material for showing traces. The double line a little\nabove the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table,\nwas beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type,\nleaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side\nof it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the\nbroadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and,\nobserving the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I\nventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed\nto surprise her.\"\n\n\"It surprised me.\"\n\n\"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and\ninterested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots\nwhich she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were\nreally odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and\nthe other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower\nbuttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and\nfifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly\ndressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned,\nit is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry.\"\n\n\"And what else?\" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by\nmy friend\'s incisive reasoning.\n\n\"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving\nhome but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right\nglove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see\nthat both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had\nwritten in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been\nthis morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger.\nAll this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back\nto business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised\ndescription of Mr. Hosmer Angel?\"\n\nI held the little printed slip to the light.\n\n\"Missing,\" it said, \"on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman\nnamed Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height;\nstrongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in\nthe centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted\nglasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen,\nin black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert\nchain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over\nelastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office in\nLeadenhall Street. Anybody bringing--\"\n\n\"That will do,\" said Holmes. \"As to the letters,\" he continued,\nglancing over them, \"they are very commonplace. Absolutely no\nclue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There\nis one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike\nyou.\"\n\n\"They are typewritten,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the\nneat little \'Hosmer Angel\' at the bottom. There is a date, you\nsee, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is\nrather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive--in\nfact, we may call it conclusive.\"\n\n\"Of what?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it\nbears upon the case?\"\n\n\"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able\nto deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were\ninstituted.\"\n\n\"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters,\nwhich should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the\nother is to the young lady\'s stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking\nhim whether he could meet us here at six o\'clock tomorrow\nevening. It is just as well that we should do business with the\nmale relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the\nanswers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem\nupon the shelf for the interim.\"\n\nI had had so many reasons to believe in my friend\'s subtle powers\nof reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that\nhe must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy\ndemeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had\nbeen called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in\nthe case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler\nphotograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the\nSign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with\nthe Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle\nindeed which he could not unravel.\n\nI left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the\nconviction that when I came again on the next evening I would\nfind that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up\nto the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary\nSutherland.\n\nA professional case of great gravity was engaging my own\nattention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at\nthe bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six\no\'clock that I found myself free and was able to spring into a\nhansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too\nlate to assist at the dénouement of the little mystery. I found\nSherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin\nform curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable\narray of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell\nof hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the\nchemical work which was so dear to him.\n\n\"Well, have you solved it?\" I asked as I entered.\n\n\"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta.\"\n\n\"No, no, the mystery!\" I cried.\n\n\"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.\nThere was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said\nyesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback\nis that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel.\"\n\n\"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss\nSutherland?\"\n\nThe question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet\nopened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the\npassage and a tap at the door.\n\n\"This is the girl\'s stepfather, Mr. James Windibank,\" said\nHolmes. \"He has written to me to say that he would be here at\nsix. Come in!\"\n\nThe man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some\nthirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a\nbland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and\npenetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of\nus, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a\nslight bow sidled down into the nearest chair.\n\n\"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank,\" said Holmes. \"I think that\nthis typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an\nappointment with me for six o\'clock?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not\nquite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland\nhas troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far\nbetter not to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite\nagainst my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable,\nimpulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily\ncontrolled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I\ndid not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the\nofficial police, but it is not pleasant to have a family\nmisfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless\nexpense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said Holmes quietly; \"I have every reason to\nbelieve that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel.\"\n\nMr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. \"I am\ndelighted to hear it,\" he said.\n\n\"It is a curious thing,\" remarked Holmes, \"that a typewriter has\nreally quite as much individuality as a man\'s handwriting. Unless\nthey are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some\nletters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one\nside. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that\nin every case there is some little slurring over of the \'e,\' and\na slight defect in the tail of the \'r.\' There are fourteen other\ncharacteristics, but those are the more obvious.\"\n\n\"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office,\nand no doubt it is a little worn,\" our visitor answered, glancing\nkeenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.\n\n\"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study,\nMr. Windibank,\" Holmes continued. \"I think of writing another\nlittle monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its\nrelation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some\nlittle attention. I have here four letters which purport to come\nfrom the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, not\nonly are the \'e\'s\' slurred and the \'r\'s\' tailless, but you will\nobserve, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen\nother characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well.\"\n\nMr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. \"I\ncannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,\"\nhe said. \"If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know\nwhen you have done it.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in\nthe door. \"I let you know, then, that I have caught him!\"\n\n\"What! where?\" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips\nand glancing about him like a rat in a trap.\n\n\"Oh, it won\'t do--really it won\'t,\" said Holmes suavely. \"There\nis no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too\ntransparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that\nit was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That\'s\nright! Sit down and let us talk it over.\"\n\nOur visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a\nglitter of moisture on his brow. \"It--it\'s not actionable,\" he\nstammered.\n\n\"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves,\nWindibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a\npetty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the\ncourse of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong.\"\n\nThe man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his\nbreast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up\non the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands\nin his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed,\nthan to us.\n\n\"The man married a woman very much older than himself for her\nmoney,\" said he, \"and he enjoyed the use of the money of the\ndaughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable\nsum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have\nmade a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it.\nThe daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate\nand warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with\nher fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would\nnot be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would\nmean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her\nstepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of\nkeeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of\npeople of her own age. But soon he found that that would not\nanswer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and\nfinally announced her positive intention of going to a certain\nball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an\nidea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the\nconnivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself,\ncovered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with\na moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice\ninto an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the\ngirl\'s short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off\nother lovers by making love himself.\"\n\n\"It was only a joke at first,\" groaned our visitor. \"We never\nthought that she would have been so carried away.\"\n\n\"Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was very\ndecidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that\nher stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery never\nfor an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by the\ngentleman\'s attentions, and the effect was increased by the\nloudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began\nto call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as\nfar as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There\nwere meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the\ngirl\'s affections from turning towards anyone else. But the\ndeception could not be kept up forever. These pretended journeys\nto France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to\nbring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it\nwould leave a permanent impression upon the young lady\'s mind and\nprevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to\ncome. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and\nhence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening\non the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wished Miss\nSutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to\nhis fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not\nlisten to another man. As far as the church door he brought her,\nand then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished\naway by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a\nfour-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of\nevents, Mr. Windibank!\"\n\nOur visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes\nhad been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold\nsneer upon his pale face.\n\n\"It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, \"but if you\nare so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is\nyou who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing\nactionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door\nlocked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal\nconstraint.\"\n\n\"The law cannot, as you say, touch you,\" said Holmes, unlocking\nand throwing open the door, \"yet there never was a man who\ndeserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a\nfriend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove!\"\nhe continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon\nthe man\'s face, \"it is not part of my duties to my client, but\nhere\'s a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat\nmyself to--\" He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he\ncould grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs,\nthe heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr.\nJames Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road.\n\n\"There\'s a cold-blooded scoundrel!\" said Holmes, laughing, as he\nthrew himself down into his chair once more. \"That fellow will\nrise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and\nends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not\nentirely devoid of interest.\"\n\n\"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning,\" I\nremarked.\n\n\"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr.\nHosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious\nconduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really\nprofited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the\nstepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together,\nbut that the one always appeared when the other was away, was\nsuggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice,\nwhich both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My\nsuspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in\ntypewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his\nhandwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even\nthe smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts,\ntogether with many minor ones, all pointed in the same\ndirection.\"\n\n\"And how did you verify them?\"\n\n\"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I\nknew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed\ndescription. I eliminated everything from it which could be the\nresult of a disguise--the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I\nsent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me\nwhether it answered to the description of any of their\ntravellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the\ntypewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business\naddress asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his\nreply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but\ncharacteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from\nWesthouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the\ndescription tallied in every respect with that of their employé,\nJames Windibank. Voilà tout!\"\n\n\"And Miss Sutherland?\"\n\n\"If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old\nPersian saying, \'There is danger for him who taketh the tiger\ncub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.\'\nThere is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much\nknowledge of the world.\"\n\n\n\nADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY\n\nWe were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the\nmaid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran\nin this way:\n\n\"Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from\nthe west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy.\nShall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect.\nLeave Paddington by the 11:15.\"\n\n\"What do you say, dear?\" said my wife, looking across at me.\n\"Will you go?\"\n\n\"I really don\'t know what to say. I have a fairly long list at\npresent.\"\n\n\"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking\na little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good,\nand you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes\' cases.\"\n\n\"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained\nthrough one of them,\" I answered. \"But if I am to go, I must pack\nat once, for I have only half an hour.\"\n\nMy experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the\neffect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were\nfew and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a\ncab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock\nHolmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt\nfigure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey\ntravelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.\n\n\"It is really very good of you to come, Watson,\" said he. \"It\nmakes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on\nwhom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless\nor else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall\nget the tickets.\"\n\nWe had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of\npapers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged\nand read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until\nwe were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a\ngigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.\n\n\"Have you heard anything of the case?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days.\"\n\n\"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just\nbeen looking through all the recent papers in order to master the\nparticulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those\nsimple cases which are so extremely difficult.\"\n\n\"That sounds a little paradoxical.\"\n\n\"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a\nclue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more\ndifficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they\nhave established a very serious case against the son of the\nmurdered man.\"\n\n\"It is a murder, then?\"\n\n\"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for\ngranted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into\nit. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have\nbeen able to understand it, in a very few words.\n\n\"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in\nHerefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a\nMr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned\nsome years ago to the old country. One of the farms which he\nheld, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was\nalso an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the\ncolonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to\nsettle down they should do so as near each other as possible.\nTurner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his\ntenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect\nequality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son,\na lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same\nage, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have\navoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to\nhave led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of\nsport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the\nneighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl.\nTurner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the\nleast. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the\nfamilies. Now for the facts.\n\n\"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at\nHatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the\nBoscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out\nof the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been\nout with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told\nthe man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of\nimportance to keep at three. From that appointment he never came\nback alive.\n\n\"From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a\nmile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One\nwas an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was\nWilliam Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both\nthese witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The\ngame-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr.\nMcCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the\nsame way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, the\nfather was actually in sight at the time, and the son was\nfollowing him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in\nthe evening of the tragedy that had occurred.\n\n\"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder,\nthe game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly\nwooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the\nedge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of\nthe lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the\nwoods picking flowers. She states that while she was there she\nsaw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr.\nMcCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a\nviolent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very\nstrong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his\nhand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by their\nviolence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached\nhome that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near\nBoscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to\nfight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came\nrunning up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead\nin the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was\nmuch excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right\nhand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On\nfollowing him they found the dead body stretched out upon the\ngrass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated\nblows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such as\nmight very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son\'s\ngun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the\nbody. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly\narrested, and a verdict of \'wilful murder\' having been returned\nat the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the\nmagistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next\nAssizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out\nbefore the coroner and the police-court.\"\n\n\"I could hardly imagine a more damning case,\" I remarked. \"If\never circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so\nhere.\"\n\n\"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing,\" answered Holmes\nthoughtfully. \"It may seem to point very straight to one thing,\nbut if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it\npointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something\nentirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the case\nlooks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very\npossible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several people\nin the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the\ndaughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his\ninnocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect\nin connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in\nhis interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the\ncase to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are\nflying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly\ndigesting their breakfasts at home.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" said I, \"that the facts are so obvious that you\nwill find little credit to be gained out of this case.\"\n\n\"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact,\" he\nanswered, laughing. \"Besides, we may chance to hit upon some\nother obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to\nMr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting\nwhen I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory by\nmeans which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of\nunderstanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly\nperceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand\nside, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted\neven so self-evident a thing as that.\"\n\n\"How on earth--\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness\nwhich characterises you. You shave every morning, and in this\nseason you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less\nand less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until\nit becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the\njaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated\nthan the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking\nat himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a\nresult. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and\ninference. Therein lies my métier, and it is just possible that\nit may be of some service in the investigation which lies before\nus. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in\nthe inquest, and which are worth considering.\"\n\n\"What are they?\"\n\n\"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after\nthe return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary\ninforming him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not\nsurprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.\nThis observation of his had the natural effect of removing any\ntraces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the\ncoroner\'s jury.\"\n\n\"It was a confession,\" I ejaculated.\n\n\"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence.\"\n\n\"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at\nleast a most suspicious remark.\"\n\n\"On the contrary,\" said Holmes, \"it is the brightest rift which I\ncan at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be,\nhe could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the\ncircumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared\nsurprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I\nshould have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such\nsurprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances,\nand yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His\nfrank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent\nman, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and\nfirmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not\nunnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of\nhis father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day\nso far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and\neven, according to the little girl whose evidence is so\nimportant, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The\nself-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark\nappear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a\nguilty one.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Many men have been hanged on far slighter\nevidence,\" I remarked.\n\n\"So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged.\"\n\n\"What is the young man\'s own account of the matter?\"\n\n\"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,\nthough there are one or two points in it which are suggestive.\nYou will find it here, and may read it for yourself.\"\n\nHe picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire\npaper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the\nparagraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own\nstatement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the\ncorner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this\nway:\n\n\"Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called\nand gave evidence as follows: \'I had been away from home for\nthree days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the\nmorning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father was absent from home at\nthe time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he\nhad driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after\nmy return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and,\nlooking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out\nof the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was\ngoing. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of\nthe Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit\nwarren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw William\nCrowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but\nhe is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had\nno idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards\nfrom the pool I heard a cry of \"Cooee!\" which was a usual signal\nbetween my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found\nhim standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at\nseeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A\nconversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows,\nfor my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that his\npassion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned\ntowards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards,\nhowever, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me\nto run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground,\nwith his head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in\nmy arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for\nsome minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner\'s lodge-keeper,\nhis house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one\nnear my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by\nhis injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and\nforbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no\nactive enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.\'\n\n\"The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before\nhe died?\n\n\"Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some\nallusion to a rat.\n\n\"The Coroner: What did you understand by that?\n\n\"Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was\ndelirious.\n\n\"The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father\nhad this final quarrel?\n\n\"Witness: I should prefer not to answer.\n\n\"The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.\n\n\"Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can\nassure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which\nfollowed.\n\n\"The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point\nout to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case\nconsiderably in any future proceedings which may arise.\n\n\"Witness: I must still refuse.\n\n\"The Coroner: I understand that the cry of \'Cooee\' was a common\nsignal between you and your father?\n\n\"Witness: It was.\n\n\"The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw\nyou, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol?\n\n\"Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.\n\n\"A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions\nwhen you returned on hearing the cry and found your father\nfatally injured?\n\n\"Witness: Nothing definite.\n\n\"The Coroner: What do you mean?\n\n\"Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into\nthe open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet\nI have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay\nupon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be\nsomething grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps.\nWhen I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was\ngone.\n\n\"\'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?\'\n\n\"\'Yes, it was gone.\'\n\n\"\'You cannot say what it was?\'\n\n\"\'No, I had a feeling something was there.\'\n\n\"\'How far from the body?\'\n\n\"\'A dozen yards or so.\'\n\n\"\'And how far from the edge of the wood?\'\n\n\"\'About the same.\'\n\n\"\'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen\nyards of it?\'\n\n\"\'Yes, but with my back towards it.\'\n\n\"This concluded the examination of the witness.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said I as I glanced down the column, \"that the coroner\nin his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy.\nHe calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his\nfather having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his\nrefusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and\nhis singular account of his father\'s dying words. They are all,\nas he remarks, very much against the son.\"\n\nHolmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon\nthe cushioned seat. \"Both you and the coroner have been at some\npains,\" said he, \"to single out the very strongest points in the\nyoung man\'s favour. Don\'t you see that you alternately give him\ncredit for having too much imagination and too little? Too\nlittle, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would\ngive him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from\nhis own inner consciousness anything so outré as a dying\nreference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No,\nsir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what\nthis young man says is true, and we shall see whither that\nhypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and\nnot another word shall I say of this case until we are on the\nscene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be\nthere in twenty minutes.\"\n\nIt was nearly four o\'clock when we at last, after passing through\nthe beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn,\nfound ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A\nlean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for\nus upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and\nleather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic\nsurroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of\nScotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a\nroom had already been engaged for us.\n\n\"I have ordered a carriage,\" said Lestrade as we sat over a cup\nof tea. \"I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be\nhappy until you had been on the scene of the crime.\"\n\n\"It was very nice and complimentary of you,\" Holmes answered. \"It\nis entirely a question of barometric pressure.\"\n\nLestrade looked startled. \"I do not quite follow,\" he said.\n\n\"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud\nin the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need\nsmoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country\nhotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I\nshall use the carriage to-night.\"\n\nLestrade laughed indulgently. \"You have, no doubt, already formed\nyour conclusions from the newspapers,\" he said. \"The case is as\nplain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer\nit becomes. Still, of course, one can\'t refuse a lady, and such a\nvery positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your\nopinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing\nwhich you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my\nsoul! here is her carriage at the door.\"\n\nHe had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the\nmost lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her\nviolet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her\ncheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her\noverpowering excitement and concern.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!\" she cried, glancing from one to the\nother of us, and finally, with a woman\'s quick intuition,\nfastening upon my companion, \"I am so glad that you have come. I\nhave driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn\'t do it.\nI know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it,\ntoo. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each\nother since we were little children, and I know his faults as no\none else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a\ncharge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.\"\n\n\"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner,\" said Sherlock Holmes.\n\"You may rely upon my doing all that I can.\"\n\n\"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion?\nDo you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself\nthink that he is innocent?\"\n\n\"I think that it is very probable.\"\n\n\"There, now!\" she cried, throwing back her head and looking\ndefiantly at Lestrade. \"You hear! He gives me hopes.\"\n\nLestrade shrugged his shoulders. \"I am afraid that my colleague\nhas been a little quick in forming his conclusions,\" he said.\n\n\"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did\nit. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the\nreason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because\nI was concerned in it.\"\n\n\"In what way?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had\nmany disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that\nthere should be a marriage between us. James and I have always\nloved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young\nand has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he\nnaturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there\nwere quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them.\"\n\n\"And your father?\" asked Holmes. \"Was he in favour of such a\nunion?\"\n\n\"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in\nfavour of it.\" A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as\nHolmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.\n\n\"Thank you for this information,\" said he. \"May I see your father\nif I call to-morrow?\"\n\n\"I am afraid the doctor won\'t allow it.\"\n\n\"The doctor?\"\n\n\"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for\nyears back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken\nto his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his\nnervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive\nwho had known dad in the old days in Victoria.\"\n\n\"Ha! In Victoria! That is important.\"\n\n\"Yes, at the mines.\"\n\n\"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner\nmade his money.\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to\nme.\"\n\n\"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you\nwill go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do\ntell him that I know him to be innocent.\"\n\n\"I will, Miss Turner.\"\n\n\"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if\nI leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking.\" She\nhurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we\nheard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street.\n\n\"I am ashamed of you, Holmes,\" said Lestrade with dignity after a\nfew minutes\' silence. \"Why should you raise up hopes which you\nare bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I\ncall it cruel.\"\n\n\"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy,\" said\nHolmes. \"Have you an order to see him in prison?\"\n\n\"Yes, but only for you and me.\"\n\n\"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have\nstill time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?\"\n\n\"Ample.\"\n\n\"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very\nslow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours.\"\n\nI walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through\nthe streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel,\nwhere I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a\nyellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin,\nhowever, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were\ngroping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the\naction to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and\ngave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the\nday. Supposing that this unhappy young man\'s story were\nabsolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely\nunforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between\nthe time when he parted from his father, and the moment when,\ndrawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was\nsomething terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the\nnature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts?\nI rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which\ncontained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon\'s\ndeposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left\nparietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been\nshattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot\nupon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from\nbehind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when\nseen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it\ndid not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his\nback before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call\nHolmes\' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying\nreference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be\ndelirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become\ndelirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how\nhe met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my\nbrains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident\nof the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the\nmurderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his\novercoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to\nreturn and to carry it away at the instant when the son was\nkneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a\ntissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I\ndid not wonder at Lestrade\'s opinion, and yet I had so much faith\nin Sherlock Holmes\' insight that I could not lose hope as long\nas every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young\nMcCarthy\'s innocence.\n\nIt was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone,\nfor Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.\n\n\"The glass still keeps very high,\" he remarked as he sat down.\n\"It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able\nto go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his\nvery best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not\nwish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young\nMcCarthy.\"\n\n\"And what did you learn from him?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Could he throw no light?\"\n\n\"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew\nwho had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced\nnow that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very\nquick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think,\nsound at heart.\"\n\n\"I cannot admire his taste,\" I remarked, \"if it is indeed a fact\nthat he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as\nthis Miss Turner.\"\n\n\"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,\ninsanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was\nonly a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away\nfive years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get\ninto the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a\nregistry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can\nimagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not\ndoing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows\nto be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort\nwhich made him throw his hands up into the air when his father,\nat their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss\nTurner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself,\nand his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would\nhave thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with\nhis barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in\nBristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that\npoint. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however,\nfor the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious\ntrouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and\nhas written to him to say that she has a husband already in the\nBermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I\nthink that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all\nthat he has suffered.\"\n\n\"But if he is innocent, who has done it?\"\n\n\"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two\npoints. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with\nsomeone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his\nson, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would\nreturn. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry\n\'Cooee!\' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the\ncrucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk\nabout George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all\nminor matters until to-morrow.\"\n\nThere was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke\nbright and cloudless. At nine o\'clock Lestrade called for us with\nthe carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe\nPool.\n\n\"There is serious news this morning,\" Lestrade observed. \"It is\nsaid that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is\ndespaired of.\"\n\n\"An elderly man, I presume?\" said Holmes.\n\n\"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life\nabroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This\nbusiness has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend\nof McCarthy\'s, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I\nhave learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free.\"\n\n\"Indeed! That is interesting,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody\nabout here speaks of his kindness to him.\"\n\n\"Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this\nMcCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have\nbeen under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of\nmarrying his son to Turner\'s daughter, who is, presumably,\nheiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner,\nas if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would\nfollow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself\nwas averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not\ndeduce something from that?\"\n\n\"We have got to the deductions and the inferences,\" said\nLestrade, winking at me. \"I find it hard enough to tackle facts,\nHolmes, without flying away after theories and fancies.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said Holmes demurely; \"you do find it very hard\nto tackle the facts.\"\n\n\"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it\ndifficult to get hold of,\" replied Lestrade with some warmth.\n\n\"And that is--\"\n\n\"That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that\nall theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine.\"\n\n\"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,\" said Holmes,\nlaughing. \"But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley\nFarm upon the left.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is it.\" It was a widespread, comfortable-looking\nbuilding, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches\nof lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless\nchimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight\nof this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door,\nwhen the maid, at Holmes\' request, showed us the boots which her\nmaster wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the\nson\'s, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured\nthese very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes\ndesired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed\nthe winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.\n\nSherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent\nas this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of\nBaker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed\nand darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines,\nwhile his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.\nHis face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips\ncompressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long,\nsinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal\nlust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated\nupon the matter before him that a question or remark fell\nunheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick,\nimpatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way\nalong the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of\nthe woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is\nall that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon\nthe path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either\nside. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and\nonce he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and\nI walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous,\nwhile I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the\nconviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a\ndefinite end.\n\nThe Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water\nsome fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the\nHatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.\nAbove the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see\nthe red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich\nlandowner\'s dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods\ngrew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass\ntwenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds\nwhich lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which\nthe body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground,\nthat I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the\nfall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager\nface and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read\nupon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking\nup a scent, and then turned upon my companion.\n\n\"What did you go into the pool for?\" he asked.\n\n\"I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon\nor other trace. But how on earth--\"\n\n\"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its\ninward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and\nthere it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all\nhave been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo\nand wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the\nlodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or\neight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of\nthe same feet.\" He drew out a lens and lay down upon his\nwaterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to\nhimself than to us. \"These are young McCarthy\'s feet. Twice he\nwas walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are\ndeeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his\nstory. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are\nthe father\'s feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It\nis the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this?\nHa, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite\nunusual boots! They come, they go, they come again--of course\nthat was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?\" He ran up\nand down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we\nwere well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a\ngreat beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced\nhis way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon\nhis face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he\nremained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks,\ngathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and\nexamining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of\nthe tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among\nthe moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then\nhe followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the\nhighroad, where all traces were lost.\n\n\"It has been a case of considerable interest,\" he remarked,\nreturning to his natural manner. \"I fancy that this grey house on\nthe right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a\nword with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done\nthat, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab,\nand I shall be with you presently.\"\n\nIt was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove\nback into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he\nhad picked up in the wood.\n\n\"This may interest you, Lestrade,\" he remarked, holding it out.\n\"The murder was done with it.\"\n\n\"I see no marks.\"\n\n\"There are none.\"\n\n\"How do you know, then?\"\n\n\"The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few\ndays. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It\ncorresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other\nweapon.\"\n\n\"And the murderer?\"\n\n\"Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears\nthick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian\ncigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his\npocket. There are several other indications, but these may be\nenough to aid us in our search.\"\n\nLestrade laughed. \"I am afraid that I am still a sceptic,\" he\nsaid. \"Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a\nhard-headed British jury.\"\n\n\"Nous verrons,\" answered Holmes calmly. \"You work your own\nmethod, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon,\nand shall probably return to London by the evening train.\"\n\n\"And leave your case unfinished?\"\n\n\"No, finished.\"\n\n\"But the mystery?\"\n\n\"It is solved.\"\n\n\"Who was the criminal, then?\"\n\n\"The gentleman I describe.\"\n\n\"But who is he?\"\n\n\"Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a\npopulous neighbourhood.\"\n\nLestrade shrugged his shoulders. \"I am a practical man,\" he said,\n\"and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking\nfor a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the\nlaughing-stock of Scotland Yard.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Holmes quietly. \"I have given you the chance.\nHere are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before\nI leave.\"\n\nHaving left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where\nwe found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in\nthought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds\nhimself in a perplexing position.\n\n\"Look here, Watson,\" he said when the cloth was cleared \"just sit\ndown in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don\'t\nknow quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a\ncigar and let me expound.\"\n\n \"Pray do so.\"\n\n\"Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about\nyoung McCarthy\'s narrative which struck us both instantly,\nalthough they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One\nwas the fact that his father should, according to his account,\ncry \'Cooee!\' before seeing him. The other was his singular dying\nreference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but\nthat was all that caught the son\'s ear. Now from this double\npoint our research must commence, and we will begin it by\npresuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.\"\n\n\"What of this \'Cooee!\' then?\"\n\n\"Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The\nson, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that\nhe was within earshot. The \'Cooee!\' was meant to attract the\nattention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But\n\'Cooee\' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used\nbetween Australians. There is a strong presumption that the\nperson whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was\nsomeone who had been in Australia.\"\n\n\"What of the rat, then?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened\nit out on the table. \"This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,\"\nhe said. \"I wired to Bristol for it last night.\" He put his hand\nover part of the map. \"What do you read?\"\n\n\"ARAT,\" I read.\n\n\"And now?\" He raised his hand.\n\n\"BALLARAT.\"\n\n\"Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his\nson only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter\nthe name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat.\"\n\n\"It is wonderful!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down\nconsiderably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point\nwhich, granting the son\'s statement to be correct, was a\ncertainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite\nconception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only\nbe approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could\nhardly wander.\"\n\n\"Quite so.\"\n\n\"Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the\nground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that\nimbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal.\"\n\n\"But how did you gain them?\"\n\n\"You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of\ntrifles.\"\n\n\"His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length\nof his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces.\"\n\n\"Yes, they were peculiar boots.\"\n\n\"But his lameness?\"\n\n\"The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than\nhis left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped--he\nwas lame.\"\n\n\"But his left-handedness.\"\n\n\"You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded\nby the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from\nimmediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can\nthat be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind\nthat tree during the interview between the father and son. He had\neven smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special\nknowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian\ncigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and\nwritten a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different\nvarieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the\nash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss\nwhere he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety\nwhich are rolled in Rotterdam.\"\n\n\"And the cigar-holder?\"\n\n\"I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he\nused a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the\ncut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.\"\n\n\"Holmes,\" I said, \"you have drawn a net round this man from which\nhe cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as\ntruly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the\ndirection in which all this points. The culprit is--\"\n\n\"Mr. John Turner,\" cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of\nour sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.\n\nThe man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His\nslow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of\ndecrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and\nhis enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual\nstrength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled\nhair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air\nof dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an\nashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were\ntinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that\nhe was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.\n\n\"Pray sit down on the sofa,\" said Holmes gently. \"You had my\nnote?\"\n\n\"Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to\nsee me here to avoid scandal.\"\n\n\"I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall.\"\n\n\"And why did you wish to see me?\" He looked across at my\ncompanion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question\nwas already answered.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. \"It\nis so. I know all about McCarthy.\"\n\nThe old man sank his face in his hands. \"God help me!\" he cried.\n\"But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you\nmy word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at\nthe Assizes.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear you say so,\" said Holmes gravely.\n\n\"I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It\nwould break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears\nthat I am arrested.\"\n\n\"It may not come to that,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter\nwho required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests.\nYoung McCarthy must be got off, however.\"\n\n\"I am a dying man,\" said old Turner. \"I have had diabetes for\nyears. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a\nmonth. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol.\"\n\nHolmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand\nand a bundle of paper before him. \"Just tell us the truth,\" he\nsaid. \"I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson\nhere can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the\nlast extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall\nnot use it unless it is absolutely needed.\"\n\n\"It\'s as well,\" said the old man; \"it\'s a question whether I\nshall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I\nshould wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the\nthing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but\nwill not take me long to tell.\n\n\"You didn\'t know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil\nincarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of\nsuch a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years,\nand he has blasted my life. I\'ll tell you first how I came to be\nin his power.\n\n\"It was in the early \'60\'s at the diggings. I was a young chap\nthen, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at\nanything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck\nwith my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you\nwould call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and\nwe had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time\nto time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings.\nBlack Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party\nis still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.\n\n\"One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and\nwe lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers\nand six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of\ntheir saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed,\nhowever, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of\nthe wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the\nLord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his\nwicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every\nfeature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made\nour way over to England without being suspected. There I parted\nfrom my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and\nrespectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in\nthe market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money,\nto make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too,\nand though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice.\nEven when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down\nthe right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned\nover a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was\ngoing well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me.\n\n\"I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in\nRegent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his\nfoot.\n\n\"\'Here we are, Jack,\' says he, touching me on the arm; \'we\'ll be\nas good as a family to you. There\'s two of us, me and my son, and\nyou can have the keeping of us. If you don\'t--it\'s a fine,\nlaw-abiding country is England, and there\'s always a policeman\nwithin hail.\'\n\n\"Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking\nthem off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land\never since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness;\nturn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my\nelbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more\nafraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he\nwanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without\nquestion, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing\nwhich I could not give. He asked for Alice.\n\n\"His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was\nknown to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that\nhis lad should step into the whole property. But there I was\nfirm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that\nI had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that\nwas enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do\nhis worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses\nto talk it over.\n\n\"When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I\nsmoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone.\nBut as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in\nme seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my\ndaughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she\nwere a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I\nand all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a\nman as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and\na desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb,\nI knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl!\nBoth could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I\ndid it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned,\nI have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl\nshould be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more\nthan I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction\nthan if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought\nback his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I\nwas forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in\nmy flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that\noccurred.\"\n\n\"Well, it is not for me to judge you,\" said Holmes as the old man\nsigned the statement which had been drawn out. \"I pray that we\nmay never be exposed to such a temptation.\"\n\n\"I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?\"\n\n\"In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you\nwill soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the\nAssizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is\ncondemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be\nseen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or\ndead, shall be safe with us.\"\n\n\"Farewell, then,\" said the old man solemnly. \"Your own deathbeds,\nwhen they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace\nwhich you have given to mine.\" Tottering and shaking in all his\ngiant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.\n\n\"God help us!\" said Holmes after a long silence. \"Why does fate\nplay such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such\na case as this that I do not think of Baxter\'s words, and say,\n\'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.\'\"\n\nJames McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a\nnumber of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and\nsubmitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven\nmonths after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is\nevery prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily\ntogether in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their\npast.\n\n\n\nADVENTURE V. THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS\n\nWhen I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes\ncases between the years \'82 and \'90, I am faced by so many which\npresent strange and interesting features that it is no easy\nmatter to know which to choose and which to leave. Some, however,\nhave already gained publicity through the papers, and others have\nnot offered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friend\npossessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of\nthese papers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled his\nanalytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without\nan ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and\nhave their explanations founded rather upon conjecture and\nsurmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear to\nhim. There is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable\nin its details and so startling in its results that I am tempted\nto give some account of it in spite of the fact that there are\npoints in connection with it which never have been, and probably\nnever will be, entirely cleared up.\n\nThe year \'87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater\nor less interest, of which I retain the records. Among my\nheadings under this one twelve months I find an account of the\nadventure of the Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur Mendicant\nSociety, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a\nfurniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the\nBritish barque \"Sophy Anderson\", of the singular adventures of the\nGrice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and finally of the\nCamberwell poisoning case. In the latter, as may be remembered,\nSherlock Holmes was able, by winding up the dead man\'s watch, to\nprove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that\ntherefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time--a\ndeduction which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the\ncase. All these I may sketch out at some future date, but none of\nthem present such singular features as the strange train of\ncircumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe.\n\nIt was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales\nhad set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind had\nscreamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that\neven here in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced\nto raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and\nto recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which\nshriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like\nuntamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in, the storm grew\nhigher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in\nthe chimney. Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the\nfireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while I at the\nother was deep in one of Clark Russell\'s fine sea-stories until\nthe howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text,\nand the splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of\nthe sea waves. My wife was on a visit to her mother\'s, and for a\nfew days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker\nStreet.\n\n\"Why,\" said I, glancing up at my companion, \"that was surely the\nbell. Who could come to-night? Some friend of yours, perhaps?\"\n\n\"Except yourself I have none,\" he answered. \"I do not encourage\nvisitors.\"\n\n\"A client, then?\"\n\n\"If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a man out\non such a day and at such an hour. But I take it that it is more\nlikely to be some crony of the landlady\'s.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there\ncame a step in the passage and a tapping at the door. He\nstretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and\ntowards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit.\n\n\"Come in!\" said he.\n\nThe man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the\noutside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of\nrefinement and delicacy in his bearing. The streaming umbrella\nwhich he held in his hand, and his long shining waterproof told\nof the fierce weather through which he had come. He looked about\nhim anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and I could see that his\nface was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is\nweighed down with some great anxiety.\n\n\"I owe you an apology,\" he said, raising his golden pince-nez to\nhis eyes. \"I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I have\nbrought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug\nchamber.\"\n\n\"Give me your coat and umbrella,\" said Holmes. \"They may rest\nhere on the hook and will be dry presently. You have come up from\nthe south-west, I see.\"\n\n\"Yes, from Horsham.\"\n\n\"That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is\nquite distinctive.\"\n\n\"I have come for advice.\"\n\n\"That is easily got.\"\n\n\"And help.\"\n\n\"That is not always so easy.\"\n\n\"I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast\nhow you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal.\"\n\n\"Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards.\"\n\n\"He said that you could solve anything.\"\n\n\"He said too much.\"\n\n\"That you are never beaten.\"\n\n\"I have been beaten four times--three times by men, and once by a\nwoman.\"\n\n\"But what is that compared with the number of your successes?\"\n\n\"It is true that I have been generally successful.\"\n\n\"Then you may be so with me.\"\n\n\"I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me\nwith some details as to your case.\"\n\n\"It is no ordinary one.\"\n\n\"None of those which come to me are. I am the last court of\nappeal.\"\n\n\"And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you\nhave ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of\nevents than those which have happened in my own family.\"\n\n\"You fill me with interest,\" said Holmes. \"Pray give us the\nessential facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards\nquestion you as to those details which seem to me to be most\nimportant.\"\n\nThe young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out\ntowards the blaze.\n\n\"My name,\" said he, \"is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have,\nas far as I can understand, little to do with this awful\nbusiness. It is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an\nidea of the facts, I must go back to the commencement of the\naffair.\n\n\"You must know that my grandfather had two sons--my uncle Elias\nand my father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry,\nwhich he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He\nwas a patentee of the Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business\nmet with such success that he was able to sell it and to retire\nupon a handsome competence.\n\n\"My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and\nbecame a planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done\nvery well. At the time of the war he fought in Jackson\'s army,\nand afterwards under Hood, where he rose to be a colonel. When\nLee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where\nhe remained for three or four years. About 1869 or 1870 he came\nback to Europe and took a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham.\nHe had made a very considerable fortune in the States, and his\nreason for leaving them was his aversion to the negroes, and his\ndislike of the Republican policy in extending the franchise to\nthem. He was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very\nfoul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a most retiring\ndisposition. During all the years that he lived at Horsham, I\ndoubt if ever he set foot in the town. He had a garden and two or\nthree fields round his house, and there he would take his\nexercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never leave\nhis room. He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very\nheavily, but he would see no society and did not want any\nfriends, not even his own brother.\n\n\"He didn\'t mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the\ntime when he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. This\nwould be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years\nin England. He begged my father to let me live with him and he\nwas very kind to me in his way. When he was sober he used to be\nfond of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he would\nmake me his representative both with the servants and with the\ntradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite\nmaster of the house. I kept all the keys and could go where I\nliked and do what I liked, so long as I did not disturb him in\nhis privacy. There was one singular exception, however, for he\nhad a single room, a lumber-room up among the attics, which was\ninvariably locked, and which he would never permit either me or\nanyone else to enter. With a boy\'s curiosity I have peeped\nthrough the keyhole, but I was never able to see more than such a\ncollection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such\na room.\n\n\"One day--it was in March, 1883--a letter with a foreign stamp\nlay upon the table in front of the colonel\'s plate. It was not a\ncommon thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all\npaid in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort. \'From\nIndia!\' said he as he took it up, \'Pondicherry postmark! What can\nthis be?\' Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little\ndried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. I began to\nlaugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight\nof his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his\nskin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he\nstill held in his trembling hand, \'K. K. K.!\' he shrieked, and\nthen, \'My God, my God, my sins have overtaken me!\'\n\n\"\'What is it, uncle?\' I cried.\n\n\"\'Death,\' said he, and rising from the table he retired to his\nroom, leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelope\nand saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the\ngum, the letter K three times repeated. There was nothing else\nsave the five dried pips. What could be the reason of his\noverpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I\nascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key,\nwhich must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small\nbrass box, like a cashbox, in the other.\n\n\"\'They may do what they like, but I\'ll checkmate them still,\'\nsaid he with an oath. \'Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my\nroom to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.\'\n\n\"I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to\nstep up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the\ngrate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned\npaper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I\nglanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was\nprinted the treble K which I had read in the morning upon the\nenvelope.\n\n\"\'I wish you, John,\' said my uncle, \'to witness my will. I leave\nmy estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to\nmy brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to\nyou. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you\ncannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest\nenemy. I am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can\'t\nsay what turn things are going to take. Kindly sign the paper\nwhere Mr. Fordham shows you.\'\n\n\"I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with\nhim. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest\nimpression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every\nway in my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I\ncould not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left\nbehind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed\nand nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I\ncould see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever,\nand he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his\ntime he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the\ninside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy\nand would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a\nrevolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man,\nand that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by\nman or devil. When these hot fits were over, however, he would\nrush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him,\nlike a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror\nwhich lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen\nhis face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it\nwere new raised from a basin.\n\n\"Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to\nabuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those\ndrunken sallies from which he never came back. We found him, when\nwe went to search for him, face downward in a little\ngreen-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. There\nwas no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep,\nso that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity,\nbrought in a verdict of \'suicide.\' But I, who knew how he winced\nfrom the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself\nthat he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed,\nhowever, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and\nof some 14,000 pounds, which lay to his credit at the bank.\"\n\n\"One moment,\" Holmes interposed, \"your statement is, I foresee,\none of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me\nhave the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and\nthe date of his supposed suicide.\"\n\n\"The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks\nlater, upon the night of May 2nd.\"\n\n\"Thank you. Pray proceed.\"\n\n\"When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my\nrequest, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been\nalways locked up. We found the brass box there, although its\ncontents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a\npaper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and\n\'Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register\' written beneath.\nThese, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had\nbeen destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was\nnothing of much importance in the attic save a great many\nscattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle\'s life in\nAmerica. Some of them were of the war time and showed that he had\ndone his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier.\nOthers were of a date during the reconstruction of the Southern\nstates, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had\nevidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag\npoliticians who had been sent down from the North.\n\n\"Well, it was the beginning of \'84 when my father came to live at\nHorsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the\nJanuary of \'85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my\nfather give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the\nbreakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened\nenvelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the\noutstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what\nhe called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked\nvery scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon\nhimself.\n\n\"\'Why, what on earth does this mean, John?\' he stammered.\n\n\"My heart had turned to lead. \'It is K. K. K.,\' said I.\n\n\"He looked inside the envelope. \'So it is,\' he cried. \'Here are\nthe very letters. But what is this written above them?\'\n\n\"\'Put the papers on the sundial,\' I read, peeping over his\nshoulder.\n\n\"\'What papers? What sundial?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'The sundial in the garden. There is no other,\' said I; \'but the\npapers must be those that are destroyed.\'\n\n\"\'Pooh!\' said he, gripping hard at his courage. \'We are in a\ncivilised land here, and we can\'t have tomfoolery of this kind.\nWhere does the thing come from?\'\n\n\"\'From Dundee,\' I answered, glancing at the postmark.\n\n\"\'Some preposterous practical joke,\' said he. \'What have I to do\nwith sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such\nnonsense.\'\n\n\"\'I should certainly speak to the police,\' I said.\n\n\"\'And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.\'\n\n\"\'Then let me do so?\'\n\n\"\'No, I forbid you. I won\'t have a fuss made about such\nnonsense.\'\n\n\"It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate\nman. I went about, however, with a heart which was full of\nforebodings.\n\n\"On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went\nfrom home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is\nin command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad\nthat he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from\ndanger when he was away from home. In that, however, I was in\nerror. Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram\nfrom the major, imploring me to come at once. My father had\nfallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the\nneighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. I\nhurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered\nhis consciousness. He had, as it appears, been returning from\nFareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him,\nand the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in\nbringing in a verdict of \'death from accidental causes.\'\nCarefully as I examined every fact connected with his death, I\nwas unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of\nmurder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no\nrobbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads.\nAnd yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease,\nand that I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been\nwoven round him.\n\n\"In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me\nwhy I did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well\nconvinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an\nincident in my uncle\'s life, and that the danger would be as\npressing in one house as in another.\n\n\"It was in January, \'85, that my poor father met his end, and two\nyears and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time\nI have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that\nthis curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended\nwith the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon,\nhowever; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in\nwhich it had come upon my father.\"\n\nThe young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and\nturning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried\norange pips.\n\n\"This is the envelope,\" he continued. \"The postmark is\nLondon--eastern division. Within are the very words which were\nupon my father\'s last message: \'K. K. K.\'; and then \'Put the\npapers on the sundial.\'\"\n\n\"What have you done?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Nothing?\"\n\n\"To tell the truth\"--he sank his face into his thin, white\nhands--\"I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor\nrabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in\nthe grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight\nand no precautions can guard against.\"\n\n\"Tut! tut!\" cried Sherlock Holmes. \"You must act, man, or you are\nlost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for\ndespair.\"\n\n\"I have seen the police.\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\n\"But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that\nthe inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all\npractical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really\naccidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with\nthe warnings.\"\n\nHolmes shook his clenched hands in the air. \"Incredible\nimbecility!\" he cried.\n\n\"They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in\nthe house with me.\"\n\n\"Has he come with you to-night?\"\n\n\"No. His orders were to stay in the house.\"\n\nAgain Holmes raved in the air.\n\n\"Why did you come to me,\" he cried, \"and, above all, why did you\nnot come at once?\"\n\n\"I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to Major\nPrendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to\nyou.\"\n\n\"It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have\nacted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than\nthat which you have placed before us--no suggestive detail which\nmight help us?\"\n\n\"There is one thing,\" said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat\npocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted\npaper, he laid it out upon the table. \"I have some remembrance,\"\nsaid he, \"that on the day when my uncle burned the papers I\nobserved that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the\nashes were of this particular colour. I found this single sheet\nupon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it\nmay be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from\namong the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond\nthe mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think\nmyself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing is\nundoubtedly my uncle\'s.\"\n\nHolmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper,\nwhich showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from\na book. It was headed, \"March, 1869,\" and beneath were the\nfollowing enigmatical notices:\n\n\"4th. Hudson came. Same old platform.\n\n\"7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and\n John Swain, of St. Augustine.\n\n\"9th. McCauley cleared.\n\n\"10th. John Swain cleared.\n\n\"12th. Visited Paramore. All well.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it\nto our visitor. \"And now you must on no account lose another\ninstant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told\nme. You must get home instantly and act.\"\n\n\"What shall I do?\"\n\n\"There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must\nput this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass\nbox which you have described. You must also put in a note to say\nthat all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that\nthis is the only one which remains. You must assert that in such\nwords as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, you\nmust at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do\nyou understand?\"\n\n\"Entirely.\"\n\n\"Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I\nthink that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our\nweb to weave, while theirs is already woven. The first\nconsideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens\nyou. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the\nguilty parties.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" said the young man, rising and pulling on his\novercoat. \"You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall\ncertainly do as you advise.\"\n\n\"Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in\nthe meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that\nyou are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do you\ngo back?\"\n\n\"By train from Waterloo.\"\n\n\"It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that\nyou may be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too\nclosely.\"\n\n\"I am armed.\"\n\n\"That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case.\"\n\n\"I shall see you at Horsham, then?\"\n\n\"No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek\nit.\"\n\n\"Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news\nas to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every\nparticular.\" He shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside\nthe wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered\nagainst the windows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come\nto us from amid the mad elements--blown in upon us like a sheet\nof sea-weed in a gale--and now to have been reabsorbed by them\nonce more.\n\nSherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk\nforward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he\nlit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue\nsmoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling.\n\n\"I think, Watson,\" he remarked at last, \"that of all our cases we\nhave had none more fantastic than this.\"\n\n\"Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four.\"\n\n\"Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems\nto me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the\nSholtos.\"\n\n\"But have you,\" I asked, \"formed any definite conception as to\nwhat these perils are?\"\n\n\"There can be no question as to their nature,\" he answered.\n\n\"Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why does he pursue\nthis unhappy family?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the\narms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. \"The ideal\nreasoner,\" he remarked, \"would, when he had once been shown a\nsingle fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the\nchain of events which led up to it but also all the results which\nwould follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a whole\nanimal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who\nhas thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents\nshould be able to accurately state all the other ones, both\nbefore and after. We have not yet grasped the results which the\nreason alone can attain to. Problems may be solved in the study\nwhich have baffled all those who have sought a solution by the\naid of their senses. To carry the art, however, to its highest\npitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to\nutilise all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and this\nin itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all\nknowledge, which, even in these days of free education and\nencyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so\nimpossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge\nwhich is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this I have\nendeavoured in my case to do. If I remember rightly, you on one\noccasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits\nin a very precise fashion.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I answered, laughing. \"It was a singular document.\nPhilosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I\nremember. Botany variable, geology profound as regards the\nmud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistry\neccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crime\nrecords unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and\nself-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the\nmain points of my analysis.\"\n\nHolmes grinned at the last item. \"Well,\" he said, \"I say now, as\nI said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic\nstocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the\nrest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he\ncan get it if he wants it. Now, for such a case as the one which\nhas been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster\nall our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of the\n\'American Encyclopaedia\' which stands upon the shelf beside you.\nThank you. Now let us consider the situation and see what may be\ndeduced from it. In the first place, we may start with a strong\npresumption that Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for\nleaving America. Men at his time of life do not change all their\nhabits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for\nthe lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love\nof solitude in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of\nsomeone or something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis\nthat it was fear of someone or something which drove him from\nAmerica. As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by\nconsidering the formidable letters which were received by himself\nand his successors. Did you remark the postmarks of those\nletters?\"\n\n\"The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the\nthird from London.\"\n\n\"From East London. What do you deduce from that?\"\n\n\"They are all seaports. That the writer was on board of a ship.\"\n\n\"Excellent. We have already a clue. There can be no doubt that\nthe probability--the strong probability--is that the writer was\non board of a ship. And now let us consider another point. In the\ncase of Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and\nits fulfilment, in Dundee it was only some three or four days.\nDoes that suggest anything?\"\n\n\"A greater distance to travel.\"\n\n\"But the letter had also a greater distance to come.\"\n\n\"Then I do not see the point.\"\n\n\"There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man\nor men are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always send\ntheir singular warning or token before them when starting upon\ntheir mission. You see how quickly the deed followed the sign\nwhen it came from Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry in a\nsteamer they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter.\nBut, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. I think that those\nseven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat which\nbrought the letter and the sailing vessel which brought the\nwriter.\"\n\n\"It is possible.\"\n\n\"More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadly\nurgency of this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to\ncaution. The blow has always fallen at the end of the time which\nit would take the senders to travel the distance. But this one\ncomes from London, and therefore we cannot count upon delay.\"\n\n\"Good God!\" I cried. \"What can it mean, this relentless\npersecution?\"\n\n\"The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital\nimportance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I think\nthat it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them.\nA single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way\nas to deceive a coroner\'s jury. There must have been several in\nit, and they must have been men of resource and determination.\nTheir papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may.\nIn this way you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an\nindividual and becomes the badge of a society.\"\n\n\"But of what society?\"\n\n\"Have you never--\" said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and\nsinking his voice--\"have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?\"\n\n\"I never have.\"\n\nHolmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. \"Here it\nis,\" said he presently:\n\n\"\'Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to\nthe sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret\nsociety was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the\nSouthern states after the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local\nbranches in different parts of the country, notably in Tennessee,\nLouisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its power was\nused for political purposes, principally for the terrorising of\nthe negro voters and the murdering and driving from the country\nof those who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were usually\npreceded by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic\nbut generally recognised shape--a sprig of oak-leaves in some\nparts, melon seeds or orange pips in others. On receiving this\nthe victim might either openly abjure his former ways, or might\nfly from the country. If he braved the matter out, death would\nunfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and\nunforeseen manner. So perfect was the organisation of the\nsociety, and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a\ncase upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with\nimpunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the\nperpetrators. For some years the organisation flourished in spite\nof the efforts of the United States government and of the better\nclasses of the community in the South. Eventually, in the year\n1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have\nbeen sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.\'\n\n\"You will observe,\" said Holmes, laying down the volume, \"that\nthe sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the\ndisappearance of Openshaw from America with their papers. It may\nwell have been cause and effect. It is no wonder that he and his\nfamily have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track.\nYou can understand that this register and diary may implicate\nsome of the first men in the South, and that there may be many\nwho will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered.\"\n\n\"Then the page we have seen--\"\n\n\"Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, \'sent\nthe pips to A, B, and C\'--that is, sent the society\'s warning to\nthem. Then there are successive entries that A and B cleared, or\nleft the country, and finally that C was visited, with, I fear, a\nsinister result for C. Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let\nsome light into this dark place, and I believe that the only\nchance young Openshaw has in the meantime is to do what I have\ntold him. There is nothing more to be said or to be done\nto-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for\nhalf an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable\nways of our fellow-men.\"\n\n\nIt had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a\nsubdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the\ngreat city. Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I came\ndown.\n\n\"You will excuse me for not waiting for you,\" said he; \"I have, I\nforesee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of\nyoung Openshaw\'s.\"\n\n\"What steps will you take?\" I asked.\n\n\"It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries.\nI may have to go down to Horsham, after all.\"\n\n\"You will not go there first?\"\n\n\"No, I shall commence with the City. Just ring the bell and the\nmaid will bring up your coffee.\"\n\nAs I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and\nglanced my eye over it. It rested upon a heading which sent a\nchill to my heart.\n\n\"Holmes,\" I cried, \"you are too late.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said he, laying down his cup, \"I feared as much. How was it\ndone?\" He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved.\n\n\"My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading \'Tragedy\nNear Waterloo Bridge.\' Here is the account:\n\n\"Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the H\nDivision, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and\na splash in the water. The night, however, was extremely dark and\nstormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it\nwas quite impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm, however, was\ngiven, and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was\neventually recovered. It proved to be that of a young gentleman\nwhose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found in his\npocket, was John Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham.\nIt is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch\nthe last train from Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and\nthe extreme darkness he missed his path and walked over the edge\nof one of the small landing-places for river steamboats. The body\nexhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that\nthe deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident,\nwhich should have the effect of calling the attention of the\nauthorities to the condition of the riverside landing-stages.\"\n\nWe sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and\nshaken than I had ever seen him.\n\n\"That hurts my pride, Watson,\" he said at last. \"It is a petty\nfeeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal\nmatter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my\nhand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that\nI should send him away to his death--!\" He sprang from his chair\nand paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a\nflush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and\nunclasping of his long thin hands.\n\n\"They must be cunning devils,\" he exclaimed at last. \"How could\nthey have decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on the\ndirect line to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too\ncrowded, even on such a night, for their purpose. Well, Watson,\nwe shall see who will win in the long run. I am going out now!\"\n\n\"To the police?\"\n\n\"No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they may\ntake the flies, but not before.\"\n\nAll day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in\nthe evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes\nhad not come back yet. It was nearly ten o\'clock before he\nentered, looking pale and worn. He walked up to the sideboard,\nand tearing a piece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously,\nwashing it down with a long draught of water.\n\n\"You are hungry,\" I remarked.\n\n\"Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since\nbreakfast.\"\n\n\"Nothing?\"\n\n\"Not a bite. I had no time to think of it.\"\n\n\"And how have you succeeded?\"\n\n\"Well.\"\n\n\"You have a clue?\"\n\n\"I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not\nlong remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish\ntrade-mark upon them. It is well thought of!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nHe took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he\nsqueezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and\nthrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote\n\"S. H. for J. O.\" Then he sealed it and addressed it to \"Captain\nJames Calhoun, Barque \'Lone Star,\' Savannah, Georgia.\"\n\n\"That will await him when he enters port,\" said he, chuckling.\n\"It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a\nprecursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him.\"\n\n\"And who is this Captain Calhoun?\"\n\n\"The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first.\"\n\n\"How did you trace it, then?\"\n\nHe took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with\ndates and names.\n\n\"I have spent the whole day,\" said he, \"over Lloyd\'s registers\nand files of the old papers, following the future career of every\nvessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in\n\'83. There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were\nreported there during those months. Of these, one, the \'Lone Star,\'\ninstantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reported\nas having cleared from London, the name is that which is given to\none of the states of the Union.\"\n\n\"Texas, I think.\"\n\n\"I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must\nhave an American origin.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque\n\'Lone Star\' was there in January, \'85, my suspicion became a\ncertainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present\nin the port of London.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"The \'Lone Star\' had arrived here last week. I went down to the\nAlbert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by\nthe early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired\nto Gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and\nas the wind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past the\nGoodwins and not very far from the Isle of Wight.\"\n\n\"What will you do, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as I\nlearn, the only native-born Americans in the ship. The others are\nFinns and Germans. I know, also, that they were all three away\nfrom the ship last night. I had it from the stevedore who has\nbeen loading their cargo. By the time that their sailing-ship\nreaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and\nthe cable will have informed the police of Savannah that these\nthree gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder.\"\n\nThere is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans,\nand the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the\norange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as\nresolute as themselves, was upon their track. Very long and very\nsevere were the equinoctial gales that year. We waited long for\nnews of the \"Lone Star\" of Savannah, but none ever reached us. We\ndid at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a\nshattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough\nof a wave, with the letters \"L. S.\" carved upon it, and that is\nall which we shall ever know of the fate of the \"Lone Star.\"\n\n\n\nADVENTURE VI. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP\n\nIsa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal\nof the Theological College of St. George\'s, was much addicted to\nopium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some\nfoolish freak when he was at college; for having read De\nQuincey\'s description of his dreams and sensations, he had\ndrenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the\nsame effects. He found, as so many more have done, that the\npractice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many\nyears he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of\nmingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can see\nhim now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point\npupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble\nman.\n\nOne night--it was in June, \'89--there came a ring to my bell,\nabout the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the\nclock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work\ndown in her lap and made a little face of disappointment.\n\n\"A patient!\" said she. \"You\'ll have to go out.\"\n\nI groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.\n\nWe heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps\nupon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in\nsome dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.\n\n\"You will excuse my calling so late,\" she began, and then,\nsuddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms\nabout my wife\'s neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. \"Oh, I\'m in\nsuch trouble!\" she cried; \"I do so want a little help.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said my wife, pulling up her veil, \"it is Kate Whitney.\nHow you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when\nyou came in.\"\n\n\"I didn\'t know what to do, so I came straight to you.\" That was\nalways the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds\nto a light-house.\n\n\"It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine\nand water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or\nshould you rather that I sent James off to bed?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor\'s advice and help, too. It\'s about\nIsa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about\nhim!\"\n\nIt was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her\nhusband\'s trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend\nand school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words\nas we could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it\npossible that we could bring him back to her?\n\nIt seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late\nhe had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the\nfarthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been\nconfined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and\nshattered, in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him\neight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the\ndregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the\neffects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar\nof Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could\nshe, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and\npluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him?\n\nThere was the case, and of course there was but one way out of\nit. Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second\nthought, why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney\'s medical\nadviser, and as such I had influence over him. I could manage it\nbetter if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would\nsend him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the\naddress which she had given me. And so in ten minutes I had left\nmy armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding\neastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at\nthe time, though the future only could show how strange it was to\nbe.\n\nBut there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my\nadventure. Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the\nhigh wharves which line the north side of the river to the east\nof London Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached\nby a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the\nmouth of a cave, I found the den of which I was in search.\nOrdering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow in\nthe centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the\nlight of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I found the latch\nand made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the\nbrown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the\nforecastle of an emigrant ship.\n\nThrough the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying\nin strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads\nthrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a\ndark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black\nshadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright,\nnow faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of\nthe metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to\nthemselves, and others talked together in a strange, low,\nmonotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then\nsuddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own\nthoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbour. At\nthe farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside\nwhich on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old\nman, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon\nhis knees, staring into the fire.\n\nAs I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe\nfor me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth.\n\n\"Thank you. I have not come to stay,\" said I. \"There is a friend\nof mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him.\"\n\nThere was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and\npeering through the gloom, I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and\nunkempt, staring out at me.\n\n\"My God! It\'s Watson,\" said he. He was in a pitiable state of\nreaction, with every nerve in a twitter. \"I say, Watson, what\no\'clock is it?\"\n\n\"Nearly eleven.\"\n\n\"Of what day?\"\n\n\"Of Friday, June 19th.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What\nd\'you want to frighten a chap for?\" He sank his face onto his\narms and began to sob in a high treble key.\n\n\"I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting\nthis two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!\"\n\n\"So I am. But you\'ve got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here\na few hours, three pipes, four pipes--I forget how many. But I\'ll\ngo home with you. I wouldn\'t frighten Kate--poor little Kate.\nGive me your hand! Have you a cab?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have one waiting.\"\n\n\"Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I\nowe, Watson. I am all off colour. I can do nothing for myself.\"\n\nI walked down the narrow passage between the double row of\nsleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying\nfumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. As I passed\nthe tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my\nskirt, and a low voice whispered, \"Walk past me, and then look\nback at me.\" The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I\nglanced down. They could only have come from the old man at my\nside, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very\nwrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between\nhis knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his\nfingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took all my\nself-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of\nastonishment. He had turned his back so that none could see him\nbut I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull\neyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and\ngrinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He\nmade a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he\nturned his face half round to the company once more, subsided\ninto a doddering, loose-lipped senility.\n\n\"Holmes!\" I whispered, \"what on earth are you doing in this den?\"\n\n\"As low as you can,\" he answered; \"I have excellent ears. If you\nwould have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend\nof yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with\nyou.\"\n\n\"I have a cab outside.\"\n\n\"Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he\nappears to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should\nrecommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to\nsay that you have thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait\noutside, I shall be with you in five minutes.\"\n\nIt was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes\' requests, for\nthey were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with\nsuch a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney\nwas once confined in the cab my mission was practically\naccomplished; and for the rest, I could not wish anything better\nthan to be associated with my friend in one of those singular\nadventures which were the normal condition of his existence. In a\nfew minutes I had written my note, paid Whitney\'s bill, led him\nout to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. In a\nvery short time a decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den,\nand I was walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes. For two\nstreets he shuffled along with a bent back and an uncertain foot.\nThen, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and\nburst into a hearty fit of laughter.\n\n\"I suppose, Watson,\" said he, \"that you imagine that I have added\nopium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little\nweaknesses on which you have favoured me with your medical\nviews.\"\n\n\"I was certainly surprised to find you there.\"\n\n\"But not more so than I to find you.\"\n\n\"I came to find a friend.\"\n\n\"And I to find an enemy.\"\n\n\"An enemy?\"\n\n\"Yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall I say, my natural\nprey. Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very remarkable\ninquiry, and I have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent\nramblings of these sots, as I have done before now. Had I been\nrecognised in that den my life would not have been worth an\nhour\'s purchase; for I have used it before now for my own\npurposes, and the rascally Lascar who runs it has sworn to have\nvengeance upon me. There is a trap-door at the back of that\nbuilding, near the corner of Paul\'s Wharf, which could tell some\nstrange tales of what has passed through it upon the moonless\nnights.\"\n\n\"What! You do not mean bodies?\"\n\n\"Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if we had 1000 pounds\nfor every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. It\nis the vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear that\nNeville St. Clair has entered it never to leave it more. But our\ntrap should be here.\" He put his two forefingers between his\nteeth and whistled shrilly--a signal which was answered by a\nsimilar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattle\nof wheels and the clink of horses\' hoofs.\n\n\"Now, Watson,\" said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through\nthe gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from\nits side lanterns. \"You\'ll come with me, won\'t you?\"\n\n\"If I can be of use.\"\n\n\"Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still\nmore so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one.\"\n\n\"The Cedars?\"\n\n\"Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair\'s house. I am staying there while I\nconduct the inquiry.\"\n\n\"Where is it, then?\"\n\n\"Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us.\"\n\n\"But I am all in the dark.\"\n\n\"Of course you are. You\'ll know all about it presently. Jump up\nhere. All right, John; we shall not need you. Here\'s half a\ncrown. Look out for me to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her\nhead. So long, then!\"\n\nHe flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through\nthe endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, which\nwidened gradually, until we were flying across a broad\nbalustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishly\nbeneath us. Beyond lay another dull wilderness of bricks and\nmortar, its silence broken only by the heavy, regular footfall of\nthe policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belated party of\nrevellers. A dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and a\nstar or two twinkled dimly here and there through the rifts of\nthe clouds. Holmes drove in silence, with his head sunk upon his\nbreast, and the air of a man who is lost in thought, while I sat\nbeside him, curious to learn what this new quest might be which\nseemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break in\nupon the current of his thoughts. We had driven several miles,\nand were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburban\nvillas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up\nhis pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he\nis acting for the best.\n\n\"You have a grand gift of silence, Watson,\" said he. \"It makes\nyou quite invaluable as a companion. \'Pon my word, it is a great\nthing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are\nnot over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear\nlittle woman to-night when she meets me at the door.\"\n\n\"You forget that I know nothing about it.\"\n\n\"I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before\nwe get to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can\nget nothing to go upon. There\'s plenty of thread, no doubt, but I\ncan\'t get the end of it into my hand. Now, I\'ll state the case\nclearly and concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see a\nspark where all is dark to me.\"\n\n\"Proceed, then.\"\n\n\"Some years ago--to be definite, in May, 1884--there came to Lee\na gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have\nplenty of money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very\nnicely, and lived generally in good style. By degrees he made\nfriends in the neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter\nof a local brewer, by whom he now has two children. He had no\noccupation, but was interested in several companies and went into\ntown as a rule in the morning, returning by the 5:14 from Cannon\nStreet every night. Mr. St. Clair is now thirty-seven years of\nage, is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, a very\naffectionate father, and a man who is popular with all who know\nhim. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment, as far\nas we have been able to ascertain, amount to 88 pounds 10s., while\nhe has 220 pounds standing to his credit in the Capital and\nCounties Bank. There is no reason, therefore, to think that money\ntroubles have been weighing upon his mind.\n\n\"Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier\nthan usual, remarking before he started that he had two important\ncommissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy\nhome a box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wife\nreceived a telegram upon this same Monday, very shortly after his\ndeparture, to the effect that a small parcel of considerable\nvalue which she had been expecting was waiting for her at the\noffices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are well up\nin your London, you will know that the office of the company is\nin Fresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where\nyou found me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch, started for\nthe City, did some shopping, proceeded to the company\'s office,\ngot her packet, and found herself at exactly 4:35 walking through\nSwandam Lane on her way back to the station. Have you followed me\nso far?\"\n\n\"It is very clear.\"\n\n\"If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St.\nClair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab,\nas she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself.\nWhile she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly\nheard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her\nhusband looking down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning\nto her from a second-floor window. The window was open, and she\ndistinctly saw his face, which she describes as being terribly\nagitated. He waved his hands frantically to her, and then\nvanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to her that\nhe had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind.\nOne singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that\nalthough he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town\nin, he had on neither collar nor necktie.\n\n\"Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the\nsteps--for the house was none other than the opium den in which\nyou found me to-night--and running through the front room she\nattempted to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At\nthe foot of the stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of\nwhom I have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who\nacts as assistant there, pushed her out into the street. Filled\nwith the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the\nlane and, by rare good-fortune, met in Fresno Street a number of\nconstables with an inspector, all on their way to their beat. The\ninspector and two men accompanied her back, and in spite of the\ncontinued resistance of the proprietor, they made their way to\nthe room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been seen. There was no\nsign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that floor there was\nno one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who,\nit seems, made his home there. Both he and the Lascar stoutly\nswore that no one else had been in the front room during the\nafternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector was\nstaggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair had\nbeen deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box\nwhich lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell\na cascade of children\'s bricks. It was the toy which he had\npromised to bring home.\n\n\"This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple\nshowed, made the inspector realise that the matter was serious.\nThe rooms were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an\nabominable crime. The front room was plainly furnished as a\nsitting-room and led into a small bedroom, which looked out upon\nthe back of one of the wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroom\nwindow is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide but is covered\nat high tide with at least four and a half feet of water. The\nbedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. On\nexamination traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill,\nand several scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor of\nthe bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the front room were\nall the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the exception of\nhis coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch--all were\nthere. There were no signs of violence upon any of these\ngarments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St.\nClair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone for no\nother exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon\nthe sill gave little promise that he could save himself by\nswimming, for the tide was at its very highest at the moment of\nthe tragedy.\n\n\"And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately\nimplicated in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of the\nvilest antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair\'s story, he was\nknown to have been at the foot of the stair within a very few\nseconds of her husband\'s appearance at the window, he could\nhardly have been more than an accessory to the crime. His defence\nwas one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he had no\nknowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he\ncould not account in any way for the presence of the missing\ngentleman\'s clothes.\n\n\"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who\nlives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was\ncertainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St.\nClair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which\nis familiar to every man who goes much to the City. He is a\nprofessional beggar, though in order to avoid the police\nregulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Some\nlittle distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-hand\nside, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the\nwall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat,\ncross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as he\nis a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into the\ngreasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. I\nhave watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought of\nmaking his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised\nat the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His\nappearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him\nwithout observing him. A shock of orange hair, a pale face\ndisfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, has\nturned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a\npair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular\ncontrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid\nthe common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he\nis ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which may be\nthrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we now\nlearn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been\nthe last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest.\"\n\n\"But a cripple!\" said I. \"What could he have done single-handed\nagainst a man in the prime of life?\"\n\n\"He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in\nother respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man.\nSurely your medical experience would tell you, Watson, that\nweakness in one limb is often compensated for by exceptional\nstrength in the others.\"\n\n\"Pray continue your narrative.\"\n\n\"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the\nwindow, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her\npresence could be of no help to them in their investigations.\nInspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful\nexamination of the premises, but without finding anything which\nthrew any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not\narresting Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes\nduring which he might have communicated with his friend the\nLascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he was seized and\nsearched, without anything being found which could incriminate\nhim. There were, it is true, some blood-stains upon his right\nshirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his ring-finger, which had been\ncut near the nail, and explained that the bleeding came from\nthere, adding that he had been to the window not long before, and\nthat the stains which had been observed there came doubtless from\nthe same source. He denied strenuously having ever seen Mr.\nNeville St. Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes in\nhis room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. As to\nMrs. St. Clair\'s assertion that she had actually seen her husband\nat the window, he declared that she must have been either mad or\ndreaming. He was removed, loudly protesting, to the\npolice-station, while the inspector remained upon the premises in\nthe hope that the ebbing tide might afford some fresh clue.\n\n\"And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they\nhad feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair\'s coat, and not\nNeville St. Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And\nwhat do you think they found in the pockets?\"\n\n\"I cannot imagine.\"\n\n\"No, I don\'t think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with\npennies and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It\nwas no wonder that it had not been swept away by the tide. But a\nhuman body is a different matter. There is a fierce eddy between\nthe wharf and the house. It seemed likely enough that the\nweighted coat had remained when the stripped body had been sucked\naway into the river.\"\n\n\"But I understand that all the other clothes were found in the\nroom. Would the body be dressed in a coat alone?\"\n\n\"No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Suppose\nthat this man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the\nwindow, there is no human eye which could have seen the deed.\nWhat would he do then? It would of course instantly strike him\nthat he must get rid of the tell-tale garments. He would seize\nthe coat, then, and be in the act of throwing it out, when it\nwould occur to him that it would swim and not sink. He has little\ntime, for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried\nto force her way up, and perhaps he has already heard from his\nLascar confederate that the police are hurrying up the street.\nThere is not an instant to be lost. He rushes to some secret\nhoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he\nstuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands into the\npockets to make sure of the coat\'s sinking. He throws it out, and\nwould have done the same with the other garments had not he heard\nthe rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the\nwindow when the police appeared.\"\n\n\"It certainly sounds feasible.\"\n\n\"Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a\nbetter. Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to the\nstation, but it could not be shown that there had ever before\nbeen anything against him. He had for years been known as a\nprofessional beggar, but his life appeared to have been a very\nquiet and innocent one. There the matter stands at present, and\nthe questions which have to be solved--what Neville St. Clair was\ndoing in the opium den, what happened to him when there, where is\nhe now, and what Hugh Boone had to do with his disappearance--are\nall as far from a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot\nrecall any case within my experience which looked at the first\nglance so simple and yet which presented such difficulties.\"\n\nWhile Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series of\nevents, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great\ntown until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and\nwe rattled along with a country hedge upon either side of us.\nJust as he finished, however, we drove through two scattered\nvillages, where a few lights still glimmered in the windows.\n\n\"We are on the outskirts of Lee,\" said my companion. \"We have\ntouched on three English counties in our short drive, starting in\nMiddlesex, passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent.\nSee that light among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside\nthat lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have already, I have\nlittle doubt, caught the clink of our horse\'s feet.\"\n\n\"But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?\" I\nasked.\n\n\"Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here.\nMrs. St. Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and\nyou may rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for\nmy friend and colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have\nno news of her husband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!\"\n\nWe had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its\nown grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse\'s head, and\nspringing down, I followed Holmes up the small, winding\ngravel-drive which led to the house. As we approached, the door\nflew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad\nin some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy\npink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure\noutlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one\nhalf-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head\nand face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing\nquestion.\n\n\"Well?\" she cried, \"well?\" And then, seeing that there were two\nof us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw\nthat my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"No good news?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"No bad?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have\nhad a long day.\"\n\n\"This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to\nme in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it\npossible for me to bring him out and associate him with this\ninvestigation.\"\n\n\"I am delighted to see you,\" said she, pressing my hand warmly.\n\"You will, I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our\narrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so\nsuddenly upon us.\"\n\n\"My dear madam,\" said I, \"I am an old campaigner, and if I were\nnot I can very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be of\nany assistance, either to you or to my friend here, I shall be\nindeed happy.\"\n\n\"Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\" said the lady as we entered a\nwell-lit dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had\nbeen laid out, \"I should very much like to ask you one or two\nplain questions, to which I beg that you will give a plain\nanswer.\"\n\n\"Certainly, madam.\"\n\n\"Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor given\nto fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion.\"\n\n\"Upon what point?\"\n\n\"In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question.\n\"Frankly, now!\" she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking\nkeenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.\n\n\"Frankly, then, madam, I do not.\"\n\n\"You think that he is dead?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Murdered?\"\n\n\"I don\'t say that. Perhaps.\"\n\n\"And on what day did he meet his death?\"\n\n\"On Monday.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how\nit is that I have received a letter from him to-day.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been\ngalvanised.\n\n\"What!\" he roared.\n\n\"Yes, to-day.\" She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of\npaper in the air.\n\n\"May I see it?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\nHe snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out\nupon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I\nhad left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The\nenvelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend\npostmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the day\nbefore, for it was considerably after midnight.\n\n\"Coarse writing,\" murmured Holmes. \"Surely this is not your\nhusband\'s writing, madam.\"\n\n\"No, but the enclosure is.\"\n\n\"I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go\nand inquire as to the address.\"\n\n\"How can you tell that?\"\n\n\"The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried\nitself. The rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that\nblotting-paper has been used. If it had been written straight\noff, and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. This\nman has written the name, and there has then been a pause before\nhe wrote the address, which can only mean that he was not\nfamiliar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but there is\nnothing so important as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha!\nthere has been an enclosure here!\"\n\n\"Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring.\"\n\n\"And you are sure that this is your husband\'s hand?\"\n\n\"One of his hands.\"\n\n\"One?\"\n\n\"His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usual\nwriting, and yet I know it well.\"\n\n\"\'Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is a\nhuge error which it may take some little time to rectify.\nWait in patience.--NEVILLE.\' Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf\nof a book, octavo size, no water-mark. Hum! Posted to-day in\nGravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has been\ngummed, if I am not very much in error, by a person who had been\nchewing tobacco. And you have no doubt that it is your husband\'s\nhand, madam?\"\n\n\"None. Neville wrote those words.\"\n\n\"And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair,\nthe clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that the\ndanger is over.\"\n\n\"But he must be alive, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent.\nThe ring, after all, proves nothing. It may have been taken from\nhim.\"\n\n\"No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!\"\n\n\"Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday and only\nposted to-day.\"\n\n\"That is possible.\"\n\n\"If so, much may have happened between.\"\n\n\"Oh, you must not discourage me, Mr. Holmes. I know that all is\nwell with him. There is so keen a sympathy between us that I\nshould know if evil came upon him. On the very day that I saw him\nlast he cut himself in the bedroom, and yet I in the dining-room\nrushed upstairs instantly with the utmost certainty that\nsomething had happened. Do you think that I would respond to such\na trifle and yet be ignorant of his death?\"\n\n\"I have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman\nmay be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical\nreasoner. And in this letter you certainly have a very strong\npiece of evidence to corroborate your view. But if your husband\nis alive and able to write letters, why should he remain away\nfrom you?\"\n\n\"I cannot imagine. It is unthinkable.\"\n\n\"And on Monday he made no remarks before leaving you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And you were surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?\"\n\n\"Very much so.\"\n\n\"Was the window open?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then he might have called to you?\"\n\n\"He might.\"\n\n\"He only, as I understand, gave an inarticulate cry?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"A call for help, you thought?\"\n\n\"Yes. He waved his hands.\"\n\n\"But it might have been a cry of surprise. Astonishment at the\nunexpected sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands?\"\n\n\"It is possible.\"\n\n\"And you thought he was pulled back?\"\n\n\"He disappeared so suddenly.\"\n\n\"He might have leaped back. You did not see anyone else in the\nroom?\"\n\n\"No, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, and\nthe Lascar was at the foot of the stairs.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could see, had his\nordinary clothes on?\"\n\n\"But without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his bare\nthroat.\"\n\n\"Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the principal points about\nwhich I wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now have a little\nsupper and then retire, for we may have a very busy day\nto-morrow.\"\n\nA large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at our\ndisposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was weary\nafter my night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however,\nwho, when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for\ndays, and even for a week, without rest, turning it over,\nrearranging his facts, looking at it from every point of view\nuntil he had either fathomed it or convinced himself that his\ndata were insufficient. It was soon evident to me that he was now\npreparing for an all-night sitting. He took off his coat and\nwaistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered\nabout the room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from\nthe sofa and armchairs. With these he constructed a sort of\nEastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with\nan ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front\nof him. In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an\nold briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the\ncorner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him,\nsilent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set\naquiline features. So he sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he\nsat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found\nthe summer sun shining into the apartment. The pipe was still\nbetween his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was\nfull of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of\nshag which I had seen upon the previous night.\n\n\"Awake, Watson?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Game for a morning drive?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Then dress. No one is stirring yet, but I know where the\nstable-boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out.\" He\nchuckled to himself as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed\na different man to the sombre thinker of the previous night.\n\nAs I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder that no one\nwas stirring. It was twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardly\nfinished when Holmes returned with the news that the boy was\nputting in the horse.\n\n\"I want to test a little theory of mine,\" said he, pulling on his\nboots. \"I think, Watson, that you are now standing in the\npresence of one of the most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve\nto be kicked from here to Charing Cross. But I think I have the\nkey of the affair now.\"\n\n\"And where is it?\" I asked, smiling.\n\n\"In the bathroom,\" he answered. \"Oh, yes, I am not joking,\" he\ncontinued, seeing my look of incredulity. \"I have just been\nthere, and I have taken it out, and I have got it in this\nGladstone bag. Come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will\nnot fit the lock.\"\n\nWe made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into\nthe bright morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and\ntrap, with the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. We both\nsprang in, and away we dashed down the London Road. A few country\ncarts were stirring, bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but\nthe lines of villas on either side were as silent and lifeless as\nsome city in a dream.\n\n\"It has been in some points a singular case,\" said Holmes,\nflicking the horse on into a gallop. \"I confess that I have been\nas blind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than\nnever to learn it at all.\"\n\nIn town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily\nfrom their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey\nside. Passing down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over the\nriver, and dashing up Wellington Street wheeled sharply to the\nright and found ourselves in Bow Street. Sherlock Holmes was well\nknown to the force, and the two constables at the door saluted\nhim. One of them held the horse\'s head while the other led us in.\n\n\"Who is on duty?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Inspector Bradstreet, sir.\"\n\n\"Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?\" A tall, stout official had come\ndown the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged\njacket. \"I wish to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet.\"\n\"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Step into my room here.\" It was a small,\noffice-like room, with a huge ledger upon the table, and a\ntelephone projecting from the wall. The inspector sat down at his\ndesk.\n\n\"What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"I called about that beggarman, Boone--the one who was charged\nwith being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St.\nClair, of Lee.\"\n\n\"Yes. He was brought up and remanded for further inquiries.\"\n\n\"So I heard. You have him here?\"\n\n\"In the cells.\"\n\n\"Is he quiet?\"\n\n\"Oh, he gives no trouble. But he is a dirty scoundrel.\"\n\n\"Dirty?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and his\nface is as black as a tinker\'s. Well, when once his case has been\nsettled, he will have a regular prison bath; and I think, if you\nsaw him, you would agree with me that he needed it.\"\n\n\"I should like to see him very much.\"\n\n\"Would you? That is easily done. Come this way. You can leave\nyour bag.\"\n\n\"No, I think that I\'ll take it.\"\n\n\"Very good. Come this way, if you please.\" He led us down a\npassage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and\nbrought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each\nside.\n\n\"The third on the right is his,\" said the inspector. \"Here it\nis!\" He quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door\nand glanced through.\n\n\"He is asleep,\" said he. \"You can see him very well.\"\n\nWe both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his\nface towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and\nheavily. He was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his\ncalling, with a coloured shirt protruding through the rent in his\ntattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely\ndirty, but the grime which covered his face could not conceal its\nrepulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar ran right\nacross it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up\none side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a\nperpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over\nhis eyes and forehead.\n\n\"He\'s a beauty, isn\'t he?\" said the inspector.\n\n\"He certainly needs a wash,\" remarked Holmes. \"I had an idea that\nhe might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me.\"\nHe opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my\nastonishment, a very large bath-sponge.\n\n\"He! he! You are a funny one,\" chuckled the inspector.\n\n\"Now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very\nquietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable\nfigure.\"\n\n\"Well, I don\'t know why not,\" said the inspector. \"He doesn\'t\nlook a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?\" He slipped his\nkey into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. The\nsleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deep\nslumber. Holmes stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge,\nand then rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the\nprisoner\'s face.\n\n\"Let me introduce you,\" he shouted, \"to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of\nLee, in the county of Kent.\"\n\nNever in my life have I seen such a sight. The man\'s face peeled\noff under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the\ncoarse brown tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had\nseamed it across, and the twisted lip which had given the\nrepulsive sneer to the face! A twitch brought away the tangled\nred hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale,\nsad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned,\nrubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment.\nThen suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a scream and\nthrew himself down with his face to the pillow.\n\n\"Great heavens!\" cried the inspector, \"it is, indeed, the missing\nman. I know him from the photograph.\"\n\nThe prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons\nhimself to his destiny. \"Be it so,\" said he. \"And pray what am I\ncharged with?\"\n\n\"With making away with Mr. Neville St.-- Oh, come, you can\'t be\ncharged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of\nit,\" said the inspector with a grin. \"Well, I have been\ntwenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake.\"\n\n\"If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime\nhas been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally\ndetained.\"\n\n\"No crime, but a very great error has been committed,\" said\nHolmes. \"You would have done better to have trusted your wife.\"\n\n\"It was not the wife; it was the children,\" groaned the prisoner.\n\"God help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My\nGod! What an exposure! What can I do?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him\nkindly on the shoulder.\n\n\"If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up,\" said\nhe, \"of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand,\nif you convince the police authorities that there is no possible\ncase against you, I do not know that there is any reason that the\ndetails should find their way into the papers. Inspector\nBradstreet would, I am sure, make notes upon anything which you\nmight tell us and submit it to the proper authorities. The case\nwould then never go into court at all.\"\n\n\"God bless you!\" cried the prisoner passionately. \"I would have\nendured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left\nmy miserable secret as a family blot to my children.\n\n\"You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a\nschoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent\neducation. I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and\nfinally became a reporter on an evening paper in London. One day\nmy editor wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the\nmetropolis, and I volunteered to supply them. There was the point\nfrom which all my adventures started. It was only by trying\nbegging as an amateur that I could get the facts upon which to\nbase my articles. When an actor I had, of course, learned all the\nsecrets of making up, and had been famous in the green-room for\nmy skill. I took advantage now of my attainments. I painted my\nface, and to make myself as pitiable as possible I made a good\nscar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist by the aid of a\nsmall slip of flesh-coloured plaster. Then with a red head of\nhair, and an appropriate dress, I took my station in the business\npart of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as a\nbeggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned\nhome in the evening I found to my surprise that I had received no\nless than 26s. 4d.\n\n\"I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until,\nsome time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ\nserved upon me for 25 pounds. I was at my wit\'s end where to get\nthe money, but a sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight\'s\ngrace from the creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers,\nand spent the time in begging in the City under my disguise. In\nten days I had the money and had paid the debt.\n\n\"Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous\nwork at 2 pounds a week when I knew that I could earn as much in\na day by smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on\nthe ground, and sitting still. It was a long fight between my\npride and the money, but the dollars won at last, and I threw up\nreporting and sat day after day in the corner which I had first\nchosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets\nwith coppers. Only one man knew my secret. He was the keeper of a\nlow den in which I used to lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could\nevery morning emerge as a squalid beggar and in the evenings\ntransform myself into a well-dressed man about town. This fellow,\na Lascar, was well paid by me for his rooms, so that I knew that\nmy secret was safe in his possession.\n\n\"Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of\nmoney. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London\ncould earn 700 pounds a year--which is less than my average\ntakings--but I had exceptional advantages in my power of making\nup, and also in a facility of repartee, which improved by\npractice and made me quite a recognised character in the City.\nAll day a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me,\nand it was a very bad day in which I failed to take 2 pounds.\n\n\"As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the\ncountry, and eventually married, without anyone having a\nsuspicion as to my real occupation. My dear wife knew that I had\nbusiness in the City. She little knew what.\n\n\"Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my\nroom above the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw,\nto my horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the\nstreet, with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of\nsurprise, threw up my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my\nconfidant, the Lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from\ncoming up to me. I heard her voice downstairs, but I knew that\nshe could not ascend. Swiftly I threw off my clothes, pulled on\nthose of a beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. Even a wife\'s\neyes could not pierce so complete a disguise. But then it\noccurred to me that there might be a search in the room, and that\nthe clothes might betray me. I threw open the window, reopening\nby my violence a small cut which I had inflicted upon myself in\nthe bedroom that morning. Then I seized my coat, which was\nweighted by the coppers which I had just transferred to it from\nthe leather bag in which I carried my takings. I hurled it out of\nthe window, and it disappeared into the Thames. The other clothes\nwould have followed, but at that moment there was a rush of\nconstables up the stair, and a few minutes after I found, rather,\nI confess, to my relief, that instead of being identified as Mr.\nNeville St. Clair, I was arrested as his murderer.\n\n\"I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. I\nwas determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and\nhence my preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would\nbe terribly anxious, I slipped off my ring and confided it to the\nLascar at a moment when no constable was watching me, together\nwith a hurried scrawl, telling her that she had no cause to\nfear.\"\n\n\"That note only reached her yesterday,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Good God! What a week she must have spent!\"\n\n\"The police have watched this Lascar,\" said Inspector Bradstreet,\n\"and I can quite understand that he might find it difficult to\npost a letter unobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailor\ncustomer of his, who forgot all about it for some days.\"\n\n\"That was it,\" said Holmes, nodding approvingly; \"I have no doubt\nof it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging?\"\n\n\"Many times; but what was a fine to me?\"\n\n\"It must stop here, however,\" said Bradstreet. \"If the police are\nto hush this thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone.\"\n\n\"I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take.\"\n\n\"In that case I think that it is probable that no further steps\nmay be taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out.\nI am sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for\nhaving cleared the matter up. I wish I knew how you reach your\nresults.\"\n\n\"I reached this one,\" said my friend, \"by sitting upon five\npillows and consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if\nwe drive to Baker Street we shall just be in time for breakfast.\"\n\n\n\nVII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE\n\nI had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second\nmorning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the\ncompliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a\npurple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the\nright, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly\nstudied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and\non the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable\nhard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several\nplaces. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair\nsuggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the\npurpose of examination.\n\n\"You are engaged,\" said I; \"perhaps I interrupt you.\"\n\n\"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss\nmy results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one\"--he jerked his\nthumb in the direction of the old hat--\"but there are points in\nconnection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and\neven of instruction.\"\n\nI seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his\ncrackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows\nwere thick with the ice crystals. \"I suppose,\" I remarked, \"that,\nhomely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to\nit--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of\nsome mystery and the punishment of some crime.\"\n\n\"No, no. No crime,\" said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. \"Only one of\nthose whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have\nfour million human beings all jostling each other within the\nspace of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so\ndense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events\nmay be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be\npresented which may be striking and bizarre without being\ncriminal. We have already had experience of such.\"\n\n\"So much so,\" I remarked, \"that of the last six cases which I\nhave added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any\nlegal crime.\"\n\n\"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler\npapers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the\nadventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt\nthat this small matter will fall into the same innocent category.\nYou know Peterson, the commissionaire?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It is to him that this trophy belongs.\"\n\n\"It is his hat.\"\n\n\"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will\nlook upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual\nproblem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon\nChristmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, I\nhave no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson\'s\nfire. The facts are these: about four o\'clock on Christmas\nmorning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was\nreturning from some small jollification and was making his way\nhomeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in\nthe gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and\ncarrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the\ncorner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this stranger\nand a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off the\nman\'s hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and,\nswinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him.\nPeterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his\nassailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and\nseeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him,\ndropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the\nlabyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham\nCourt Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of\nPeterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of\nbattle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this\nbattered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose.\"\n\n\"Which surely he restored to their owner?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that \'For\nMrs. Henry Baker\' was printed upon a small card which was tied to\nthe bird\'s left leg, and it is also true that the initials \'H.\nB.\' are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are\nsome thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in\nthis city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any\none of them.\"\n\n\"What, then, did Peterson do?\"\n\n\"He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning,\nknowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me.\nThe goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs\nthat, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it\nshould be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried\nit off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose,\nwhile I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who\nlost his Christmas dinner.\"\n\n\"Did he not advertise?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?\"\n\n\"Only as much as we can deduce.\"\n\n\"From his hat?\"\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered\nfelt?\"\n\n\"Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather\nyourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this\narticle?\"\n\nI took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather\nruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round\nshape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of\nred silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker\'s\nname; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials \"H. B.\" were\nscrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a\nhat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was\ncracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places,\nalthough there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the\ndiscoloured patches by smearing them with ink.\n\n\"I can see nothing,\" said I, handing it back to my friend.\n\n\"On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail,\nhowever, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in\ndrawing your inferences.\"\n\n\"Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?\"\n\nHe picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective\nfashion which was characteristic of him. \"It is perhaps less\nsuggestive than it might have been,\" he remarked, \"and yet there\nare a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others\nwhich represent at least a strong balance of probability. That\nthe man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the\nface of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the\nlast three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He\nhad foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a\nmoral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his\nfortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink,\nat work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that\nhis wife has ceased to love him.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes!\"\n\n\"He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,\" he\ncontinued, disregarding my remonstrance. \"He is a man who leads a\nsedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is\nmiddle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the\nlast few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are\nthe more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also,\nby the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid\non in his house.\"\n\n\"You are certainly joking, Holmes.\"\n\n\"Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you\nthese results, you are unable to see how they are attained?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I\nam unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that\nthis man was intellectual?\"\n\nFor answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right\nover the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. \"It is\na question of cubic capacity,\" said he; \"a man with so large a\nbrain must have something in it.\"\n\n\"The decline of his fortunes, then?\"\n\n\"This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge\ncame in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the\nband of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could\nafford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no\nhat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world.\"\n\n\"Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the\nforesight and the moral retrogression?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes laughed. \"Here is the foresight,\" said he putting\nhis finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer.\n\"They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a\nsign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his\nway to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see\nthat he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace\nit, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly,\nwhich is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other\nhand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the\nfelt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not\nentirely lost his self-respect.\"\n\n\"Your reasoning is certainly plausible.\"\n\n\"The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is\ngrizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses\nlime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the\nlower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of\nhair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all\nappear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of\nlime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey\ndust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house,\nshowing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while\nthe marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the\nwearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in\nthe best of training.\"\n\n\"But his wife--you said that she had ceased to love him.\"\n\n\"This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear\nWatson, with a week\'s accumulation of dust upon your hat, and\nwhen your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear\nthat you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife\'s\naffection.\"\n\n\"But he might be a bachelor.\"\n\n\"Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his\nwife. Remember the card upon the bird\'s leg.\"\n\n\"You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce\nthat the gas is not laid on in his house?\"\n\n\"One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I\nsee no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt\nthat the individual must be brought into frequent contact with\nburning tallow--walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in\none hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never\ngot tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied?\"\n\n\"Well, it is very ingenious,\" said I, laughing; \"but since, as\nyou said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm\ndone save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a\nwaste of energy.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew\nopen, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment\nwith flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with\nastonishment.\n\n\"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!\" he gasped.\n\n\"Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off\nthrough the kitchen window?\" Holmes twisted himself round upon\nthe sofa to get a fairer view of the man\'s excited face.\n\n\"See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!\" He held out\nhis hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly\nscintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but\nof such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric\npoint in the dark hollow of his hand.\n\nSherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. \"By Jove, Peterson!\" said\nhe, \"this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you\nhave got?\"\n\n\"A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though\nit were putty.\"\n\n\"It\'s more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone.\"\n\n\"Not the Countess of Morcar\'s blue carbuncle!\" I ejaculated.\n\n\"Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I\nhave read the advertisement about it in The Times every day\nlately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be\nconjectured, but the reward offered of 1000 pounds is certainly\nnot within a twentieth part of the market price.\"\n\n\"A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!\" The commissionaire\nplumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us.\n\n\"That is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are\nsentimental considerations in the background which would induce\nthe Countess to part with half her fortune if she could but\nrecover the gem.\"\n\n\"It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan,\" I\nremarked.\n\n\"Precisely so, on December 22nd, just five days ago. John Horner,\na plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady\'s\njewel-case. The evidence against him was so strong that the case\nhas been referred to the Assizes. I have some account of the\nmatter here, I believe.\" He rummaged amid his newspapers,\nglancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out,\ndoubled it over, and read the following paragraph:\n\n\"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was\nbrought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst.,\nabstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the\nvaluable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder,\nupper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect\nthat he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess\nof Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might\nsolder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He had\nremained with Horner some little time, but had finally been\ncalled away. On returning, he found that Horner had disappeared,\nthat the bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco\ncasket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess was\naccustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the\ndressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner was\narrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found\neither upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to\nthe Countess, deposed to having heard Ryder\'s cry of dismay on\ndiscovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room,\nwhere she found matters as described by the last witness.\nInspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrest\nof Horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence\nin the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for\nrobbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate\nrefused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to\nthe Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion\nduring the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was\ncarried out of court.\"\n\n\"Hum! So much for the police-court,\" said Holmes thoughtfully,\ntossing aside the paper. \"The question for us now to solve is the\nsequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to\nthe crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You\nsee, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much\nmore important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone; the\nstone came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry\nBaker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other\ncharacteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must set\nourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and\nascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. To\ndo this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lie\nundoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. If\nthis fail, I shall have recourse to other methods.\"\n\n\"What will you say?\"\n\n\"Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then: \'Found at\nthe corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a black felt hat. Mr.\nHenry Baker can have the same by applying at 6:30 this evening at\n221B, Baker Street.\' That is clear and concise.\"\n\n\"Very. But will he see it?\"\n\n\"Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a poor\nman, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his\nmischance in breaking the window and by the approach of Peterson\nthat he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he must\nhave bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his\nbird. Then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to\nsee it, for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to\nit. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the advertising agency\nand have this put in the evening papers.\"\n\n\"In which, sir?\"\n\n\"Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James\'s, Evening News,\nStandard, Echo, and any others that occur to you.\"\n\n\"Very well, sir. And this stone?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And, I say,\nPeterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here\nwith me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place\nof the one which your family is now devouring.\"\n\nWhen the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone and\nheld it against the light. \"It\'s a bonny thing,\" said he. \"Just\nsee how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and\nfocus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil\'s pet\nbaits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a\nbloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found\nin the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable\nin having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is\nblue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has\nalready a sinister history. There have been two murders, a\nvitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about\nfor the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal.\nWho would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the\ngallows and the prison? I\'ll lock it up in my strong box now and\ndrop a line to the Countess to say that we have it.\"\n\n\"Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell.\"\n\n\"Well, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker, had\nanything to do with the matter?\"\n\n\"It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an\nabsolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he\nwas carrying was of considerably more value than if it were made\nof solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very simple\ntest if we have an answer to our advertisement.\"\n\n\"And you can do nothing until then?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shall\ncome back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I\nshould like to see the solution of so tangled a business.\"\n\n\"Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, I\nbelieve. By the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps I\nought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop.\"\n\nI had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-past\nsix when I found myself in Baker Street once more. As I\napproached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a\ncoat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the\nbright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as I\narrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to\nHolmes\' room.\n\n\"Mr. Henry Baker, I believe,\" said he, rising from his armchair\nand greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he\ncould so readily assume. \"Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr.\nBaker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation is\nmore adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have\njust come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr. Baker?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat.\"\n\nHe was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a\nbroad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of\ngrizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slight\ntremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes\' surmise as to his\nhabits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in\nfront, with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded\nfrom his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a\nslow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the\nimpression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had\nill-usage at the hands of fortune.\n\n\"We have retained these things for some days,\" said Holmes,\n\"because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving your\naddress. I am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise.\"\n\nOur visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. \"Shillings have not\nbeen so plentiful with me as they once were,\" he remarked. \"I had\nno doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off\nboth my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more money in a\nhopeless attempt at recovering them.\"\n\n\"Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to\neat it.\"\n\n\"To eat it!\" Our visitor half rose from his chair in his\nexcitement.\n\n\"Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so.\nBut I presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is\nabout the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your\npurpose equally well?\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly, certainly,\" answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of\nrelief.\n\n\"Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of\nyour own bird, so if you wish--\"\n\nThe man burst into a hearty laugh. \"They might be useful to me as\nrelics of my adventure,\" said he, \"but beyond that I can hardly\nsee what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are\ngoing to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your permission, I\nwill confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceive\nupon the sideboard.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug\nof his shoulders.\n\n\"There is your hat, then, and there your bird,\" said he. \"By the\nway, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one\nfrom? I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a\nbetter grown goose.\"\n\n\"Certainly, sir,\" said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly\ngained property under his arm. \"There are a few of us who\nfrequent the Alpha Inn, near the Museum--we are to be found in\nthe Museum itself during the day, you understand. This year our\ngood host, Windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which,\non consideration of some few pence every week, we were each to\nreceive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and the\nrest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, for a\nScotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity.\" With\na comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and\nstrode off upon his way.\n\n\"So much for Mr. Henry Baker,\" said Holmes when he had closed the\ndoor behind him. \"It is quite certain that he knows nothing\nwhatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?\"\n\n\"Not particularly.\"\n\n\"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow\nup this clue while it is still hot.\"\n\n\"By all means.\"\n\nIt was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped\ncravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly\nin a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out\ninto smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out\ncrisply and loudly as we swung through the doctors\' quarter,\nWimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street into\nOxford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury at\nthe Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of one\nof the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed open\nthe door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from\nthe ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord.\n\n\"Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"My geese!\" The man seemed surprised.\n\n\"Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker,\nwho was a member of your goose club.\"\n\n\"Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them\'s not our geese.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Whose, then?\"\n\n\"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden.\"\n\n\"Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?\"\n\n\"Breckinridge is his name.\"\n\n\"Ah! I don\'t know him. Well, here\'s your good health landlord,\nand prosperity to your house. Good-night.\"\n\n\"Now for Mr. Breckinridge,\" he continued, buttoning up his coat\nas we came out into the frosty air. \"Remember, Watson that though\nwe have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we\nhave at the other a man who will certainly get seven years\' penal\nservitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is possible\nthat our inquiry may but confirm his guilt; but, in any case, we\nhave a line of investigation which has been missed by the police,\nand which a singular chance has placed in our hands. Let us\nfollow it out to the bitter end. Faces to the south, then, and\nquick march!\"\n\nWe passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through a\nzigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest\nstalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor\na horsey-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was\nhelping a boy to put up the shutters.\n\n\"Good-evening. It\'s a cold night,\" said Holmes.\n\nThe salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my\ncompanion.\n\n\"Sold out of geese, I see,\" continued Holmes, pointing at the\nbare slabs of marble.\n\n\"Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"That\'s no good.\"\n\n\"Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare.\"\n\n\"Ah, but I was recommended to you.\"\n\n\"Who by?\"\n\n\"The landlord of the Alpha.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen.\"\n\n\"Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?\"\n\nTo my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the\nsalesman.\n\n\"Now, then, mister,\" said he, with his head cocked and his arms\nakimbo, \"what are you driving at? Let\'s have it straight, now.\"\n\n\"It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the\ngeese which you supplied to the Alpha.\"\n\n\"Well then, I shan\'t tell you. So now!\"\n\n\"Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don\'t know why you\nshould be so warm over such a trifle.\"\n\n\"Warm! You\'d be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am.\nWhen I pay good money for a good article there should be an end\nof the business; but it\'s \'Where are the geese?\' and \'Who did you\nsell the geese to?\' and \'What will you take for the geese?\' One\nwould think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the\nfuss that is made over them.\"\n\n\"Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been\nmaking inquiries,\" said Holmes carelessly. \"If you won\'t tell us\nthe bet is off, that is all. But I\'m always ready to back my\nopinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that the\nbird I ate is country bred.\"\n\n\"Well, then, you\'ve lost your fiver, for it\'s town bred,\" snapped\nthe salesman.\n\n\"It\'s nothing of the kind.\"\n\n\"I say it is.\"\n\n\"I don\'t believe it.\"\n\n\"D\'you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handled\nthem ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that\nwent to the Alpha were town bred.\"\n\n\"You\'ll never persuade me to believe that.\"\n\n\"Will you bet, then?\"\n\n\"It\'s merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But\nI\'ll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be\nobstinate.\"\n\nThe salesman chuckled grimly. \"Bring me the books, Bill,\" said\nhe.\n\nThe small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great\ngreasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging\nlamp.\n\n\"Now then, Mr. Cocksure,\" said the salesman, \"I thought that I\nwas out of geese, but before I finish you\'ll find that there is\nstill one left in my shop. You see this little book?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"That\'s the list of the folk from whom I buy. D\'you see? Well,\nthen, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers\nafter their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger.\nNow, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that is a\nlist of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just\nread it out to me.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road--249,\" read Holmes.\n\n\"Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger.\"\n\nHolmes turned to the page indicated. \"Here you are, \'Mrs.\nOakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier.\'\"\n\n\"Now, then, what\'s the last entry?\"\n\n\"\'December 22nd. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.\'\"\n\n\"Quite so. There you are. And underneath?\"\n\n\"\'Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.\'\"\n\n\"What have you to say now?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sovereign from\nhis pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the\nair of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off\nhe stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless\nfashion which was peculiar to him.\n\n\"When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the \'Pink \'un\'\nprotruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet,\"\nsaid he. \"I daresay that if I had put 100 pounds down in front of\nhim, that man would not have given me such complete information\nas was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a\nwager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end of our\nquest, and the only point which remains to be determined is\nwhether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, or\nwhether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear from what\nthat surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves\nwho are anxious about the matter, and I should--\"\n\nHis remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke\nout from the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a\nlittle rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of\nyellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, while\nBreckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was\nshaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.\n\n\"I\'ve had enough of you and your geese,\" he shouted. \"I wish you\nwere all at the devil together. If you come pestering me any more\nwith your silly talk I\'ll set the dog at you. You bring Mrs.\nOakshott here and I\'ll answer her, but what have you to do with\nit? Did I buy the geese off you?\"\n\n\"No; but one of them was mine all the same,\" whined the little\nman.\n\n\"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it.\"\n\n\"She told me to ask you.\"\n\n\"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I\'ve had\nenough of it. Get out of this!\" He rushed fiercely forward, and\nthe inquirer flitted away into the darkness.\n\n\"Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton Road,\" whispered Holmes.\n\"Come with me, and we will see what is to be made of this\nfellow.\" Striding through the scattered knots of people who\nlounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook\nthe little man and touched him upon the shoulder. He sprang\nround, and I could see in the gas-light that every vestige of\ncolour had been driven from his face.\n\n\"Who are you, then? What do you want?\" he asked in a quavering\nvoice.\n\n\"You will excuse me,\" said Holmes blandly, \"but I could not help\noverhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now.\nI think that I could be of assistance to you.\"\n\n\"You? Who are you? How could you know anything of the matter?\"\n\n\"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other\npeople don\'t know.\"\n\n\"But you can know nothing of this?\"\n\n\"Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to\ntrace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton\nRoad, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr.\nWindigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of which Mr.\nHenry Baker is a member.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet,\" cried\nthe little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers.\n\"I can hardly explain to you how interested I am in this matter.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. \"In that\ncase we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this\nwind-swept market-place,\" said he. \"But pray tell me, before we\ngo farther, who it is that I have the pleasure of assisting.\"\n\nThe man hesitated for an instant. \"My name is John Robinson,\" he\nanswered with a sidelong glance.\n\n\"No, no; the real name,\" said Holmes sweetly. \"It is always\nawkward doing business with an alias.\"\n\nA flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. \"Well then,\"\nsaid he, \"my real name is James Ryder.\"\n\n\"Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray\nstep into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you\neverything which you would wish to know.\"\n\nThe little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with\nhalf-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure\nwhether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe.\nThen he stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in\nthe sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during\nour drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and\nthe claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervous\ntension within him.\n\n\"Here we are!\" said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room.\n\"The fire looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold,\nMr. Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will just put on my\nslippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then!\nYou want to know what became of those geese?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine in\nwhich you were interested--white, with a black bar across the\ntail.\"\n\nRyder quivered with emotion. \"Oh, sir,\" he cried, \"can you tell\nme where it went to?\"\n\n\"It came here.\"\n\n\"Here?\"\n\n\"Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don\'t wonder that\nyou should take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it was\ndead--the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever was seen.\nI have it here in my museum.\"\n\nOur visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece\nwith his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up\nthe blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold,\nbrilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a\ndrawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.\n\n\"The game\'s up, Ryder,\" said Holmes quietly. \"Hold up, man, or\nyou\'ll be into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair,\nWatson. He\'s not got blood enough to go in for felony with\nimpunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he looks a little\nmore human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!\"\n\nFor a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy\nbrought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring\nwith frightened eyes at his accuser.\n\n\"I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I\ncould possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me.\nStill, that little may as well be cleared up to make the case\ncomplete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of the\nCountess of Morcar\'s?\"\n\n\"It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it,\" said he in a\ncrackling voice.\n\n\"I see--her ladyship\'s waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of\nsudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has\nbeen for better men before you; but you were not very scrupulous\nin the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that there is the\nmaking of a very pretty villain in you. You knew that this man\nHorner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matter\nbefore, and that suspicion would rest the more readily upon him.\nWhat did you do, then? You made some small job in my lady\'s\nroom--you and your confederate Cusack--and you managed that he\nshould be the man sent for. Then, when he had left, you rifled\nthe jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man\narrested. You then--\"\n\nRyder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my\ncompanion\'s knees. \"For God\'s sake, have mercy!\" he shrieked.\n\"Think of my father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. I\nnever went wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I\'ll\nswear it on a Bible. Oh, don\'t bring it into court! For Christ\'s\nsake, don\'t!\"\n\n\"Get back into your chair!\" said Holmes sternly. \"It is very well\nto cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this\npoor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing.\"\n\n\"I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the\ncharge against him will break down.\"\n\n\"Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true account\nof the next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how came\nthe goose into the open market? Tell us the truth, for there lies\nyour only hope of safety.\"\n\nRyder passed his tongue over his parched lips. \"I will tell you\nit just as it happened, sir,\" said he. \"When Horner had been\narrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get\naway with the stone at once, for I did not know at what moment\nthe police might not take it into their heads to search me and my\nroom. There was no place about the hotel where it would be safe.\nI went out, as if on some commission, and I made for my sister\'s\nhouse. She had married a man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton\nRoad, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way there\nevery man I met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective;\nand, for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down\nmy face before I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me\nwhat was the matter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I\nhad been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went\ninto the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would\nbe best to do.\n\n\"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and\nhas just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met\nme, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how they\ncould get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be true to\nme, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mind\nto go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my\nconfidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money.\nBut how to get to him in safety? I thought of the agonies I had\ngone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be\nseized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat\npocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at\nthe geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly\nan idea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the\nbest detective that ever lived.\n\n\"My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the\npick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she\nwas always as good as her word. I would take my goose now, and in\nit I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in\nthe yard, and behind this I drove one of the birds--a fine big\none, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and prying its bill\nopen, I thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger\ncould reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass\nalong its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature flapped\nand struggled, and out came my sister to know what was the\nmatter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and\nfluttered off among the others.\n\n\"\'Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?\' says she.\n\n\"\'Well,\' said I, \'you said you\'d give me one for Christmas, and I\nwas feeling which was the fattest.\'\n\n\"\'Oh,\' says she, \'we\'ve set yours aside for you--Jem\'s bird, we\ncall it. It\'s the big white one over yonder. There\'s twenty-six\nof them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen\nfor the market.\'\n\n\"\'Thank you, Maggie,\' says I; \'but if it is all the same to you,\nI\'d rather have that one I was handling just now.\'\n\n\"\'The other is a good three pound heavier,\' said she, \'and we\nfattened it expressly for you.\'\n\n\"\'Never mind. I\'ll have the other, and I\'ll take it now,\' said I.\n\n\"\'Oh, just as you like,\' said she, a little huffed. \'Which is it\nyou want, then?\'\n\n\"\'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the\nflock.\'\n\n\"\'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.\'\n\n\"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird\nall the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was\na man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed\nuntil he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My\nheart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I\nknew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird,\nrushed back to my sister\'s, and hurried into the back yard. There\nwas not a bird to be seen there.\n\n\"\'Where are they all, Maggie?\' I cried.\n\n\"\'Gone to the dealer\'s, Jem.\'\n\n\"\'Which dealer\'s?\'\n\n\"\'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.\'\n\n\"\'But was there another with a barred tail?\' I asked, \'the same\nas the one I chose?\'\n\n\"\'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never\ntell them apart.\'\n\n\"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my\nfeet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the\nlot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they\nhad gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always\nanswered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad.\nSometimes I think that I am myself. And now--and now I am myself\na branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which\nI sold my character. God help me! God help me!\" He burst into\nconvulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands.\n\nThere was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and\nby the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes\' finger-tips upon the\nedge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door.\n\n\"Get out!\" said he.\n\n\"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!\"\n\n\"No more words. Get out!\"\n\nAnd no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon\nthe stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running\nfootfalls from the street.\n\n\"After all, Watson,\" said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his\nclay pipe, \"I am not retained by the police to supply their\ndeficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing;\nbut this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must\ncollapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just\npossible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong\nagain; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, and\nyou make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of\nforgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and\nwhimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you\nwill have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin\nanother investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief\nfeature.\"\n\n\n\nVIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND\n\nOn glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I\nhave during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend\nSherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number\nmerely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did\nrather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of\nwealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation\nwhich did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.\nOf all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which\npresented more singular features than that which was associated\nwith the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran.\nThe events in question occurred in the early days of my\nassociation with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors\nin Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them\nupon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the\ntime, from which I have only been freed during the last month by\nthe untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It\nis perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I\nhave reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the\ndeath of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even\nmore terrible than the truth.\n\nIt was early in April in the year \'83 that I woke one morning to\nfind Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my\nbed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the\nmantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I\nblinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little\nresentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.\n\n\"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,\" said he, \"but it\'s the\ncommon lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she\nretorted upon me, and I on you.\"\n\n\"What is it, then--a fire?\"\n\n\"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a\nconsiderable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She\nis waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander\nabout the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock\nsleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is\nsomething very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it\nprove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to\nfollow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should\ncall you and give you the chance.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.\"\n\nI had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his\nprofessional investigations, and in admiring the rapid\ndeductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a\nlogical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were\nsubmitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in\na few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A\nlady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in\nthe window, rose as we entered.\n\n\"Good-morning, madam,\" said Holmes cheerily. \"My name is Sherlock\nHolmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson,\nbefore whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am\nglad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the\nfire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot\ncoffee, for I observe that you are shivering.\"\n\n\"It is not cold which makes me shiver,\" said the woman in a low\nvoice, changing her seat as requested.\n\n\"What, then?\"\n\n\"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror.\" She raised her veil as\nshe spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable\nstate of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless\nfrightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features\nand figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot\nwith premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard.\nSherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick,\nall-comprehensive glances.\n\n\"You must not fear,\" said he soothingly, bending forward and\npatting her forearm. \"We shall soon set matters right, I have no\ndoubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see.\"\n\n\"You know me, then?\"\n\n\"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm\nof your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had\na good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached\nthe station.\"\n\nThe lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my\ncompanion.\n\n\"There is no mystery, my dear madam,\" said he, smiling. \"The left\narm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven\nplaces. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a\ndog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you\nsit on the left-hand side of the driver.\"\n\n\"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,\" said\nshe. \"I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at\ntwenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I\ncan stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues.\nI have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me,\nand he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you,\nMr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you\nhelped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had\nyour address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me,\ntoo, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness\nwhich surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward\nyou for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be\nmarried, with the control of my own income, and then at least you\nshall not find me ungrateful.\"\n\nHolmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small\ncase-book, which he consulted.\n\n\"Farintosh,\" said he. \"Ah yes, I recall the case; it was\nconcerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time,\nWatson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote\nthe same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to\nreward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty\nto defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which\nsuits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us\neverything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the\nmatter.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" replied our visitor, \"the very horror of my situation\nlies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions\ndepend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to\nanother, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to\nlook for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it\nas the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can\nread it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have\nheard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold\nwickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid\nthe dangers which encompass me.\"\n\n\"I am all attention, madam.\"\n\n\"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who\nis the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in\nEngland, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of\nSurrey.\"\n\nHolmes nodded his head. \"The name is familiar to me,\" said he.\n\n\"The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the\nestates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north,\nand Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four\nsuccessive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition,\nand the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the\ndays of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground,\nand the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under\na heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence\nthere, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but\nhis only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to\nthe new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which\nenabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta,\nwhere, by his professional skill and his force of character, he\nestablished a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused\nby some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he\nbeat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital\nsentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and\nafterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.\n\n\"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner,\nthe young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery.\nMy sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old\nat the time of my mother\'s re-marriage. She had a considerable\nsum of money--not less than 1000 pounds a year--and this she\nbequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him,\nwith a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to\neach of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our return\nto England my mother died--she was killed eight years ago in a\nrailway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his\nattempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us\nto live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The\nmoney which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and\nthere seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.\n\n\"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time.\nInstead of making friends and exchanging visits with our\nneighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of\nStoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in\nhis house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious\nquarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper\napproaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the\nfamily, and in my stepfather\'s case it had, I believe, been\nintensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of\ndisgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the\npolice-court, until at last he became the terror of the village,\nand the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of\nimmense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.\n\n\"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a\nstream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I\ncould gather together that I was able to avert another public\nexposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gipsies,\nand he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few\nacres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate,\nand would accept in return the hospitality of their tents,\nwandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a\npassion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a\ncorrespondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon,\nwhich wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the\nvillagers almost as much as their master.\n\n\"You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I\nhad no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with\nus, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was\nbut thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already\nbegun to whiten, even as mine has.\"\n\n\"Your sister is dead, then?\"\n\n\"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish\nto speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I\nhave described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own\nage and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother\'s maiden\nsister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we\nwere occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady\'s\nhouse. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there\na half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My\nstepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and\noffered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of\nthe day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event\noccurred which has deprived me of my only companion.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes\nclosed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his\nlids now and glanced across at his visitor.\n\n\"Pray be precise as to details,\" said he.\n\n\"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful\ntime is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have\nalready said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The\nbedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms\nbeing in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms\nthe first is Dr. Roylott\'s, the second my sister\'s, and the third\nmy own. There is no communication between them, but they all open\nout into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?\"\n\n\"Perfectly so.\"\n\n\"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That\nfatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we\nknew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled\nby the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom\nto smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where\nshe sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At\neleven o\'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door\nand looked back.\n\n\"\'Tell me, Helen,\' said she, \'have you ever heard anyone whistle\nin the dead of the night?\'\n\n\"\'Never,\' said I.\n\n\"\'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in\nyour sleep?\'\n\n\"\'Certainly not. But why?\'\n\n\"\'Because during the last few nights I have always, about three\nin the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper,\nand it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhaps\nfrom the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would\njust ask you whether you had heard it.\'\n\n\"\'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the\nplantation.\'\n\n\"\'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you\ndid not hear it also.\'\n\n\"\'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.\'\n\n\"\'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.\' She smiled\nback at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her\nkey turn in the lock.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Holmes. \"Was it your custom always to lock\nyourselves in at night?\"\n\n\"Always.\"\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah\nand a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were\nlocked.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement.\"\n\n\"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending\nmisfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect,\nwere twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two\nsouls which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind\nwas howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing\nagainst the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale,\nthere burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew\nthat it was my sister\'s voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a\nshawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door\nI seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and\na few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had\nfallen. As I ran down the passage, my sister\'s door was unlocked,\nand revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at it\nhorror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. By\nthe light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the\nopening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for\nhelp, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a\ndrunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that\nmoment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground.\nShe writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were\ndreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had not\nrecognised me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out\nin a voice which I shall never forget, \'Oh, my God! Helen! It was\nthe band! The speckled band!\' There was something else which she\nwould fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the\nair in the direction of the doctor\'s room, but a fresh convulsion\nseized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for\nmy stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his\ndressing-gown. When he reached my sister\'s side she was\nunconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent\nfor medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for\nshe slowly sank and died without having recovered her\nconsciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister.\"\n\n\"One moment,\" said Holmes, \"are you sure about this whistle and\nmetallic sound? Could you swear to it?\"\n\n\"That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is\nmy strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of\nthe gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have\nbeen deceived.\"\n\n\"Was your sister dressed?\"\n\n\"No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the\ncharred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box.\"\n\n\"Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when\nthe alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did\nthe coroner come to?\"\n\n\"He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott\'s\nconduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable\nto find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that\nthe door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows\nwere blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars,\nwhich were secured every night. The walls were carefully sounded,\nand were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was\nalso thoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is\nwide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is certain,\ntherefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end.\nBesides, there were no marks of any violence upon her.\"\n\n\"How about poison?\"\n\n\"The doctors examined her for it, but without success.\"\n\n\"What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?\"\n\n\"It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock,\nthough what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine.\"\n\n\"Were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?\"\n\n\"Yes, there are nearly always some there.\"\n\n\"Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band--a\nspeckled band?\"\n\n\"Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of\ndelirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of\npeople, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not\nknow whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear\nover their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which\nshe used.\"\n\nHolmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.\n\n\"These are very deep waters,\" said he; \"pray go on with your\nnarrative.\"\n\n\"Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until\nlately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend,\nwhom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask\nmy hand in marriage. His name is Armitage--Percy Armitage--the\nsecond son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My\nstepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to\nbe married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs\nwere started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom\nwall has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the\nchamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in\nwhich she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last\nnight, as I lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I\nsuddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which\nhad been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the\nlamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to\ngo to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was\ndaylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which\nis opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on\nthis morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your\nadvice.\"\n\n\"You have done wisely,\" said my friend. \"But have you told me\nall?\"\n\n\"Yes, all.\"\n\n\"Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather.\"\n\n\"Why, what do you mean?\"\n\nFor answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which\nfringed the hand that lay upon our visitor\'s knee. Five little\nlivid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed\nupon the white wrist.\n\n\"You have been cruelly used,\" said Holmes.\n\nThe lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. \"He\nis a hard man,\" she said, \"and perhaps he hardly knows his own\nstrength.\"\n\nThere was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin\nupon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.\n\n\"This is a very deep business,\" he said at last. \"There are a\nthousand details which I should desire to know before I decide\nupon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If\nwe were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for\nus to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your\nstepfather?\"\n\n\"As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some\nmost important business. It is probable that he will be away all\nday, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a\nhousekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily\nget her out of the way.\"\n\n\"Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?\"\n\n\"By no means.\"\n\n\"Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?\"\n\n\"I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am\nin town. But I shall return by the twelve o\'clock train, so as to\nbe there in time for your coming.\"\n\n\"And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some\nsmall business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and\nbreakfast?\"\n\n\"No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have\nconfided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you\nagain this afternoon.\" She dropped her thick black veil over her\nface and glided from the room.\n\n\"And what do you think of it all, Watson?\" asked Sherlock Holmes,\nleaning back in his chair.\n\n\"It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business.\"\n\n\"Dark enough and sinister enough.\"\n\n\"Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls\nare sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable,\nthen her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her\nmysterious end.\"\n\n\"What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the\nvery peculiar words of the dying woman?\"\n\n\"I cannot think.\"\n\n\"When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of\na band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor,\nthe fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has\nan interest in preventing his stepdaughter\'s marriage, the dying\nallusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner\nheard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of\nthose metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its\nplace, I think that there is good ground to think that the\nmystery may be cleared along those lines.\"\n\n\"But what, then, did the gipsies do?\"\n\n\"I cannot imagine.\"\n\n\"I see many objections to any such theory.\"\n\n\"And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going\nto Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are\nfatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of\nthe devil!\"\n\nThe ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that\nour door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had\nframed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar\nmixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a\nblack top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters,\nwith a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his\nhat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his\nbreadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face,\nseared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and\nmarked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other\nof us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin,\nfleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old\nbird of prey.\n\n\"Which of you is Holmes?\" asked this apparition.\n\n\"My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me,\" said my\ncompanion quietly.\n\n\"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Doctor,\" said Holmes blandly. \"Pray take a seat.\"\n\n\"I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I\nhave traced her. What has she been saying to you?\"\n\n\"It is a little cold for the time of the year,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"What has she been saying to you?\" screamed the old man\nfuriously.\n\n\"But I have heard that the crocuses promise well,\" continued my\ncompanion imperturbably.\n\n\"Ha! You put me off, do you?\" said our new visitor, taking a step\nforward and shaking his hunting-crop. \"I know you, you scoundrel!\nI have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler.\"\n\nMy friend smiled.\n\n\"Holmes, the busybody!\"\n\nHis smile broadened.\n\n\"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!\"\n\nHolmes chuckled heartily. \"Your conversation is most\nentertaining,\" said he. \"When you go out close the door, for\nthere is a decided draught.\"\n\n\"I will go when I have said my say. Don\'t you dare to meddle with\nmy affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her!\nI am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here.\" He stepped\nswiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with\nhis huge brown hands.\n\n\"See that you keep yourself out of my grip,\" he snarled, and\nhurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the\nroom.\n\n\"He seems a very amiable person,\" said Holmes, laughing. \"I am\nnot quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him\nthat my grip was not much more feeble than his own.\" As he spoke\nhe picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort,\nstraightened it out again.\n\n\"Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official\ndetective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation,\nhowever, and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer\nfrom her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. And now,\nWatson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk\ndown to Doctors\' Commons, where I hope to get some data which may\nhelp us in this matter.\"\n\n\nIt was nearly one o\'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his\nexcursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled\nover with notes and figures.\n\n\"I have seen the will of the deceased wife,\" said he. \"To\ndetermine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the\npresent prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The\ntotal income, which at the time of the wife\'s death was little\nshort of 1100 pounds, is now, through the fall in agricultural\nprices, not more than 750 pounds. Each daughter can claim an\nincome of 250 pounds, in case of marriage. It is evident,\ntherefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have\nhad a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to\na very serious extent. My morning\'s work has not been wasted,\nsince it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for\nstanding in the way of anything of the sort. And now, Watson,\nthis is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is\naware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you\nare ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be\nvery much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your\npocket. An Eley\'s No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen\nwho can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a tooth-brush\nare, I think, all that we need.\"\n\nAt Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for\nLeatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove\nfor four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a\nperfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the\nheavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out\ntheir first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant\nsmell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange\ncontrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this\nsinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in\nthe front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over\nhis eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the\ndeepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the\nshoulder, and pointed over the meadows.\n\n\"Look there!\" said he.\n\nA heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope,\nthickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid the\nbranches there jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a\nvery old mansion.\n\n\"Stoke Moran?\" said he.\n\n\"Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,\" remarked\nthe driver.\n\n\"There is some building going on there,\" said Holmes; \"that is\nwhere we are going.\"\n\n\"There\'s the village,\" said the driver, pointing to a cluster of\nroofs some distance to the left; \"but if you want to get to the\nhouse, you\'ll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by\nthe foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is\nwalking.\"\n\n\"And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner,\" observed Holmes, shading\nhis eyes. \"Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest.\"\n\nWe got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way\nto Leatherhead.\n\n\"I thought it as well,\" said Holmes as we climbed the stile,\n\"that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or\non some definite business. It may stop his gossip.\nGood-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as\nour word.\"\n\nOur client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a\nface which spoke her joy. \"I have been waiting so eagerly for\nyou,\" she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. \"All has turned\nout splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely\nthat he will be back before evening.\"\n\n\"We have had the pleasure of making the doctor\'s acquaintance,\"\nsaid Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had\noccurred. Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" she cried, \"he has followed me, then.\"\n\n\"So it appears.\"\n\n\"He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What\nwill he say when he returns?\"\n\n\"He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone\nmore cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself\nup from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to\nyour aunt\'s at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our\ntime, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to\nexamine.\"\n\nThe building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high\ncentral portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab,\nthrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows were\nbroken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly\ncaved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in little\nbetter repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern,\nand the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up\nfrom the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided.\nSome scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the\nstone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any\nworkmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and\ndown the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the\noutsides of the windows.\n\n\"This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep,\nthe centre one to your sister\'s, and the one next to the main\nbuilding to Dr. Roylott\'s chamber?\"\n\n\"Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one.\"\n\n\"Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does\nnot seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end\nwall.\"\n\n\"There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from\nmy room.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow\nwing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There\nare windows in it, of course?\"\n\n\"Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass\nthrough.\"\n\n\"As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were\nunapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness\nto go into your room and bar your shutters?\"\n\nMiss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination\nthrough the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the\nshutter open, but without success. There was no slit through\nwhich a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his\nlens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built\nfirmly into the massive masonry. \"Hum!\" said he, scratching his\nchin in some perplexity, \"my theory certainly presents some\ndifficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were\nbolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon\nthe matter.\"\n\nA small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which\nthe three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third\nchamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss\nStoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her\nfate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a\ngaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A\nbrown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow\nwhite-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the\nleft-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small\nwicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save\nfor a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and\nthe panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old\nand discoloured that it may have dated from the original building\nof the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat\nsilent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down,\ntaking in every detail of the apartment.\n\n\"Where does that bell communicate with?\" he asked at last\npointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the\ntassel actually lying upon the pillow.\n\n\"It goes to the housekeeper\'s room.\"\n\n\"It looks newer than the other things?\"\n\n\"Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago.\"\n\n\"Your sister asked for it, I suppose?\"\n\n\"No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we\nwanted for ourselves.\"\n\n\"Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there.\nYou will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to\nthis floor.\" He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in\nhis hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining\nminutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same with\nthe wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. Finally he\nwalked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and\nin running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the\nbell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.\n\n\"Why, it\'s a dummy,\" said he.\n\n\"Won\'t it ring?\"\n\n\"No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting.\nYou can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where\nthe little opening for the ventilator is.\"\n\n\"How very absurd! I never noticed that before.\"\n\n\"Very strange!\" muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. \"There are\none or two very singular points about this room. For example,\nwhat a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another\nroom, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated\nwith the outside air!\"\n\n\"That is also quite modern,\" said the lady.\n\n\"Done about the same time as the bell-rope?\" remarked Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that\ntime.\"\n\n\"They seem to have been of a most interesting character--dummy\nbell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your\npermission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into\nthe inner apartment.\"\n\nDr. Grimesby Roylott\'s chamber was larger than that of his\nstep-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small\nwooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an\narmchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a\nround table, and a large iron safe were the principal things\nwhich met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each\nand all of them with the keenest interest.\n\n\"What\'s in here?\" he asked, tapping the safe.\n\n\"My stepfather\'s business papers.\"\n\n\"Oh! you have seen inside, then?\"\n\n\"Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of\npapers.\"\n\n\"There isn\'t a cat in it, for example?\"\n\n\"No. What a strange idea!\"\n\n\"Well, look at this!\" He took up a small saucer of milk which\nstood on the top of it.\n\n\"No; we don\'t keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a\nsaucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I\ndaresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine.\" He\nsquatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat\nof it with the greatest attention.\n\n\"Thank you. That is quite settled,\" said he, rising and putting\nhis lens in his pocket. \"Hullo! Here is something interesting!\"\n\nThe object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on\none corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself\nand tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.\n\n\"What do you make of that, Watson?\"\n\n\"It\'s a common enough lash. But I don\'t know why it should be\ntied.\"\n\n\"That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it\'s a wicked world,\nand when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst\nof all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and\nwith your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn.\"\n\nI had never seen my friend\'s face so grim or his brow so dark as\nit was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We\nhad walked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss\nStoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he\nroused himself from his reverie.\n\n\"It is very essential, Miss Stoner,\" said he, \"that you should\nabsolutely follow my advice in every respect.\"\n\n\"I shall most certainly do so.\"\n\n\"The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may\ndepend upon your compliance.\"\n\n\"I assure you that I am in your hands.\"\n\n\"In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in\nyour room.\"\n\nBoth Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the\nvillage inn over there?\"\n\n\"Yes, that is the Crown.\"\n\n\"Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a\nheadache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him\nretire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window,\nundo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then\nwithdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want\ninto the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in\nspite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, easily.\"\n\n\"The rest you will leave in our hands.\"\n\n\"But what will you do?\"\n\n\"We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate\nthe cause of this noise which has disturbed you.\"\n\n\"I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind,\"\nsaid Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion\'s sleeve.\n\n\"Perhaps I have.\"\n\n\"Then, for pity\'s sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister\'s\ndeath.\"\n\n\"I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak.\"\n\n\"You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and\nif she died from some sudden fright.\"\n\n\"No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more\ntangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if\nDr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain.\nGood-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you,\nyou may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers\nthat threaten you.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and\nsitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and\nfrom our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and\nof the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw\nDr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside\nthe little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some\nslight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard\nthe hoarse roar of the doctor\'s voice and saw the fury with which\nhe shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few\nminutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as\nthe lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.\n\n\"Do you know, Watson,\" said Holmes as we sat together in the\ngathering darkness, \"I have really some scruples as to taking you\nto-night. There is a distinct element of danger.\"\n\n\"Can I be of assistance?\"\n\n\"Your presence might be invaluable.\"\n\n\"Then I shall certainly come.\"\n\n\"It is very kind of you.\"\n\n\"You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms\nthan was visible to me.\"\n\n\"No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine\nthat you saw all that I did.\"\n\n\"I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose\nthat could answer I confess is more than I can imagine.\"\n\n\"You saw the ventilator, too?\"\n\n\"Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to\nhave a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a\nrat could hardly pass through.\"\n\n\"I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to\nStoke Moran.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her\nsister could smell Dr. Roylott\'s cigar. Now, of course that\nsuggested at once that there must be a communication between the\ntwo rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have been\nremarked upon at the coroner\'s inquiry. I deduced a ventilator.\"\n\n\"But what harm can there be in that?\"\n\n\"Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A\nventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the\nbed dies. Does not that strike you?\"\n\n\"I cannot as yet see any connection.\"\n\n\"Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened\nlike that before?\"\n\n\"I cannot say that I have.\"\n\n\"The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same\nrelative position to the ventilator and to the rope--or so we may\ncall it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull.\"\n\n\"Holmes,\" I cried, \"I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at.\nWe are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible\ncrime.\"\n\n\"Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong\nhe is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge.\nPalmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession.\nThis man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall\nbe able to strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough\nbefore the night is over; for goodness\' sake let us have a quiet\npipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more\ncheerful.\"\n\n\nAbout nine o\'clock the light among the trees was extinguished,\nand all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours\npassed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of\neleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.\n\n\"That is our signal,\" said Holmes, springing to his feet; \"it\ncomes from the middle window.\"\n\nAs we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord,\nexplaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance,\nand that it was possible that we might spend the night there. A\nmoment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing\nin our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us\nthrough the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.\n\nThere was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for\nunrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way\namong the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about\nto enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel\nbushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted\nchild, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and\nthen ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.\n\n\"My God!\" I whispered; \"did you see it?\"\n\nHolmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like\na vice upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low\nlaugh and put his lips to my ear.\n\n\"It is a nice household,\" he murmured. \"That is the baboon.\"\n\nI had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There\nwas a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders\nat any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when,\nafter following Holmes\' example and slipping off my shoes, I\nfound myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed\nthe shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes\nround the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Then\ncreeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered\ninto my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do to\ndistinguish the words:\n\n\"The least sound would be fatal to our plans.\"\n\nI nodded to show that I had heard.\n\n\"We must sit without light. He would see it through the\nventilator.\"\n\nI nodded again.\n\n\"Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your\npistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of\nthe bed, and you in that chair.\"\n\nI took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.\n\nHolmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon\nthe bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the\nstump of a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left\nin darkness.\n\nHow shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a\nsound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my\ncompanion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same\nstate of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut\noff the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.\n\nFrom outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at\nour very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that\nthe cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the\ndeep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of\nan hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and\none and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for\nwhatever might befall.\n\nSuddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the\ndirection of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was\nsucceeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal.\nSomeone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle\nsound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the\nsmell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears.\nThen suddenly another sound became audible--a very gentle,\nsoothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping\ncontinually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes\nsprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with\nhis cane at the bell-pull.\n\n\"You see it, Watson?\" he yelled. \"You see it?\"\n\nBut I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I\nheard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my\nweary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which\nmy friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face\nwas deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had\nceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when\nsuddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most\nhorrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder\nand louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled\nin the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the\nvillage, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the\nsleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I\nstood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it\nhad died away into the silence from which it rose.\n\n\"What can it mean?\" I gasped.\n\n\"It means that it is all over,\" Holmes answered. \"And perhaps,\nafter all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will\nenter Dr. Roylott\'s room.\"\n\nWith a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the\ncorridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply\nfrom within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his\nheels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.\n\nIt was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a\ndark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant\nbeam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar.\nBeside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott\nclad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding\nbeneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers.\nAcross his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we\nhad noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward and his\neyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the\nceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with\nbrownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his\nhead. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.\n\n\"The band! the speckled band!\" whispered Holmes.\n\nI took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began\nto move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat\ndiamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.\n\n\"It is a swamp adder!\" cried Holmes; \"the deadliest snake in\nIndia. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence\ndoes, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls\ninto the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this\ncreature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to\nsome place of shelter and let the county police know what has\nhappened.\"\n\nAs he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man\'s lap,\nand throwing the noose round the reptile\'s neck he drew it from\nits horrid perch and, carrying it at arm\'s length, threw it into\nthe iron safe, which he closed upon it.\n\nSuch are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of\nStoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a\nnarrative which has already run to too great a length by telling\nhow we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed\nher by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow,\nof how the slow process of official inquiry came to the\nconclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly\nplaying with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn\nof the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back\nnext day.\n\n\"I had,\" said he, \"come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which\nshows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from\ninsufficient data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of\nthe word \'band,\' which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to\nexplain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of\nby the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an\nentirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantly\nreconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me\nthat whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not\ncome either from the window or the door. My attention was\nspeedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this\nventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The\ndiscovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to\nthe floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was\nthere as a bridge for something passing through the hole and\ncoming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me,\nand when I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was\nfurnished with a supply of creatures from India, I felt that I\nwas probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of\npoison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical\ntest was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless\nman who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity with which such\na poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be\nan advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could\ndistinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where\nthe poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the\nwhistle. Of course he must recall the snake before the morning\nlight revealed it to the victim. He had trained it, probably by\nthe use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned.\nHe would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he\nthought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the\nrope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the\noccupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but\nsooner or later she must fall a victim.\n\n\"I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his\nroom. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in\nthe habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary\nin order that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the\nsafe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to\nfinally dispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic\nclang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather\nhastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant.\nHaving once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in\norder to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss\nas I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the\nlight and attacked it.\"\n\n\"With the result of driving it through the ventilator.\"\n\n\"And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master\nat the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and\nroused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person\nit saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr.\nGrimesby Roylott\'s death, and I cannot say that it is likely to\nweigh very heavily upon my conscience.\"\n\n\n\nIX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGINEER\'S THUMB\n\nOf all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr.\nSherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy,\nthere were only two which I was the means of introducing to his\nnotice--that of Mr. Hatherley\'s thumb, and that of Colonel\nWarburton\'s madness. Of these the latter may have afforded a\nfiner field for an acute and original observer, but the other was\nso strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that\nit may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it\ngave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of\nreasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. The story\nhas, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but,\nlike all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when\nset forth en bloc in a single half-column of print than when the\nfacts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears\ngradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads\non to the complete truth. At the time the circumstances made a\ndeep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly\nserved to weaken the effect.\n\nIt was in the summer of \'89, not long after my marriage, that the\nevents occurred which I am now about to summarise. I had returned\nto civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker\nStreet rooms, although I continually visited him and occasionally\neven persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come\nand visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I\nhappened to live at no very great distance from Paddington\nStation, I got a few patients from among the officials. One of\nthese, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was\nnever weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send\nme on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence.\n\nOne morning, at a little before seven o\'clock, I was awakened by\nthe maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come\nfrom Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I\ndressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases\nwere seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my\nold ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door\ntightly behind him.\n\n\"I\'ve got him here,\" he whispered, jerking his thumb over his\nshoulder; \"he\'s all right.\"\n\n\"What is it, then?\" I asked, for his manner suggested that it was\nsome strange creature which he had caged up in my room.\n\n\"It\'s a new patient,\" he whispered. \"I thought I\'d bring him\nround myself; then he couldn\'t slip away. There he is, all safe\nand sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the\nsame as you.\" And off he went, this trusty tout, without even\ngiving me time to thank him.\n\nI entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the\ntable. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a\nsoft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of\nhis hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all\nover with bloodstains. He was young, not more than\nfive-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong, masculine face; but\nhe was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who\nwas suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his\nstrength of mind to control.\n\n\"I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor,\" said he, \"but I\nhave had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by\ntrain this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I\nmight find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me\nhere. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon\nthe side-table.\"\n\nI took it up and glanced at it. \"Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic\nengineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor).\" That was the name,\nstyle, and abode of my morning visitor. \"I regret that I have\nkept you waiting,\" said I, sitting down in my library-chair. \"You\nare fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself\na monotonous occupation.\"\n\n\"Oh, my night could not be called monotonous,\" said he, and\nlaughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note,\nleaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical\ninstincts rose up against that laugh.\n\n\"Stop it!\" I cried; \"pull yourself together!\" and I poured out\nsome water from a caraffe.\n\nIt was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical\noutbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis\nis over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very\nweary and pale-looking.\n\n\"I have been making a fool of myself,\" he gasped.\n\n\"Not at all. Drink this.\" I dashed some brandy into the water,\nand the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.\n\n\"That\'s better!\" said he. \"And now, Doctor, perhaps you would\nkindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb\nused to be.\"\n\nHe unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even\nmy hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four\nprotruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the\nthumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from\nthe roots.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I cried, \"this is a terrible injury. It must have\nbled considerably.\"\n\n\"Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must\nhave been senseless for a long time. When I came to I found that\nit was still bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very\ntightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig.\"\n\n\"Excellent! You should have been a surgeon.\"\n\n\"It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own\nprovince.\"\n\n\"This has been done,\" said I, examining the wound, \"by a very\nheavy and sharp instrument.\"\n\n\"A thing like a cleaver,\" said he.\n\n\"An accident, I presume?\"\n\n\"By no means.\"\n\n\"What! a murderous attack?\"\n\n\"Very murderous indeed.\"\n\n\"You horrify me.\"\n\nI sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered\nit over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. He lay back\nwithout wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time.\n\n\"How is that?\" I asked when I had finished.\n\n\"Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a new man.\nI was very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently\ntrying to your nerves.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police;\nbut, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing\nevidence of this wound of mine, I should be surprised if they\nbelieved my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I\nhave not much in the way of proof with which to back it up; and,\neven if they believe me, the clues which I can give them are so\nvague that it is a question whether justice will be done.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cried I, \"if it is anything in the nature of a problem\nwhich you desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you\nto come to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the\nofficial police.\"\n\n\"Oh, I have heard of that fellow,\" answered my visitor, \"and I\nshould be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of\ncourse I must use the official police as well. Would you give me\nan introduction to him?\"\n\n\"I\'ll do better. I\'ll take you round to him myself.\"\n\n\"I should be immensely obliged to you.\"\n\n\"We\'ll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to\nhave a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?\"\n\n\"Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story.\"\n\n\"Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an\ninstant.\" I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my\nwife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my\nnew acquaintance to Baker Street.\n\nSherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his\nsitting-room in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of The\nTimes and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed\nof all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day\nbefore, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the\nmantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial fashion,\nordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal.\nWhen it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the\nsofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of\nbrandy and water within his reach.\n\n\"It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one,\nMr. Hatherley,\" said he. \"Pray, lie down there and make yourself\nabsolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are\ntired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said my patient, \"but I have felt another man since\nthe doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has\ncompleted the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable\ntime as possible, so I shall start at once upon my peculiar\nexperiences.\"\n\nHolmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded\nexpression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat\nopposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story\nwhich our visitor detailed to us.\n\n\"You must know,\" said he, \"that I am an orphan and a bachelor,\nresiding alone in lodgings in London. By profession I am a\nhydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience of my\nwork during the seven years that I was apprenticed to Venner &\nMatheson, the well-known firm, of Greenwich. Two years ago,\nhaving served my time, and having also come into a fair sum of\nmoney through my poor father\'s death, I determined to start in\nbusiness for myself and took professional chambers in Victoria\nStreet.\n\n\"I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in\nbusiness a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so.\nDuring two years I have had three consultations and one small\njob, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought\nme. My gross takings amount to 27 pounds 10s. Every day, from\nnine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waited in my\nlittle den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to\nbelieve that I should never have any practice at all.\n\n\"Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the\noffice, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who\nwished to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too, with\nthe name of \'Colonel Lysander Stark\' engraved upon it. Close at\nhis heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over the middle\nsize, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that I have\never seen so thin a man. His whole face sharpened away into nose\nand chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over\nhis outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his\nnatural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his\nstep brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly\ndressed, and his age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than\nthirty.\n\n\"\'Mr. Hatherley?\' said he, with something of a German accent.\n\'You have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man\nwho is not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet\nand capable of preserving a secret.\'\n\n\"I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an\naddress. \'May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character?\'\n\n\"\'Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just\nat this moment. I have it from the same source that you are both\nan orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone in London.\'\n\n\"\'That is quite correct,\' I answered; \'but you will excuse me if\nI say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional\nqualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter\nthat you wished to speak to me?\'\n\n\"\'Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really to\nthe point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute\nsecrecy is quite essential--absolute secrecy, you understand, and\nof course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than\nfrom one who lives in the bosom of his family.\'\n\n\"\'If I promise to keep a secret,\' said I, \'you may absolutely\ndepend upon my doing so.\'\n\n\"He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I\nhad never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.\n\n\"\'Do you promise, then?\' said he at last.\n\n\"\'Yes, I promise.\'\n\n\"\'Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? No\nreference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?\'\n\n\"\'I have already given you my word.\'\n\n\"\'Very good.\' He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning\nacross the room he flung open the door. The passage outside was\nempty.\n\n\"\'That\'s all right,\' said he, coming back. \'I know that clerks are\nsometimes curious as to their master\'s affairs. Now we can talk\nin safety.\' He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to\nstare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look.\n\n\"A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun\nto rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man.\nEven my dread of losing a client could not restrain me from\nshowing my impatience.\n\n\"\'I beg that you will state your business, sir,\' said I; \'my time\nis of value.\' Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the\nwords came to my lips.\n\n\"\'How would fifty guineas for a night\'s work suit you?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'Most admirably.\'\n\n\"\'I say a night\'s work, but an hour\'s would be nearer the mark. I\nsimply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which\nhas got out of gear. If you show us what is wrong we shall soon\nset it right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission as\nthat?\'\n\n\"\'The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.\'\n\n\"\'Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the last\ntrain.\'\n\n\"\'Where to?\'\n\n\"\'To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders\nof Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a\ntrain from Paddington which would bring you there at about\n11:15.\'\n\n\"\'Very good.\'\n\n\"\'I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.\'\n\n\"\'There is a drive, then?\'\n\n\"\'Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good\nseven miles from Eyford Station.\'\n\n\"\'Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there\nwould be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stop\nthe night.\'\n\n\"\'Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.\'\n\n\"\'That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more convenient\nhour?\'\n\n\"\'We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to\nrecompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a\nyoung and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the\nvery heads of your profession. Still, of course, if you would\nlike to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do\nso.\'\n\n\"I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they\nwould be to me. \'Not at all,\' said I, \'I shall be very happy to\naccommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to\nunderstand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to\ndo.\'\n\n\"\'Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which\nwe have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I\nhave no wish to commit you to anything without your having it all\nlaid before you. I suppose that we are absolutely safe from\neavesdroppers?\'\n\n\"\'Entirely.\'\n\n\"\'Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that\nfuller\'s-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found\nin one or two places in England?\'\n\n\"\'I have heard so.\'\n\n\"\'Some little time ago I bought a small place--a very small\nplace--within ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to\ndiscover that there was a deposit of fuller\'s-earth in one of my\nfields. On examining it, however, I found that this deposit was a\ncomparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two\nvery much larger ones upon the right and left--both of them,\nhowever, in the grounds of my neighbours. These good people were\nabsolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was\nquite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my\ninterest to buy their land before they discovered its true value,\nbut unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this. I\ntook a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they\nsuggested that we should quietly and secretly work our own little\ndeposit and that in this way we should earn the money which would\nenable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This we have now been\ndoing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we\nerected a hydraulic press. This press, as I have already\nexplained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the\nsubject. We guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it\nonce became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to our\nlittle house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts\ncame out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these\nfields and carrying out our plans. That is why I have made you\npromise me that you will not tell a human being that you are\ngoing to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?\'\n\n\"\'I quite follow you,\' said I. \'The only point which I could not\nquite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press\nin excavating fuller\'s-earth, which, as I understand, is dug out\nlike gravel from a pit.\'\n\n\"\'Ah!\' said he carelessly, \'we have our own process. We compress\nthe earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing\nwhat they are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully\ninto my confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how I\ntrust you.\' He rose as he spoke. \'I shall expect you, then, at\nEyford at 11:15.\'\n\n\"\'I shall certainly be there.\'\n\n\"\'And not a word to a soul.\' He looked at me with a last long,\nquestioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank\ngrasp, he hurried from the room.\n\n\"Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was very\nmuch astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission\nwhich had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was\nglad, for the fee was at least tenfold what I should have asked\nhad I set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that\nthis order might lead to other ones. On the other hand, the face\nand manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon\nme, and I could not think that his explanation of the\nfuller\'s-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my\ncoming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell\nanyone of my errand. However, I threw all fears to the winds, ate\na hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off, having\nobeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue.\n\n\"At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station.\nHowever, I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I\nreached the little dim-lit station after eleven o\'clock. I was the\nonly passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the\nplatform save a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed\nout through the wicket gate, however, I found my acquaintance of\nthe morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side. Without a\nword he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door\nof which was standing open. He drew up the windows on either\nside, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the\nhorse could go.\"\n\n\"One horse?\" interjected Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, only one.\"\n\n\"Did you observe the colour?\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the\ncarriage. It was a chestnut.\"\n\n\"Tired-looking or fresh?\"\n\n\"Oh, fresh and glossy.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continue\nyour most interesting statement.\"\n\n\"Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel\nLysander Stark had said that it was only seven miles, but I\nshould think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the\ntime that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He sat\nat my side in silence all the time, and I was aware, more than\nonce when I glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me\nwith great intensity. The country roads seem to be not very good\nin that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I\ntried to look out of the windows to see something of where we\nwere, but they were made of frosted glass, and I could make out\nnothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now\nand then I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the\njourney, but the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the\nconversation soon flagged. At last, however, the bumping of the\nroad was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive,\nand the carriage came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang\nout, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch\nwhich gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of\nthe carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the\nmost fleeting glance of the front of the house. The instant that\nI had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind us,\nand I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage\ndrove away.\n\n\"It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled\nabout looking for matches and muttering under his breath.\nSuddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a\nlong, golden bar of light shot out in our direction. It grew\nbroader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she\nheld above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us.\nI could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which\nthe light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a rich\nmaterial. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as\nthough asking a question, and when my companion answered in a\ngruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly\nfell from her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered\nsomething in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room\nfrom whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the\nlamp in his hand.\n\n\"\'Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a\nfew minutes,\' said he, throwing open another door. It was a\nquiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the\ncentre, on which several German books were scattered. Colonel\nStark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the\ndoor. \'I shall not keep you waiting an instant,\' said he, and\nvanished into the darkness.\n\n\"I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my\nignorance of German I could see that two of them were treatises\non science, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked\nacross to the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of\nthe country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded\nacross it. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an old\nclock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise\neverything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began\nto steal over me. Who were these German people, and what were\nthey doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And\nwhere was the place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was\nall I knew, but whether north, south, east, or west I had no\nidea. For that matter, Reading, and possibly other large towns,\nwere within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded,\nafter all. Yet it was quite certain, from the absolute stillness,\nthat we were in the country. I paced up and down the room,\nhumming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling\nthat I was thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee.\n\n\"Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the\nutter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman\nwas standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind\nher, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and\nbeautiful face. I could see at a glance that she was sick with\nfear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up one\nshaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few\nwhispered words of broken English at me, her eyes glancing back,\nlike those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.\n\n\"\'I would go,\' said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to\nspeak calmly; \'I would go. I should not stay here. There is no\ngood for you to do.\'\n\n\"\'But, madam,\' said I, \'I have not yet done what I came for. I\ncannot possibly leave until I have seen the machine.\'\n\n\"\'It is not worth your while to wait,\' she went on. \'You can pass\nthrough the door; no one hinders.\' And then, seeing that I smiled\nand shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and\nmade a step forward, with her hands wrung together. \'For the love\nof Heaven!\' she whispered, \'get away from here before it is too\nlate!\'\n\n\"But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to\nengage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I\nthought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of\nthe unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. Was it all to\ngo for nothing? Why should I slink away without having carried\nout my commission, and without the payment which was my due? This\nwoman might, for all I knew, be a monomaniac. With a stout\nbearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than I\ncared to confess, I still shook my head and declared my intention\nof remaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties\nwhen a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps\nwas heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw up\nher hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and\nas noiselessly as she had come.\n\n\"The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short thick man\nwith a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double\nchin, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.\n\n\"\'This is my secretary and manager,\' said the colonel. \'By the\nway, I was under the impression that I left this door shut just\nnow. I fear that you have felt the draught.\'\n\n\"\'On the contrary,\' said I, \'I opened the door myself because I\nfelt the room to be a little close.\'\n\n\"He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. \'Perhaps we had\nbetter proceed to business, then,\' said he. \'Mr. Ferguson and I\nwill take you up to see the machine.\'\n\n\"\'I had better put my hat on, I suppose.\'\n\n\"\'Oh, no, it is in the house.\'\n\n\"\'What, you dig fuller\'s-earth in the house?\'\n\n\"\'No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that.\nAll we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us\nknow what is wrong with it.\'\n\n\"We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the\nfat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house,\nwith corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little\nlow doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the\ngenerations who had crossed them. There were no carpets and no\nsigns of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster\nwas peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in\ngreen, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an\nair as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of the\nlady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon\nmy two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent\nman, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at\nleast a fellow-countryman.\n\n\"Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which\nhe unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three\nof us could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside,\nand the colonel ushered me in.\n\n\"\'We are now,\' said he, \'actually within the hydraulic press, and\nit would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were\nto turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the\nend of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force of\nmany tons upon this metal floor. There are small lateral columns\nof water outside which receive the force, and which transmit and\nmultiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. The machine\ngoes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working\nof it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you will\nhave the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set\nit right.\'\n\n\"I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very\nthoroughly. It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of\nexercising enormous pressure. When I passed outside, however, and\npressed down the levers which controlled it, I knew at once by\nthe whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed\na regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. An\nexamination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which was\nround the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to\nfill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause\nof the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who\nfollowed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical\nquestions as to how they should proceed to set it right. When I\nhad made it clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the\nmachine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity.\nIt was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller\'s-earth\nwas the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose\nthat so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a\npurpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a\nlarge iron trough, and when I came to examine it I could see a\ncrust of metallic deposit all over it. I had stooped and was\nscraping at this to see exactly what it was when I heard a\nmuttered exclamation in German and saw the cadaverous face of the\ncolonel looking down at me.\n\n\"\'What are you doing there?\' he asked.\n\n\"I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as\nthat which he had told me. \'I was admiring your fuller\'s-earth,\'\nsaid I; \'I think that I should be better able to advise you as to\nyour machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it\nwas used.\'\n\n\"The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of\nmy speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in\nhis grey eyes.\n\n\"\'Very well,\' said he, \'you shall know all about the machine.\' He\ntook a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key\nin the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it\nwas quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks and\nshoves. \'Hullo!\' I yelled. \'Hullo! Colonel! Let me out!\'\n\n\"And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my\nheart into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swish\nof the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp\nstill stood upon the floor where I had placed it when examining\nthe trough. By its light I saw that the black ceiling was coming\ndown upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than\nmyself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a\nshapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming, against the door, and\ndragged with my nails at the lock. I implored the colonel to let\nme out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my\ncries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with\nmy hand upraised I could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it\nflashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend\nvery much upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on my\nface the weight would come upon my spine, and I shuddered to\nthink of that dreadful snap. Easier the other way, perhaps; and\nyet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black\nshadow wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand\nerect, when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope\nback to my heart.\n\n\"I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the\nwalls were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw\na thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which\nbroadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. For\nan instant I could hardly believe that here was indeed a door\nwhich led away from death. The next instant I threw myself\nthrough, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had\nclosed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few\nmoments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me\nhow narrow had been my escape.\n\n\"I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and\nI found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor,\nwhile a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand,\nwhile she held a candle in her right. It was the same good friend\nwhose warning I had so foolishly rejected.\n\n\"\'Come! come!\' she cried breathlessly. \'They will be here in a\nmoment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste\nthe so-precious time, but come!\'\n\n\"This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to\nmy feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding\nstair. The latter led to another broad passage, and just as we\nreached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting of\ntwo voices, one answering the other from the floor on which we\nwere and from the one beneath. My guide stopped and looked about\nher like one who is at her wit\'s end. Then she threw open a door\nwhich led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon\nwas shining brightly.\n\n\"\'It is your only chance,\' said she. \'It is high, but it may be\nthat you can jump it.\'\n\n\"As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the\npassage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark\nrushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a\nbutcher\'s cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom,\nflung open the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and\nwholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be\nmore than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, but I\nhesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between\nmy saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used,\nthen at any risks I was determined to go back to her assistance.\nThe thought had hardly flashed through my mind before he was at\nthe door, pushing his way past her; but she threw her arms round\nhim and tried to hold him back.\n\n\"\'Fritz! Fritz!\' she cried in English, \'remember your promise\nafter the last time. You said it should not be again. He will be\nsilent! Oh, he will be silent!\'\n\n\"\'You are mad, Elise!\' he shouted, struggling to break away from\nher. \'You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let me\npass, I say!\' He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the\nwindow, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and\nwas hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. I was\nconscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into the\ngarden below.\n\n\"I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself up and\nrushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I\nunderstood that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly,\nhowever, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me.\nI glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and\nthen, for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and\nthat the blood was pouring from my wound. I endeavoured to tie my\nhandkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my\nears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the\nrose-bushes.\n\n\"How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been\na very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was\nbreaking when I came to myself. My clothes were all sodden with\ndew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded\nthumb. The smarting of it recalled in an instant all the\nparticulars of my night\'s adventure, and I sprang to my feet with\nthe feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. But\nto my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house\nnor garden were to be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the\nhedge close by the highroad, and just a little lower down was a\nlong building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the\nvery station at which I had arrived upon the previous night. Were\nit not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed\nduring those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream.\n\n\"Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the morning\ntrain. There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The\nsame porter was on duty, I found, as had been there when I\narrived. I inquired of him whether he had ever heard of Colonel\nLysander Stark. The name was strange to him. Had he observed a\ncarriage the night before waiting for me? No, he had not. Was\nthere a police-station anywhere near? There was one about three\nmiles off.\n\n\"It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined\nto wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the\npolice. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first\nto have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to\nbring me along here. I put the case into your hands and shall do\nexactly what you advise.\"\n\nWe both sat in silence for some little time after listening to\nthis extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down\nfrom the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he\nplaced his cuttings.\n\n\"Here is an advertisement which will interest you,\" said he. \"It\nappeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this:\n\'Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged\ntwenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten\no\'clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was\ndressed in,\' etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that\nthe colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried my patient. \"Then that explains what the\ngirl said.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and\ndesperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should\nstand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out\npirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well,\nevery moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall\ngo down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for\nEyford.\"\n\nSome three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train\ntogether, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village.\nThere were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector\nBradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself.\nBradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the\nseat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with Eyford\nfor its centre.\n\n\"There you are,\" said he. \"That circle is drawn at a radius of\nten miles from the village. The place we want must be somewhere\nnear that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir.\"\n\n\"It was an hour\'s good drive.\"\n\n\"And you think that they brought you back all that way when you\nwere unconscious?\"\n\n\"They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having\nbeen lifted and conveyed somewhere.\"\n\n\"What I cannot understand,\" said I, \"is why they should have\nspared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden.\nPerhaps the villain was softened by the woman\'s entreaties.\"\n\n\"I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face\nin my life.\"\n\n\"Oh, we shall soon clear up all that,\" said Bradstreet. \"Well, I\nhave drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon\nit the folk that we are in search of are to be found.\"\n\n\"I think I could lay my finger on it,\" said Holmes quietly.\n\n\"Really, now!\" cried the inspector, \"you have formed your\nopinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is\nsouth, for the country is more deserted there.\"\n\n\"And I say east,\" said my patient.\n\n\"I am for west,\" remarked the plain-clothes man. \"There are\nseveral quiet little villages up there.\"\n\n\"And I am for north,\" said I, \"because there are no hills there,\nand our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up\nany.\"\n\n\"Come,\" cried the inspector, laughing; \"it\'s a very pretty\ndiversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do\nyou give your casting vote to?\"\n\n\"You are all wrong.\"\n\n\"But we can\'t all be.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, you can. This is my point.\" He placed his finger in the\ncentre of the circle. \"This is where we shall find them.\"\n\n\"But the twelve-mile drive?\" gasped Hatherley.\n\n\"Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the\nhorse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that\nif it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?\"\n\n\"Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough,\" observed Bradstreet\nthoughtfully. \"Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature\nof this gang.\"\n\n\"None at all,\" said Holmes. \"They are coiners on a large scale,\nand have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the\nplace of silver.\"\n\n\"We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work,\"\nsaid the inspector. \"They have been turning out half-crowns by\nthe thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could\nget no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that\nshowed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this\nlucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough.\"\n\nBut the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not\ndestined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into\nEyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed\nup from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and\nhung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.\n\n\"A house on fire?\" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off\nagain on its way.\n\n\"Yes, sir!\" said the station-master.\n\n\"When did it break out?\"\n\n\"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse,\nand the whole place is in a blaze.\"\n\n\"Whose house is it?\"\n\n\"Dr. Becher\'s.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" broke in the engineer, \"is Dr. Becher a German, very\nthin, with a long, sharp nose?\"\n\nThe station-master laughed heartily. \"No, sir, Dr. Becher is an\nEnglishman, and there isn\'t a man in the parish who has a\nbetter-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him,\na patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as\nif a little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm.\"\n\nThe station-master had not finished his speech before we were all\nhastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low\nhill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in\nfront of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in\nthe garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to\nkeep the flames under.\n\n\"That\'s it!\" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. \"There is\nthe gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That\nsecond window is the one that I jumped from.\"\n\n\"Well, at least,\" said Holmes, \"you have had your revenge upon\nthem. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which,\nwhen it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls,\nthough no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to\nobserve it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for\nyour friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are\na good hundred miles off by now.\"\n\nAnd Holmes\' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this\nno word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the\nsinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a\npeasant had met a cart containing several people and some very\nbulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but\nthere all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes\'\ningenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their\nwhereabouts.\n\nThe firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements\nwhich they had found within, and still more so by discovering a\nnewly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor.\nAbout sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and\nthey subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in,\nand the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save\nsome twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of\nthe machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so\ndearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored\nin an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have\nexplained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been\nalready referred to.\n\nHow our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to\nthe spot where he recovered his senses might have remained\nforever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a\nvery plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by two\npersons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other\nunusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable that the\nsilent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his\ncompanion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out\nof the way of danger.\n\n\"Well,\" said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return\nonce more to London, \"it has been a pretty business for me! I\nhave lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what\nhave I gained?\"\n\n\"Experience,\" said Holmes, laughing. \"Indirectly it may be of\nvalue, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the\nreputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your\nexistence.\"\n\n\n\nX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR\n\nThe Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have\nlong ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles\nin which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have\neclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the\ngossips away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to\nbelieve, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to\nthe general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a\nconsiderable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no\nmemoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of\nthis remarkable episode.\n\nIt was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I\nwas still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came\nhome from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table\nwaiting for him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather\nhad taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and\nthe Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as\na relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence.\nWith my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had\nsurrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last,\nsaturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and\nlay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the\nenvelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend\'s\nnoble correspondent could be.\n\n\"Here is a very fashionable epistle,\" I remarked as he entered.\n\"Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a\nfish-monger and a tide-waiter.\"\n\n\"Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,\" he\nanswered, smiling, \"and the humbler are usually the more\ninteresting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social\nsummonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie.\"\n\nHe broke the seal and glanced over the contents.\n\n\"Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all.\"\n\n\"Not social, then?\"\n\n\"No, distinctly professional.\"\n\n\"And from a noble client?\"\n\n\"One of the highest in England.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I congratulate you.\"\n\n\"I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my\nclient is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his\ncase. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be\nwanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the\npapers diligently of late, have you not?\"\n\n\"It looks like it,\" said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in\nthe corner. \"I have had nothing else to do.\"\n\n\"It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I\nread nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The\nlatter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent\nevents so closely you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his\nwedding?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, with the deepest interest.\"\n\n\"That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord\nSt. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn\nover these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter.\nThis is what he says:\n\n\"\'MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:--Lord Backwater tells me that I\nmay place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I\nhave determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you\nin reference to the very painful event which has occurred in\nconnection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is\nacting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no\nobjection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that\nit might be of some assistance. I will call at four o\'clock in\nthe afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that\ntime, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of\nparamount importance. Yours faithfully, ST. SIMON.\'\n\n\"It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen,\nand the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink\nupon the outer side of his right little finger,\" remarked Holmes\nas he folded up the epistle.\n\n\"He says four o\'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an\nhour.\"\n\n\"Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon\nthe subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in\ntheir order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client\nis.\" He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of\nreference beside the mantelpiece. \"Here he is,\" said he, sitting\ndown and flattening it out upon his knee. \"\'Lord Robert Walsingham\nde Vere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral.\' Hum! \'Arms:\nAzure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.\'\nHe\'s forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was\nUnder-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration. The\nDuke, his father, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs.\nThey inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on\nthe distaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in\nall this. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something\nmore solid.\"\n\n\"I have very little difficulty in finding what I want,\" said I,\n\"for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as\nremarkable. I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew\nthat you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the\nintrusion of other matters.\"\n\n\"Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square\nfurniture van. That is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it\nwas obvious from the first. Pray give me the results of your\nnewspaper selections.\"\n\n\"Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal\ncolumn of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks\nback: \'A marriage has been arranged,\' it says, \'and will, if\nrumour is correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert\nSt. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty\nDoran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San\nFrancisco, Cal., U.S.A.\' That is all.\"\n\n\"Terse and to the point,\" remarked Holmes, stretching his long,\nthin legs towards the fire.\n\n\"There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society\npapers of the same week. Ah, here it is: \'There will soon be a\ncall for protection in the marriage market, for the present\nfree-trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home\nproduct. One by one the management of the noble houses of Great\nBritain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across\nthe Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last\nweek to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by\nthese charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself\nfor over twenty years proof against the little god\'s arrows, has\nnow definitely announced his approaching marriage with Miss Hatty\nDoran, the fascinating daughter of a California millionaire. Miss\nDoran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much\nattention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child,\nand it is currently reported that her dowry will run to\nconsiderably over the six figures, with expectancies for the\nfuture. As it is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has\nbeen compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years,\nand as Lord St. Simon has no property of his own save the small\nestate of Birchmoor, it is obvious that the Californian heiress\nis not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to\nmake the easy and common transition from a Republican lady to a\nBritish peeress.\'\"\n\n\"Anything else?\" asked Holmes, yawning.\n\n\"Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the Morning Post\nto say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it\nwould be at St. George\'s, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen\nintimate friends would be invited, and that the party would\nreturn to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate which has been\ntaken by Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two days later--that is, on\nWednesday last--there is a curt announcement that the wedding had\ntaken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord\nBackwater\'s place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices\nwhich appeared before the disappearance of the bride.\"\n\n\"Before the what?\" asked Holmes with a start.\n\n\"The vanishing of the lady.\"\n\n\"When did she vanish, then?\"\n\n\"At the wedding breakfast.\"\n\n\"Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite\ndramatic, in fact.\"\n\n\"Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common.\"\n\n\"They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during\nthe honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt\nas this. Pray let me have the details.\"\n\n\"I warn you that they are very incomplete.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we may make them less so.\"\n\n\"Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a\nmorning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is\nheaded, \'Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding\':\n\n\"\'The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the\ngreatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which\nhave taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as\nshortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the\nprevious morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to\nconfirm the strange rumours which have been so persistently\nfloating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush\nthe matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it\nthat no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what\nis a common subject for conversation.\n\n\"\'The ceremony, which was performed at St. George\'s, Hanover\nSquare, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the\nfather of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral,\nLord Backwater, Lord Eustace and Lady Clara St. Simon (the\nyounger brother and sister of the bridegroom), and Lady Alicia\nWhittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of\nMr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been\nprepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a\nwoman, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to\nforce her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging\nthat she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only after a\npainful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler\nand the footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the house\nbefore this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast\nwith the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and\nretired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some\ncomment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that\nshe had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an\nulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the\nfootmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus\napparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress,\nbelieving her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his\ndaughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with\nthe bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with\nthe police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which\nwill probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very\nsingular business. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing\nhad transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There\nare rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the\npolice have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the\noriginal disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some\nother motive, she may have been concerned in the strange\ndisappearance of the bride.\'\"\n\n\"And is that all?\"\n\n\"Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is\na suggestive one.\"\n\n\"And it is--\"\n\n\"That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance,\nhas actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a\ndanseuse at the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom\nfor some years. There are no further particulars, and the whole\ncase is in your hands now--so far as it has been set forth in the\npublic press.\"\n\n\"And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would\nnot have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell,\nWatson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I\nhave no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not\ndream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness,\nif only as a check to my own memory.\"\n\n\"Lord Robert St. Simon,\" announced our page-boy, throwing open\nthe door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face,\nhigh-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about\nthe mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose\npleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His\nmanner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue\nimpression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little\nbend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off\nhis very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin\nupon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of\nfoppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat,\nyellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters.\nHe advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to\nright, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his\ngolden eyeglasses.\n\n\"Good-day, Lord St. Simon,\" said Holmes, rising and bowing. \"Pray\ntake the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr.\nWatson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this\nmatter over.\"\n\n\"A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine,\nMr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you\nhave already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir,\nthough I presume that they were hardly from the same class of\nsociety.\"\n\n\"No, I am descending.\"\n\n\"I beg pardon.\"\n\n\"My last client of the sort was a king.\"\n\n\"Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?\"\n\n\"The King of Scandinavia.\"\n\n\"What! Had he lost his wife?\"\n\n\"You can understand,\" said Holmes suavely, \"that I extend to the\naffairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to\nyou in yours.\"\n\n\"Of course! Very right! very right! I\'m sure I beg pardon. As to\nmy own case, I am ready to give you any information which may\nassist you in forming an opinion.\"\n\n\"Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public\nprints, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct--this\narticle, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride.\"\n\nLord St. Simon glanced over it. \"Yes, it is correct, as far as it\ngoes.\"\n\n\"But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could\noffer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most\ndirectly by questioning you.\"\n\n\"Pray do so.\"\n\n\"When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?\"\n\n\"In San Francisco, a year ago.\"\n\n\"You were travelling in the States?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you become engaged then?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"But you were on a friendly footing?\"\n\n\"I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was\namused.\"\n\n\"Her father is very rich?\"\n\n\"He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope.\"\n\n\"And how did he make his money?\"\n\n\"In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold,\ninvested it, and came up by leaps and bounds.\"\n\n\"Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady\'s--your\nwife\'s character?\"\n\nThe nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down\ninto the fire. \"You see, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, \"my wife was\ntwenty before her father became a rich man. During that time she\nran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or\nmountains, so that her education has come from Nature rather than\nfrom the schoolmaster. She is what we call in England a tomboy,\nwith a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of\ntraditions. She is impetuous--volcanic, I was about to say. She\nis swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her\nresolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the\nname which I have the honour to bear\"--he gave a little stately\ncough--\"had not I thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I\nbelieve that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that\nanything dishonourable would be repugnant to her.\"\n\n\"Have you her photograph?\"\n\n\"I brought this with me.\" He opened a locket and showed us the\nfull face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an\nivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect\nof the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the\nexquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he\nclosed the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon.\n\n\"The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your\nacquaintance?\"\n\n\"Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I\nmet her several times, became engaged to her, and have now\nmarried her.\"\n\n\"She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry?\"\n\n\"A fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my family.\"\n\n\"And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a\nfait accompli?\"\n\n\"I really have made no inquiries on the subject.\"\n\n\"Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the\nwedding?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Was she in good spirits?\"\n\n\"Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our\nfuture lives.\"\n\n\"Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the morning of the\nwedding?\"\n\n\"She was as bright as possible--at least until after the\nceremony.\"\n\n\"And did you observe any change in her then?\"\n\n\"Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I had\never seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident\nhowever, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible\nbearing upon the case.\"\n\n\"Pray let us have it, for all that.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards\nthe vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it\nfell over into the pew. There was a moment\'s delay, but the\ngentleman in the pew handed it up to her again, and it did not\nappear to be the worse for the fall. Yet when I spoke to her of\nthe matter, she answered me abruptly; and in the carriage, on our\nway home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause.\"\n\n\"Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some of\nthe general public were present, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them when the church is\nopen.\"\n\n\"This gentleman was not one of your wife\'s friends?\"\n\n\"No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a\ncommon-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance. But\nreally I think that we are wandering rather far from the point.\"\n\n\"Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less\ncheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do\non re-entering her father\'s house?\"\n\n\"I saw her in conversation with her maid.\"\n\n\"And who is her maid?\"\n\n\"Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California\nwith her.\"\n\n\"A confidential servant?\"\n\n\"A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed\nher to take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they\nlook upon these things in a different way.\"\n\n\"How long did she speak to this Alice?\"\n\n\"Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of.\"\n\n\"You did not overhear what they said?\"\n\n\"Lady St. Simon said something about \'jumping a claim.\' She was\naccustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she\nmeant.\"\n\n\"American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your\nwife do when she finished speaking to her maid?\"\n\n\"She walked into the breakfast-room.\"\n\n\"On your arm?\"\n\n\"No, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that.\nThen, after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose\nhurriedly, muttered some words of apology, and left the room. She\nnever came back.\"\n\n\"But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to\nher room, covered her bride\'s dress with a long ulster, put on a\nbonnet, and went out.\"\n\n\"Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in\ncompany with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who\nhad already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran\'s house that\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady,\nand your relations to her.\"\n\nLord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows.\n\"We have been on a friendly footing for some years--I may say on\na very friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have\nnot treated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of\ncomplaint against me, but you know what women are, Mr. Holmes.\nFlora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and\ndevotedly attached to me. She wrote me dreadful letters when she\nheard that I was about to be married, and, to tell the truth, the\nreason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I\nfeared lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came to\nMr. Doran\'s door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to\npush her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my\nwife, and even threatening her, but I had foreseen the\npossibility of something of the sort, and I had two police\nfellows there in private clothes, who soon pushed her out again.\nShe was quiet when she saw that there was no good in making a\nrow.\"\n\n\"Did your wife hear all this?\"\n\n\"No, thank goodness, she did not.\"\n\n\"And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?\"\n\n\"Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, looks upon as\nso serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid\nsome terrible trap for her.\"\n\n\"Well, it is a possible supposition.\"\n\n\"You think so, too?\"\n\n\"I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look upon\nthis as likely?\"\n\n\"I do not think Flora would hurt a fly.\"\n\n\"Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray\nwhat is your own theory as to what took place?\"\n\n\"Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I\nhave given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may\nsay that it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of\nthis affair, the consciousness that she had made so immense a\nsocial stride, had the effect of causing some little nervous\ndisturbance in my wife.\"\n\n\"In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?\"\n\n\"Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back--I\nwill not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to\nwithout success--I can hardly explain it in any other fashion.\"\n\n\"Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis,\" said\nHolmes, smiling. \"And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have\nnearly all my data. May I ask whether you were seated at the\nbreakfast-table so that you could see out of the window?\"\n\n\"We could see the other side of the road and the Park.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer.\nI shall communicate with you.\"\n\n\"Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem,\" said our\nclient, rising.\n\n\"I have solved it.\"\n\n\"Eh? What was that?\"\n\n\"I say that I have solved it.\"\n\n\"Where, then, is my wife?\"\n\n\"That is a detail which I shall speedily supply.\"\n\nLord St. Simon shook his head. \"I am afraid that it will take\nwiser heads than yours or mine,\" he remarked, and bowing in a\nstately, old-fashioned manner he departed.\n\n\"It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting\nit on a level with his own,\" said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. \"I\nthink that I shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all\nthis cross-questioning. I had formed my conclusions as to the\ncase before our client came into the room.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes!\"\n\n\"I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I\nremarked before, which were quite as prompt. My whole examination\nserved to turn my conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial\nevidence is occasionally very convincing, as when you find a\ntrout in the milk, to quote Thoreau\'s example.\"\n\n\"But I have heard all that you have heard.\"\n\n\"Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which\nserves me so well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some\nyears back, and something on very much the same lines at Munich\nthe year after the Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these\ncases--but, hullo, here is Lestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade!\nYou will find an extra tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are\ncigars in the box.\"\n\nThe official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat,\nwhich gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a\nblack canvas bag in his hand. With a short greeting he seated\nhimself and lit the cigar which had been offered to him.\n\n\"What\'s up, then?\" asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. \"You\nlook dissatisfied.\"\n\n\"And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriage\ncase. I can make neither head nor tail of the business.\"\n\n\"Really! You surprise me.\"\n\n\"Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip\nthrough my fingers. I have been at work upon it all day.\"\n\n\"And very wet it seems to have made you,\" said Holmes laying his\nhand upon the arm of the pea-jacket.\n\n\"Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine.\"\n\n\"In heaven\'s name, what for?\"\n\n\"In search of the body of Lady St. Simon.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.\n\n\"Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?\" he\nasked.\n\n\"Why? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in\nthe one as in the other.\"\n\nLestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. \"I suppose you\nknow all about it,\" he snarled.\n\n\"Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in\nthe matter?\"\n\n\"I think it very unlikely.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found\nthis in it?\" He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the\nfloor a wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin\nshoes and a bride\'s wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked\nin water. \"There,\" said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the\ntop of the pile. \"There is a little nut for you to crack, Master\nHolmes.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed!\" said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air.\n\"You dragged them from the Serpentine?\"\n\n\"No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper.\nThey have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me\nthat if the clothes were there the body would not be far off.\"\n\n\"By the same brilliant reasoning, every man\'s body is to be found\nin the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope\nto arrive at through this?\"\n\n\"At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that you will find it difficult.\"\n\n\"Are you, indeed, now?\" cried Lestrade with some bitterness. \"I\nam afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your\ndeductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as\nmany minutes. This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar.\"\n\n\"And how?\"\n\n\"In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the\ncard-case is a note. And here is the very note.\" He slapped it\ndown upon the table in front of him. \"Listen to this: \'You will\nsee me when all is ready. Come at once. F.H.M.\' Now my theory all\nalong has been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora\nMillar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was\nresponsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her\ninitials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped\ninto her hand at the door and which lured her within their\nreach.\"\n\n\"Very good, Lestrade,\" said Holmes, laughing. \"You really are\nvery fine indeed. Let me see it.\" He took up the paper in a\nlistless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and he\ngave a little cry of satisfaction. \"This is indeed important,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"Ha! you find it so?\"\n\n\"Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly.\"\n\nLestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. \"Why,\" he\nshrieked, \"you\'re looking at the wrong side!\"\n\n\"On the contrary, this is the right side.\"\n\n\"The right side? You\'re mad! Here is the note written in pencil\nover here.\"\n\n\"And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel\nbill, which interests me deeply.\"\n\n\"There\'s nothing in it. I looked at it before,\" said Lestrade.\n\"\'Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s.\n6d., glass sherry, 8d.\' I see nothing in that.\"\n\n\"Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the\nnote, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so I\ncongratulate you again.\"\n\n\"I\'ve wasted time enough,\" said Lestrade, rising. \"I believe in\nhard work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories.\nGood-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom\nof the matter first.\" He gathered up the garments, thrust them\ninto the bag, and made for the door.\n\n\"Just one hint to you, Lestrade,\" drawled Holmes before his rival\nvanished; \"I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady\nSt. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any\nsuch person.\"\n\nLestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me,\ntapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and\nhurried away.\n\nHe had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on\nhis overcoat. \"There is something in what the fellow says about\noutdoor work,\" he remarked, \"so I think, Watson, that I must\nleave you to your papers for a little.\"\n\nIt was after five o\'clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had\nno time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a\nconfectioner\'s man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked\nwith the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and\npresently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean\nlittle cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble\nlodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold\nwoodcock, a pheasant, a pâté de foie gras pie with a group of\nancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries,\nmy two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian\nNights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid\nfor and were ordered to this address.\n\nJust before nine o\'clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the\nroom. His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his\neye which made me think that he had not been disappointed in his\nconclusions.\n\n\"They have laid the supper, then,\" he said, rubbing his hands.\n\n\"You seem to expect company. They have laid for five.\"\n\n\"Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in,\" said he. \"I\nam surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I\nfancy that I hear his step now upon the stairs.\"\n\nIt was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in,\ndangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very\nperturbed expression upon his aristocratic features.\n\n\"My messenger reached you, then?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure.\nHave you good authority for what you say?\"\n\n\"The best possible.\"\n\nLord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his\nforehead.\n\n\"What will the Duke say,\" he murmured, \"when he hears that one of\nthe family has been subjected to such humiliation?\"\n\n\"It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any\nhumiliation.\"\n\n\"Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint.\"\n\n\"I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how the\nlady could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of\ndoing it was undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she\nhad no one to advise her at such a crisis.\"\n\n\"It was a slight, sir, a public slight,\" said Lord St. Simon,\ntapping his fingers upon the table.\n\n\"You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so\nunprecedented a position.\"\n\n\"I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have\nbeen shamefully used.\"\n\n\"I think that I heard a ring,\" said Holmes. \"Yes, there are steps\non the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view\nof the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here\nwho may be more successful.\" He opened the door and ushered in a\nlady and gentleman. \"Lord St. Simon,\" said he \"allow me to\nintroduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay Moulton. The lady, I\nthink, you have already met.\"\n\nAt the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from his\nseat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand\nthrust into the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended\ndignity. The lady had taken a quick step forward and had held out\nher hand to him, but he still refused to raise his eyes. It was\nas well for his resolution, perhaps, for her pleading face was\none which it was hard to resist.\n\n\"You\'re angry, Robert,\" said she. \"Well, I guess you have every\ncause to be.\"\n\n\"Pray make no apology to me,\" said Lord St. Simon bitterly.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you real bad and that I\nshould have spoken to you before I went; but I was kind of\nrattled, and from the time when I saw Frank here again I just\ndidn\'t know what I was doing or saying. I only wonder I didn\'t\nfall down and do a faint right there before the altar.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave\nthe room while you explain this matter?\"\n\n\"If I may give an opinion,\" remarked the strange gentleman,\n\"we\'ve had just a little too much secrecy over this business\nalready. For my part, I should like all Europe and America to\nhear the rights of it.\" He was a small, wiry, sunburnt man,\nclean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner.\n\n\"Then I\'ll tell our story right away,\" said the lady. \"Frank here\nand I met in \'84, in McQuire\'s camp, near the Rockies, where pa\nwas working a claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I;\nbut then one day father struck a rich pocket and made a pile,\nwhile poor Frank here had a claim that petered out and came to\nnothing. The richer pa grew the poorer was Frank; so at last pa\nwouldn\'t hear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took\nme away to \'Frisco. Frank wouldn\'t throw up his hand, though; so\nhe followed me there, and he saw me without pa knowing anything\nabout it. It would only have made him mad to know, so we just\nfixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and\nmake his pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had\nas much as pa. So then I promised to wait for him to the end of\ntime and pledged myself not to marry anyone else while he lived.\n\'Why shouldn\'t we be married right away, then,\' said he, \'and\nthen I will feel sure of you; and I won\'t claim to be your\nhusband until I come back?\' Well, we talked it over, and he had\nfixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman all ready in waiting,\nthat we just did it right there; and then Frank went off to seek\nhis fortune, and I went back to pa.\n\n\"The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then\nhe went prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New\nMexico. After that came a long newspaper story about how a\nminers\' camp had been attacked by Apache Indians, and there was\nmy Frank\'s name among the killed. I fainted dead away, and I was\nvery sick for months after. Pa thought I had a decline and took\nme to half the doctors in \'Frisco. Not a word of news came for a\nyear and more, so that I never doubted that Frank was really\ndead. Then Lord St. Simon came to \'Frisco, and we came to London,\nand a marriage was arranged, and pa was very pleased, but I felt\nall the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place\nin my heart that had been given to my poor Frank.\n\n\"Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I\'d have done\nmy duty by him. We can\'t command our love, but we can our\nactions. I went to the altar with him with the intention to make\nhim just as good a wife as it was in me to be. But you may\nimagine what I felt when, just as I came to the altar rails, I\nglanced back and saw Frank standing and looking at me out of the\nfirst pew. I thought it was his ghost at first; but when I looked\nagain there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as\nif to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to see him. I wonder I\ndidn\'t drop. I know that everything was turning round, and the\nwords of the clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee in my\near. I didn\'t know what to do. Should I stop the service and make\na scene in the church? I glanced at him again, and he seemed to\nknow what I was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to\ntell me to be still. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper,\nand I knew that he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on\nthe way out I dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the\nnote into my hand when he returned me the flowers. It was only a\nline asking me to join him when he made the sign to me to do so.\nOf course I never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now\nto him, and I determined to do just whatever he might direct.\n\n\"When I got back I told my maid, who had known him in California,\nand had always been his friend. I ordered her to say nothing, but\nto get a few things packed and my ulster ready. I know I ought to\nhave spoken to Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before\nhis mother and all those great people. I just made up my mind to\nrun away and explain afterwards. I hadn\'t been at the table ten\nminutes before I saw Frank out of the window at the other side of\nthe road. He beckoned to me and then began walking into the Park.\nI slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. Some woman\ncame talking something or other about Lord St. Simon to\nme--seemed to me from the little I heard as if he had a little\nsecret of his own before marriage also--but I managed to get away\nfrom her and soon overtook Frank. We got into a cab together, and\naway we drove to some lodgings he had taken in Gordon Square, and\nthat was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. Frank\nhad been a prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came on to\n\'Frisco, found that I had given him up for dead and had gone to\nEngland, followed me there, and had come upon me at last on the\nvery morning of my second wedding.\"\n\n\"I saw it in a paper,\" explained the American. \"It gave the name\nand the church but not where the lady lived.\"\n\n\"Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all\nfor openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I\nshould like to vanish away and never see any of them again--just\nsending a line to pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It\nwas awful to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting\nround that breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. So\nFrank took my wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of\nthem, so that I should not be traced, and dropped them away\nsomewhere where no one could find them. It is likely that we\nshould have gone on to Paris to-morrow, only that this good\ngentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening, though how\nhe found us is more than I can think, and he showed us very\nclearly and kindly that I was wrong and that Frank was right, and\nthat we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so\nsecret. Then he offered to give us a chance of talking to Lord\nSt. Simon alone, and so we came right away round to his rooms at\nonce. Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I am very sorry if\nI have given you pain, and I hope that you do not think very\nmeanly of me.\"\n\nLord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but\nhad listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this\nlong narrative.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" he said, \"but it is not my custom to discuss my most\nintimate personal affairs in this public manner.\"\n\n\"Then you won\'t forgive me? You won\'t shake hands before I go?\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure.\" He put out\nhis hand and coldly grasped that which she extended to him.\n\n\"I had hoped,\" suggested Holmes, \"that you would have joined us\nin a friendly supper.\"\n\n\"I think that there you ask a little too much,\" responded his\nLordship. \"I may be forced to acquiesce in these recent\ndevelopments, but I can hardly be expected to make merry over\nthem. I think that with your permission I will now wish you all a\nvery good-night.\" He included us all in a sweeping bow and\nstalked out of the room.\n\n\"Then I trust that you at least will honour me with your\ncompany,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"It is always a joy to meet an\nAmerican, Mr. Moulton, for I am one of those who believe that the\nfolly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone\nyears will not prevent our children from being some day citizens\nof the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a\nquartering of the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes.\"\n\n\"The case has been an interesting one,\" remarked Holmes when our\nvisitors had left us, \"because it serves to show very clearly how\nsimple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight\nseems to be almost inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural\nthan the sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing\nstranger than the result when viewed, for instance, by Mr.\nLestrade of Scotland Yard.\"\n\n\"You were not yourself at fault at all, then?\"\n\n\"From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that\nthe lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony,\nthe other that she had repented of it within a few minutes of\nreturning home. Obviously something had occurred during the\nmorning, then, to cause her to change her mind. What could that\nsomething be? She could not have spoken to anyone when she was\nout, for she had been in the company of the bridegroom. Had she\nseen someone, then? If she had, it must be someone from America\nbecause she had spent so short a time in this country that she\ncould hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence\nover her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change\nher plans so completely. You see we have already arrived, by a\nprocess of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an\nAmerican. Then who could this American be, and why should he\npossess so much influence over her? It might be a lover; it might\nbe a husband. Her young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in\nrough scenes and under strange conditions. So far I had got\nbefore I ever heard Lord St. Simon\'s narrative. When he told us\nof a man in a pew, of the change in the bride\'s manner, of so\ntransparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of a\nbouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very\nsignificant allusion to claim-jumping--which in miners\' parlance\nmeans taking possession of that which another person has a prior\nclaim to--the whole situation became absolutely clear. She had\ngone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a\nprevious husband--the chances being in favour of the latter.\"\n\n\"And how in the world did you find them?\"\n\n\"It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held\ninformation in his hands the value of which he did not himself\nknow. The initials were, of course, of the highest importance,\nbut more valuable still was it to know that within a week he had\nsettled his bill at one of the most select London hotels.\"\n\n\"How did you deduce the select?\"\n\n\"By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence\nfor a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive\nhotels. There are not many in London which charge at that rate.\nIn the second one which I visited in Northumberland Avenue, I\nlearned by an inspection of the book that Francis H. Moulton, an\nAmerican gentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking\nover the entries against him, I came upon the very items which I\nhad seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were to be forwarded\nto 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and being fortunate\nenough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to give them\nsome paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be\nbetter in every way that they should make their position a little\nclearer both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in\nparticular. I invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, I\nmade him keep the appointment.\"\n\n\"But with no very good result,\" I remarked. \"His conduct was\ncertainly not very gracious.\"\n\n\"Ah, Watson,\" said Holmes, smiling, \"perhaps you would not be\nvery gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and\nwedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of\nfortune. I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully\nand thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in\nthe same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for\nthe only problem we have still to solve is how to while away\nthese bleak autumnal evenings.\"\n\n\n\nXI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET\n\n\"Holmes,\" said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking\ndown the street, \"here is a madman coming along. It seems rather\nsad that his relatives should allow him to come out alone.\"\n\nMy friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands\nin the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It\nwas a bright, crisp February morning, and the snow of the day\nbefore still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the\nwintry sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughed\ninto a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and\non the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths it still lay as white as\nwhen it fell. The grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but\nwas still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer\npassengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of the\nMetropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman\nwhose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.\n\nHe was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a\nmassive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was\ndressed in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining\nhat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers. Yet\nhis actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress\nand features, for he was running hard, with occasional little\nsprings, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to\nset any tax upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up and\ndown, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most\nextraordinary contortions.\n\n\"What on earth can be the matter with him?\" I asked. \"He is\nlooking up at the numbers of the houses.\"\n\n\"I believe that he is coming here,\" said Holmes, rubbing his\nhands.\n\n\"Here?\"\n\n\"Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I\nthink that I recognise the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?\" As\nhe spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and\npulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with the\nclanging.\n\nA few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still\ngesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in\nhis eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and\npity. For a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his\nbody and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the\nextreme limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his\nfeet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we\nboth rushed upon him and tore him away to the centre of the room.\nSherlock Holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting\nbeside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy,\nsoothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.\n\n\"You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?\" said he.\n\"You are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have\nrecovered yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into\nany little problem which you may submit to me.\"\n\nThe man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting\nagainst his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his\nbrow, set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us.\n\n\"No doubt you think me mad?\" said he.\n\n\"I see that you have had some great trouble,\" responded Holmes.\n\n\"God knows I have!--a trouble which is enough to unseat my\nreason, so sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might\nhave faced, although I am a man whose character has never yet\nborne a stain. Private affliction also is the lot of every man;\nbut the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have\nbeen enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone.\nThe very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found\nout of this horrible affair.\"\n\n\"Pray compose yourself, sir,\" said Holmes, \"and let me have a\nclear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen\nyou.\"\n\n\"My name,\" answered our visitor, \"is probably familiar to your\nears. I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder &\nStevenson, of Threadneedle Street.\"\n\nThe name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior\npartner in the second largest private banking concern in the City\nof London. What could have happened, then, to bring one of the\nforemost citizens of London to this most pitiable pass? We\nwaited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced\nhimself to tell his story.\n\n\"I feel that time is of value,\" said he; \"that is why I hastened\nhere when the police inspector suggested that I should secure\nyour co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground and\nhurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this\nsnow. That is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who\ntakes very little exercise. I feel better now, and I will put the\nfacts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as I can.\n\n\"It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking\nbusiness as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative\ninvestments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection\nand the number of our depositors. One of our most lucrative means\nof laying out money is in the shape of loans, where the security\nis unimpeachable. We have done a good deal in this direction\nduring the last few years, and there are many noble families to\nwhom we have advanced large sums upon the security of their\npictures, libraries, or plate.\n\n\"Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a\ncard was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I\nsaw the name, for it was that of none other than--well, perhaps\neven to you I had better say no more than that it was a name\nwhich is a household word all over the earth--one of the highest,\nnoblest, most exalted names in England. I was overwhelmed by the\nhonour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged\nat once into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry\nquickly through a disagreeable task.\n\n\"\'Mr. Holder,\' said he, \'I have been informed that you are in the\nhabit of advancing money.\'\n\n\"\'The firm does so when the security is good.\' I answered.\n\n\"\'It is absolutely essential to me,\' said he, \'that I should have\n50,000 pounds at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a\nsum ten times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it\na matter of business and to carry out that business myself. In my\nposition you can readily understand that it is unwise to place\none\'s self under obligations.\'\n\n\"\'For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most\ncertainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you\nthink it right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the\nmoney should be paid at once.\'\n\n\"\'I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my\nown private purse,\' said I, \'were it not that the strain would be\nrather more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do\nit in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I must\ninsist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution\nshould be taken.\'\n\n\"\'I should much prefer to have it so,\' said he, raising up a\nsquare, black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair.\n\'You have doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?\'\n\n\"\'One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,\'\nsaid I.\n\n\"\'Precisely.\' He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft,\nflesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery\nwhich he had named. \'There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,\' said\nhe, \'and the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The\nlowest estimate would put the worth of the coronet at double the\nsum which I have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you as my\nsecurity.\'\n\n\"I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some\nperplexity from it to my illustrious client.\n\n\"\'You doubt its value?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'Not at all. I only doubt--\'\n\n\"\'The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest\nabout that. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely\ncertain that I should be able in four days to reclaim it. It is a\npure matter of form. Is the security sufficient?\'\n\n\"\'Ample.\'\n\n\"\'You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof\nof the confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I\nhave heard of you. I rely upon you not only to be discreet and to\nrefrain from all gossip upon the matter but, above all, to\npreserve this coronet with every possible precaution because I\nneed not say that a great public scandal would be caused if any\nharm were to befall it. Any injury to it would be almost as\nserious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the\nworld to match these, and it would be impossible to replace them.\nI leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and I shall\ncall for it in person on Monday morning.\'\n\n\"Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more but,\ncalling for my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty 1000\npound notes. When I was alone once more, however, with the\nprecious case lying upon the table in front of me, I could not\nbut think with some misgivings of the immense responsibility\nwhich it entailed upon me. There could be no doubt that, as it\nwas a national possession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any\nmisfortune should occur to it. I already regretted having ever\nconsented to take charge of it. However, it was too late to alter\nthe matter now, so I locked it up in my private safe and turned\nonce more to my work.\n\n\"When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence to leave\nso precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers\' safes had\nbeen forced before now, and why should not mine be? If so, how\nterrible would be the position in which I should find myself! I\ndetermined, therefore, that for the next few days I would always\ncarry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might\nnever be really out of my reach. With this intention, I called a\ncab and drove out to my house at Streatham, carrying the jewel\nwith me. I did not breathe freely until I had taken it upstairs\nand locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room.\n\n\"And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish you to\nthoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleep\nout of the house, and may be set aside altogether. I have three\nmaid-servants who have been with me a number of years and whose\nabsolute reliability is quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy\nParr, the second waiting-maid, has only been in my service a few\nmonths. She came with an excellent character, however, and has\nalways given me satisfaction. She is a very pretty girl and has\nattracted admirers who have occasionally hung about the place.\nThat is the only drawback which we have found to her, but we\nbelieve her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way.\n\n\"So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it\nwill not take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an\nonly son, Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me, Mr.\nHolmes--a grievous disappointment. I have no doubt that I am\nmyself to blame. People tell me that I have spoiled him. Very\nlikely I have. When my dear wife died I felt that he was all I\nhad to love. I could not bear to see the smile fade even for a\nmoment from his face. I have never denied him a wish. Perhaps it\nwould have been better for both of us had I been sterner, but I\nmeant it for the best.\n\n\"It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my\nbusiness, but he was not of a business turn. He was wild,\nwayward, and, to speak the truth, I could not trust him in the\nhandling of large sums of money. When he was young he became a\nmember of an aristocratic club, and there, having charming\nmanners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men with long\npurses and expensive habits. He learned to play heavily at cards\nand to squander money on the turf, until he had again and again\nto come to me and implore me to give him an advance upon his\nallowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. He tried\nmore than once to break away from the dangerous company which he\nwas keeping, but each time the influence of his friend, Sir\nGeorge Burnwell, was enough to draw him back again.\n\n\"And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir George\nBurnwell should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently\nbrought him to my house, and I have found myself that I could\nhardly resist the fascination of his manner. He is older than\nArthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who had been\neverywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of\ngreat personal beauty. Yet when I think of him in cold blood, far\naway from the glamour of his presence, I am convinced from his\ncynical speech and the look which I have caught in his eyes that\nhe is one who should be deeply distrusted. So I think, and so,\ntoo, thinks my little Mary, who has a woman\'s quick insight into\ncharacter.\n\n\"And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece; but\nwhen my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the\nworld I adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my\ndaughter. She is a sunbeam in my house--sweet, loving, beautiful,\na wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and\ngentle as a woman could be. She is my right hand. I do not know\nwhat I could do without her. In only one matter has she ever gone\nagainst my wishes. Twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for\nhe loves her devotedly, but each time she has refused him. I\nthink that if anyone could have drawn him into the right path it\nwould have been she, and that his marriage might have changed his\nwhole life; but now, alas! it is too late--forever too late!\n\n\"Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and\nI shall continue with my miserable story.\n\n\"When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after\ndinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precious\ntreasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name\nof my client. Lucy Parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, I am\nsure, left the room; but I cannot swear that the door was closed.\nMary and Arthur were much interested and wished to see the famous\ncoronet, but I thought it better not to disturb it.\n\n\"\'Where have you put it?\' asked Arthur.\n\n\"\'In my own bureau.\'\n\n\"\'Well, I hope to goodness the house won\'t be burgled during the\nnight.\' said he.\n\n\"\'It is locked up,\' I answered.\n\n\"\'Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I\nhave opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.\'\n\n\"He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little of\nwhat he said. He followed me to my room, however, that night with\na very grave face.\n\n\"\'Look here, dad,\' said he with his eyes cast down, \'can you let\nme have 200 pounds?\'\n\n\"\'No, I cannot!\' I answered sharply. \'I have been far too\ngenerous with you in money matters.\'\n\n\"\'You have been very kind,\' said he, \'but I must have this money,\nor else I can never show my face inside the club again.\'\n\n\"\'And a very good thing, too!\' I cried.\n\n\"\'Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,\'\nsaid he. \'I could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the money\nin some way, and if you will not let me have it, then I must try\nother means.\'\n\n\"I was very angry, for this was the third demand during the\nmonth. \'You shall not have a farthing from me,\' I cried, on which\nhe bowed and left the room without another word.\n\n\"When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my\ntreasure was safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go\nround the house to see that all was secure--a duty which I\nusually leave to Mary but which I thought it well to perform\nmyself that night. As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself\nat the side window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as\nI approached.\n\n\"\'Tell me, dad,\' said she, looking, I thought, a little\ndisturbed, \'did you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out\nto-night?\'\n\n\"\'Certainly not.\'\n\n\"\'She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt that she\nhas only been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that\nit is hardly safe and should be stopped.\'\n\n\"\'You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you prefer\nit. Are you sure that everything is fastened?\'\n\n\"\'Quite sure, dad.\'\n\n\"\'Then, good-night.\' I kissed her and went up to my bedroom\nagain, where I was soon asleep.\n\n\"I am endeavouring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes, which may\nhave any bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question\nme upon any point which I do not make clear.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid.\"\n\n\"I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to be\nparticularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety\nin my mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual.\nAbout two in the morning, then, I was awakened by some sound in\nthe house. It had ceased ere I was wide awake, but it had left an\nimpression behind it as though a window had gently closed\nsomewhere. I lay listening with all my ears. Suddenly, to my\nhorror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving softly in\nthe next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear,\nand peeped round the corner of my dressing-room door.\n\n\"\'Arthur!\' I screamed, \'you villain! you thief! How dare you\ntouch that coronet?\'\n\n\"The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy,\ndressed only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the\nlight, holding the coronet in his hands. He appeared to be\nwrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. At my cry\nhe dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. I\nsnatched it up and examined it. One of the gold corners, with\nthree of the beryls in it, was missing.\n\n\"\'You blackguard!\' I shouted, beside myself with rage. \'You have\ndestroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the\njewels which you have stolen?\'\n\n\"\'Stolen!\' he cried.\n\n\"\'Yes, thief!\' I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.\n\n\"\'There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,\' said he.\n\n\"\'There are three missing. And you know where they are. Must I\ncall you a liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying to\ntear off another piece?\'\n\n\"\'You have called me names enough,\' said he, \'I will not stand it\nany longer. I shall not say another word about this business,\nsince you have chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in\nthe morning and make my own way in the world.\'\n\n\"\'You shall leave it in the hands of the police!\' I cried\nhalf-mad with grief and rage. \'I shall have this matter probed to\nthe bottom.\'\n\n\"\'You shall learn nothing from me,\' said he with a passion such\nas I should not have thought was in his nature. \'If you choose to\ncall the police, let the police find what they can.\'\n\n\"By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my\nvoice in my anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and,\nat the sight of the coronet and of Arthur\'s face, she read the\nwhole story and, with a scream, fell down senseless on the\nground. I sent the house-maid for the police and put the\ninvestigation into their hands at once. When the inspector and a\nconstable entered the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with\nhis arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge\nhim with theft. I answered that it had ceased to be a private\nmatter, but had become a public one, since the ruined coronet was\nnational property. I was determined that the law should have its\nway in everything.\n\n\"\'At least,\' said he, \'you will not have me arrested at once. It\nwould be to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave the\nhouse for five minutes.\'\n\n\"\'That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you\nhave stolen,\' said I. And then, realising the dreadful position\nin which I was placed, I implored him to remember that not only\nmy honour but that of one who was far greater than I was at\nstake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which would\nconvulse the nation. He might avert it all if he would but tell\nme what he had done with the three missing stones.\n\n\"\'You may as well face the matter,\' said I; \'you have been caught\nin the act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous.\nIf you but make such reparation as is in your power, by telling\nus where the beryls are, all shall be forgiven and forgotten.\'\n\n\"\'Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,\' he answered,\nturning away from me with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardened\nfor any words of mine to influence him. There was but one way for\nit. I called in the inspector and gave him into custody. A search\nwas made at once not only of his person but of his room and of\nevery portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed\nthe gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the\nwretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and our\nthreats. This morning he was removed to a cell, and I, after\ngoing through all the police formalities, have hurried round to\nyou to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter.\nThe police have openly confessed that they can at present make\nnothing of it. You may go to any expense which you think\nnecessary. I have already offered a reward of 1000 pounds. My\nGod, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my gems, and my son\nin one night. Oh, what shall I do!\"\n\nHe put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to\nand fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got\nbeyond words.\n\nSherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows\nknitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire.\n\n\"Do you receive much company?\" he asked.\n\n\"None save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of\nArthur\'s. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No\none else, I think.\"\n\n\"Do you go out much in society?\"\n\n\"Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for\nit.\"\n\n\"That is unusual in a young girl.\"\n\n\"She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She\nis four-and-twenty.\"\n\n\"This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to\nher also.\"\n\n\"Terrible! She is even more affected than I.\"\n\n\"You have neither of you any doubt as to your son\'s guilt?\"\n\n\"How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronet\nin his hands.\"\n\n\"I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder of\nthe coronet at all injured?\"\n\n\"Yes, it was twisted.\"\n\n\"Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to\nstraighten it?\"\n\n\"God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me.\nBut it is too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If\nhis purpose were innocent, why did he not say so?\"\n\n\"Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie?\nHis silence appears to me to cut both ways. There are several\nsingular points about the case. What did the police think of the\nnoise which awoke you from your sleep?\"\n\n\"They considered that it might be caused by Arthur\'s closing his\nbedroom door.\"\n\n\"A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door\nso as to wake a household. What did they say, then, of the\ndisappearance of these gems?\"\n\n\"They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture\nin the hope of finding them.\"\n\n\"Have they thought of looking outside the house?\"\n\n\"Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden has\nalready been minutely examined.\"\n\n\"Now, my dear sir,\" said Holmes, \"is it not obvious to you now\nthat this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you\nor the police were at first inclined to think? It appeared to you\nto be a simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex. Consider\nwhat is involved by your theory. You suppose that your son came\ndown from his bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room,\nopened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main\nforce a small portion of it, went off to some other place,\nconcealed three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such skill that\nnobody can find them, and then returned with the other thirty-six\ninto the room in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger\nof being discovered. I ask you now, is such a theory tenable?\"\n\n\"But what other is there?\" cried the banker with a gesture of\ndespair. \"If his motives were innocent, why does he not explain\nthem?\"\n\n\"It is our task to find that out,\" replied Holmes; \"so now, if\nyou please, Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together,\nand devote an hour to glancing a little more closely into\ndetails.\"\n\nMy friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition,\nwhich I was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy\nwere deeply stirred by the story to which we had listened. I\nconfess that the guilt of the banker\'s son appeared to me to be\nas obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still I had such\nfaith in Holmes\' judgment that I felt that there must be some\ngrounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the accepted\nexplanation. He hardly spoke a word the whole way out to the\nsouthern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his\nhat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our client\nappeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope\nwhich had been presented to him, and he even broke into a\ndesultory chat with me over his business affairs. A short railway\njourney and a shorter walk brought us to Fairbank, the modest\nresidence of the great financier.\n\nFairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing\nback a little from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with a\nsnow-clad lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron gates\nwhich closed the entrance. On the right side was a small wooden\nthicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedges\nstretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming the\ntradesmen\'s entrance. On the left ran a lane which led to the\nstables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being a\npublic, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us standing\nat the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the\nfront, down the tradesmen\'s path, and so round by the garden\nbehind into the stable lane. So long was he that Mr. Holder and I\nwent into the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should\nreturn. We were sitting there in silence when the door opened and\na young lady came in. She was rather above the middle height,\nslim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against\nthe absolute pallor of her skin. I do not think that I have ever\nseen such deadly paleness in a woman\'s face. Her lips, too, were\nbloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying. As she swept\nsilently into the room she impressed me with a greater sense of\ngrief than the banker had done in the morning, and it was the\nmore striking in her as she was evidently a woman of strong\ncharacter, with immense capacity for self-restraint. Disregarding\nmy presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed her hand\nover his head with a sweet womanly caress.\n\n\"You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have you\nnot, dad?\" she asked.\n\n\"No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom.\"\n\n\"But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what woman\'s\ninstincts are. I know that he has done no harm and that you will\nbe sorry for having acted so harshly.\"\n\n\"Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?\"\n\n\"Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you should\nsuspect him.\"\n\n\"How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with\nthe coronet in his hand?\"\n\n\"Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do take\nmy word for it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say\nno more. It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in\nprison!\"\n\n\"I shall never let it drop until the gems are found--never, Mary!\nYour affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences\nto me. Far from hushing the thing up, I have brought a gentleman\ndown from London to inquire more deeply into it.\"\n\n\"This gentleman?\" she asked, facing round to me.\n\n\"No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round in\nthe stable lane now.\"\n\n\"The stable lane?\" She raised her dark eyebrows. \"What can he\nhope to find there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir,\nthat you will succeed in proving, what I feel sure is the truth,\nthat my cousin Arthur is innocent of this crime.\"\n\n\"I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we may\nprove it,\" returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the\nsnow from his shoes. \"I believe I have the honour of addressing\nMiss Mary Holder. Might I ask you a question or two?\"\n\n\"Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up.\"\n\n\"You heard nothing yourself last night?\"\n\n\"Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heard\nthat, and I came down.\"\n\n\"You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you\nfasten all the windows?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Were they all fastened this morning?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked\nto your uncle last night that she had been out to see him?\"\n\n\"Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and\nwho may have heard uncle\'s remarks about the coronet.\"\n\n\"I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her\nsweetheart, and that the two may have planned the robbery.\"\n\n\"But what is the good of all these vague theories,\" cried the\nbanker impatiently, \"when I have told you that I saw Arthur with\nthe coronet in his hands?\"\n\n\"Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About this\ngirl, Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I\npresume?\"\n\n\"Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the night I\nmet her slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom.\"\n\n\"Do you know him?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetables round.\nHis name is Francis Prosper.\"\n\n\"He stood,\" said Holmes, \"to the left of the door--that is to\nsay, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?\"\n\n\"Yes, he did.\"\n\n\"And he is a man with a wooden leg?\"\n\nSomething like fear sprang up in the young lady\'s expressive\nblack eyes. \"Why, you are like a magician,\" said she. \"How do you\nknow that?\" She smiled, but there was no answering smile in\nHolmes\' thin, eager face.\n\n\"I should be very glad now to go upstairs,\" said he. \"I shall\nprobably wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps\nI had better take a look at the lower windows before I go up.\"\n\nHe walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at\nthe large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane.\nThis he opened and made a very careful examination of the sill\nwith his powerful magnifying lens. \"Now we shall go upstairs,\"\nsaid he at last.\n\nThe banker\'s dressing-room was a plainly furnished little\nchamber, with a grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror.\nHolmes went to the bureau first and looked hard at the lock.\n\n\"Which key was used to open it?\" he asked.\n\n\"That which my son himself indicated--that of the cupboard of the\nlumber-room.\"\n\n\"Have you it here?\"\n\n\"That is it on the dressing-table.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.\n\n\"It is a noiseless lock,\" said he. \"It is no wonder that it did\nnot wake you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must\nhave a look at it.\" He opened the case, and taking out the diadem\nhe laid it upon the table. It was a magnificent specimen of the\njeweller\'s art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest that I\nhave ever seen. At one side of the coronet was a cracked edge,\nwhere a corner holding three gems had been torn away.\n\n\"Now, Mr. Holder,\" said Holmes, \"here is the corner which\ncorresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I\nbeg that you will break it off.\"\n\nThe banker recoiled in horror. \"I should not dream of trying,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"Then I will.\" Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but\nwithout result. \"I feel it give a little,\" said he; \"but, though\nI am exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my\ntime to break it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do\nyou think would happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There would\nbe a noise like a pistol shot. Do you tell me that all this\nhappened within a few yards of your bed and that you heard\nnothing of it?\"\n\n\"I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me.\"\n\n\"But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think,\nMiss Holder?\"\n\n\"I confess that I still share my uncle\'s perplexity.\"\n\n\"Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?\"\n\n\"He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt.\"\n\n\"Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary\nluck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault\nif we do not succeed in clearing the matter up. With your\npermission, Mr. Holder, I shall now continue my investigations\noutside.\"\n\nHe went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any\nunnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. For an\nhour or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet\nheavy with snow and his features as inscrutable as ever.\n\n\"I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr.\nHolder,\" said he; \"I can serve you best by returning to my\nrooms.\"\n\n\"But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell.\"\n\nThe banker wrung his hands. \"I shall never see them again!\" he\ncried. \"And my son? You give me hopes?\"\n\n\"My opinion is in no way altered.\"\n\n\"Then, for God\'s sake, what was this dark business which was\nacted in my house last night?\"\n\n\"If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow\nmorning between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can to\nmake it clearer. I understand that you give me carte blanche to\nact for you, provided only that I get back the gems, and that you\nplace no limit on the sum I may draw.\"\n\n\"I would give my fortune to have them back.\"\n\n\"Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then.\nGood-bye; it is just possible that I may have to come over here\nagain before evening.\"\n\nIt was obvious to me that my companion\'s mind was now made up\nabout the case, although what his conclusions were was more than\nI could even dimly imagine. Several times during our homeward\njourney I endeavoured to sound him upon the point, but he always\nglided away to some other topic, until at last I gave it over in\ndespair. It was not yet three when we found ourselves in our\nrooms once more. He hurried to his chamber and was down again in\na few minutes dressed as a common loafer. With his collar turned\nup, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he\nwas a perfect sample of the class.\n\n\"I think that this should do,\" said he, glancing into the glass\nabove the fireplace. \"I only wish that you could come with me,\nWatson, but I fear that it won\'t do. I may be on the trail in\nthis matter, or I may be following a will-o\'-the-wisp, but I\nshall soon know which it is. I hope that I may be back in a few\nhours.\" He cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard,\nsandwiched it between two rounds of bread, and thrusting this\nrude meal into his pocket he started off upon his expedition.\n\nI had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in\nexcellent spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his\nhand. He chucked it down into a corner and helped himself to a\ncup of tea.\n\n\"I only looked in as I passed,\" said he. \"I am going right on.\"\n\n\"Where to?\"\n\n\"Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some time\nbefore I get back. Don\'t wait up for me in case I should be\nlate.\"\n\n\"How are you getting on?\"\n\n\"Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to Streatham\nsince I saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a\nvery sweet little problem, and I would not have missed it for a\ngood deal. However, I must not sit gossiping here, but must get\nthese disreputable clothes off and return to my highly\nrespectable self.\"\n\nI could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for\nsatisfaction than his words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled,\nand there was even a touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. He\nhastened upstairs, and a few minutes later I heard the slam of\nthe hall door, which told me that he was off once more upon his\ncongenial hunt.\n\nI waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so\nI retired to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away\nfor days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that\nhis lateness caused me no surprise. I do not know at what hour he\ncame in, but when I came down to breakfast in the morning there\nhe was with a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the\nother, as fresh and trim as possible.\n\n\"You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson,\" said he, \"but\nyou remember that our client has rather an early appointment this\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Why, it is after nine now,\" I answered. \"I should not be\nsurprised if that were he. I thought I heard a ring.\"\n\nIt was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the\nchange which had come over him, for his face which was naturally\nof a broad and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in,\nwhile his hair seemed to me at least a shade whiter. He entered\nwith a weariness and lethargy which was even more painful than\nhis violence of the morning before, and he dropped heavily into\nthe armchair which I pushed forward for him.\n\n\"I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried,\" said\nhe. \"Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without\na care in the world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured\nage. One sorrow comes close upon the heels of another. My niece,\nMary, has deserted me.\"\n\n\"Deserted you?\"\n\n\"Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was\nempty, and a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to\nher last night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had\nmarried my boy all might have been well with him. Perhaps it was\nthoughtless of me to say so. It is to that remark that she refers\nin this note:\n\n\"\'MY DEAREST UNCLE:--I feel that I have brought trouble upon you,\nand that if I had acted differently this terrible misfortune\nmight never have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my\nmind, ever again be happy under your roof, and I feel that I must\nleave you forever. Do not worry about my future, for that is\nprovided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for it will\nbe fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. In life or in\ndeath, I am ever your loving,--MARY.\'\n\n\"What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think it\npoints to suicide?\"\n\n\"No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible\nsolution. I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of\nyour troubles.\"\n\n\"Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you have\nlearned something! Where are the gems?\"\n\n\"You would not think 1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum for\nthem?\"\n\n\"I would pay ten.\"\n\n\"That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter.\nAnd there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your check-book?\nHere is a pen. Better make it out for 4000 pounds.\"\n\nWith a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmes\nwalked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of\ngold with three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.\n\nWith a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.\n\n\"You have it!\" he gasped. \"I am saved! I am saved!\"\n\nThe reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and\nhe hugged his recovered gems to his bosom.\n\n\"There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder,\" said Sherlock\nHolmes rather sternly.\n\n\"Owe!\" He caught up a pen. \"Name the sum, and I will pay it.\"\n\n\"No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that\nnoble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I\nshould be proud to see my own son do, should I ever chance to\nhave one.\"\n\n\"Then it was not Arthur who took them?\"\n\n\"I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not.\"\n\n\"You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him\nknow that the truth is known.\"\n\n\"He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an\ninterview with him, and finding that he would not tell me the\nstory, I told it to him, on which he had to confess that I was\nright and to add the very few details which were not yet quite\nclear to me. Your news of this morning, however, may open his\nlips.\"\n\n\"For heaven\'s sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary\nmystery!\"\n\n\"I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reached\nit. And let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me\nto say and for you to hear: there has been an understanding\nbetween Sir George Burnwell and your niece Mary. They have now\nfled together.\"\n\n\"My Mary? Impossible!\"\n\n\"It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither\nyou nor your son knew the true character of this man when you\nadmitted him into your family circle. He is one of the most\ndangerous men in England--a ruined gambler, an absolutely\ndesperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. Your niece\nknew nothing of such men. When he breathed his vows to her, as he\nhad done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that she\nalone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what he said,\nbut at least she became his tool and was in the habit of seeing\nhim nearly every evening.\"\n\n\"I cannot, and I will not, believe it!\" cried the banker with an\nashen face.\n\n\"I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night.\nYour niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room,\nslipped down and talked to her lover through the window which\nleads into the stable lane. His footmarks had pressed right\nthrough the snow, so long had he stood there. She told him of the\ncoronet. His wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he\nbent her to his will. I have no doubt that she loved you, but\nthere are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes all\nother loves, and I think that she must have been one. She had\nhardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming\ndownstairs, on which she closed the window rapidly and told you\nabout one of the servants\' escapade with her wooden-legged lover,\nwhich was all perfectly true.\n\n\"Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but\nhe slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts.\nIn the middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door,\nso he rose and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin\nwalking very stealthily along the passage until she disappeared\ninto your dressing-room. Petrified with astonishment, the lad\nslipped on some clothes and waited there in the dark to see what\nwould come of this strange affair. Presently she emerged from the\nroom again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw\nthat she carried the precious coronet in her hands. She passed\ndown the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror, ran along and\nslipped behind the curtain near your door, whence he could see\nwhat passed in the hall beneath. He saw her stealthily open the\nwindow, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and then\nclosing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite close\nto where he stood hid behind the curtain.\n\n\"As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action\nwithout a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the\ninstant that she was gone he realised how crushing a misfortune\nthis would be for you, and how all-important it was to set it\nright. He rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened\nthe window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane,\nwhere he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. Sir George\nBurnwell tried to get away, but Arthur caught him, and there was\na struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the\ncoronet, and his opponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son\nstruck Sir George and cut him over the eye. Then something\nsuddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the coronet\nin his hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your\nroom, and had just observed that the coronet had been twisted in\nthe struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you\nappeared upon the scene.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" gasped the banker.\n\n\"You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when\nhe felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not\nexplain the true state of affairs without betraying one who\ncertainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. He\ntook the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her\nsecret.\"\n\n\"And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the\ncoronet,\" cried Mr. Holder. \"Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have\nbeen! And his asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes!\nThe dear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were at the\nscene of the struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!\"\n\n\"When I arrived at the house,\" continued Holmes, \"I at once went\nvery carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in\nthe snow which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since\nthe evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost\nto preserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen\'s path, but\nfound it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it,\nhowever, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood\nand talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed\nthat he had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had been\ndisturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was\nshown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-leg had\nwaited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time\nthat this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had\nalready spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I passed\nround the garden without seeing anything more than random tracks,\nwhich I took to be the police; but when I got into the stable\nlane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in\nfront of me.\n\n\"There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second\ndouble line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked\nfeet. I was at once convinced from what you had told me that the\nlatter was your son. The first had walked both ways, but the\nother had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over\nthe depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed\nafter the other. I followed them up and found they led to the\nhall window, where Boots had worn all the snow away while\nwaiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred\nyards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced round,\nwhere the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle,\nand, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me\nthat I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane, and\nanother little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been\nhurt. When he came to the highroad at the other end, I found that\nthe pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue.\n\n\"On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the\nsill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could\nat once see that someone had passed out. I could distinguish the\noutline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming\nin. I was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what\nhad occurred. A man had waited outside the window; someone had\nbrought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had\npursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged\nat the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which\nneither alone could have effected. He had returned with the\nprize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. So\nfar I was clear. The question now was, who was the man and who\nwas it brought him the coronet?\n\n\"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the\nimpossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the\ntruth. Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down,\nso there only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were\nthe maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in\ntheir place? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his\ncousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should\nretain her secret--the more so as the secret was a disgraceful\none. When I remembered that you had seen her at that window, and\nhow she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture\nbecame a certainty.\n\n\"And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently,\nfor who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must\nfeel to you? I knew that you went out little, and that your\ncircle of friends was a very limited one. But among them was Sir\nGeorge Burnwell. I had heard of him before as being a man of evil\nreputation among women. It must have been he who wore those boots\nand retained the missing gems. Even though he knew that Arthur\nhad discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was\nsafe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his\nown family.\n\n\"Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took\nnext. I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George\'s house,\nmanaged to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that\nhis master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at\nthe expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of\nhis cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and\nsaw that they exactly fitted the tracks.\"\n\n\"I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening,\"\nsaid Mr. Holder.\n\n\"Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home\nand changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to\nplay then, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert\nscandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that our\nhands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of\ncourse, he denied everything. But when I gave him every\nparticular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a\nlife-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I\nclapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he\nbecame a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give\nhim a price for the stones he held--1000 pounds apiece. That\nbrought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. \'Why,\ndash it all!\' said he, \'I\'ve let them go at six hundred for the\nthree!\' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had\nthem, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I\nset to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000\npounds apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all\nwas right, and eventually got to my bed about two o\'clock, after\nwhat I may call a really hard day\'s work.\"\n\n\"A day which has saved England from a great public scandal,\" said\nthe banker, rising. \"Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but\nyou shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your\nskill has indeed exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I\nmust fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I\nhave done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my\nvery heart. Not even your skill can inform me where she is now.\"\n\n\"I think that we may safely say,\" returned Holmes, \"that she is\nwherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that\nwhatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than\nsufficient punishment.\"\n\n\n\nXII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES\n\n\"To the man who loves art for its own sake,\" remarked Sherlock\nHolmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily\nTelegraph, \"it is frequently in its least important and lowliest\nmanifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is\npleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped\nthis truth that in these little records of our cases which you\nhave been good enough to draw up, and, I am bound to say,\noccasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much\nto the many causes célèbres and sensational trials in which I\nhave figured but rather to those incidents which may have been\ntrivial in themselves, but which have given room for those\nfaculties of deduction and of logical synthesis which I have made\nmy special province.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said I, smiling, \"I cannot quite hold myself absolved\nfrom the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my\nrecords.\"\n\n\"You have erred, perhaps,\" he observed, taking up a glowing\ncinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood\npipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a\ndisputatious rather than a meditative mood--\"you have erred\nperhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your\nstatements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing\nupon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is\nreally the only notable feature about the thing.\"\n\n\"It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter,\"\nI remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism\nwhich I had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my\nfriend\'s singular character.\n\n\"No, it is not selfishness or conceit,\" said he, answering, as\nwas his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. \"If I claim full\njustice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing--a\nthing beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it\nis upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should\ndwell. You have degraded what should have been a course of\nlectures into a series of tales.\"\n\nIt was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after\nbreakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at\nBaker Street. A thick fog rolled down between the lines of\ndun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark,\nshapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit\nand shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for\nthe table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been\nsilent all the morning, dipping continuously into the\nadvertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last,\nhaving apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very\nsweet temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings.\n\n\"At the same time,\" he remarked after a pause, during which he\nhad sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire,\n\"you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of\nthese cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself\nin, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense,\nat all. The small matter in which I endeavoured to help the King\nof Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, the\nproblem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and the\nincident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are\noutside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I\nfear that you may have bordered on the trivial.\"\n\n\"The end may have been so,\" I answered, \"but the methods I hold\nto have been novel and of interest.\"\n\n\"Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant\npublic, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a\ncompositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of\nanalysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial, I cannot\nblame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or at\nleast criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As\nto my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an\nagency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to\nyoung ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched\nbottom at last, however. This note I had this morning marks my\nzero-point, I fancy. Read it!\" He tossed a crumpled letter across\nto me.\n\nIt was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding evening, and\nran thus:\n\n\"DEAR MR. HOLMES:--I am very anxious to consult you as to whether\nI should or should not accept a situation which has been offered\nto me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I\ndo not inconvenience you. Yours faithfully,\n \"VIOLET HUNTER.\"\n\n\"Do you know the young lady?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not I.\"\n\n\"It is half-past ten now.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring.\"\n\n\"It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. You\nremember that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to\nbe a mere whim at first, developed into a serious investigation.\nIt may be so in this case, also.\"\n\n\"Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will very soon be solved,\nfor here, unless I am much mistaken, is the person in question.\"\n\nAs he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room.\nShe was plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face,\nfreckled like a plover\'s egg, and with the brisk manner of a\nwoman who has had her own way to make in the world.\n\n\"You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure,\" said she, as my\ncompanion rose to greet her, \"but I have had a very strange\nexperience, and as I have no parents or relations of any sort\nfrom whom I could ask advice, I thought that perhaps you would be\nkind enough to tell me what I should do.\"\n\n\"Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anything\nthat I can to serve you.\"\n\nI could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the manner\nand speech of his new client. He looked her over in his searching\nfashion, and then composed himself, with his lids drooping and\nhis finger-tips together, to listen to her story.\n\n\"I have been a governess for five years,\" said she, \"in the\nfamily of Colonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonel\nreceived an appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took his\nchildren over to America with him, so that I found myself without\na situation. I advertised, and I answered advertisements, but\nwithout success. At last the little money which I had saved began\nto run short, and I was at my wit\'s end as to what I should do.\n\n\"There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West End\ncalled Westaway\'s, and there I used to call about once a week in\norder to see whether anything had turned up which might suit me.\nWestaway was the name of the founder of the business, but it is\nreally managed by Miss Stoper. She sits in her own little office,\nand the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an anteroom,\nand are then shown in one by one, when she consults her ledgers\nand sees whether she has anything which would suit them.\n\n\"Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little office\nas usual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A\nprodigiously stout man with a very smiling face and a great heavy\nchin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat sat at\nher elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very\nearnestly at the ladies who entered. As I came in he gave quite a\njump in his chair and turned quickly to Miss Stoper.\n\n\"\'That will do,\' said he; \'I could not ask for anything better.\nCapital! capital!\' He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his\nhands together in the most genial fashion. He was such a\ncomfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to look at\nhim.\n\n\"\'You are looking for a situation, miss?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'Yes, sir.\'\n\n\"\'As governess?\'\n\n\"\'Yes, sir.\'\n\n\"\'And what salary do you ask?\'\n\n\"\'I had 4 pounds a month in my last place with Colonel Spence\nMunro.\'\n\n\"\'Oh, tut, tut! sweating--rank sweating!\' he cried, throwing his\nfat hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling\npassion. \'How could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with\nsuch attractions and accomplishments?\'\n\n\"\'My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,\' said I.\n\'A little French, a little German, music, and drawing--\'\n\n\"\'Tut, tut!\' he cried. \'This is all quite beside the question.\nThe point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment\nof a lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are\nnot fitted for the rearing of a child who may some day play a\nconsiderable part in the history of the country. But if you have\nwhy, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to\naccept anything under the three figures? Your salary with me,\nmadam, would commence at 100 pounds a year.\'\n\n\"You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was,\nsuch an offer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman,\nhowever, seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face,\nopened a pocket-book and took out a note.\n\n\"\'It is also my custom,\' said he, smiling in the most pleasant\nfashion until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid\nthe white creases of his face, \'to advance to my young ladies\nhalf their salary beforehand, so that they may meet any little\nexpenses of their journey and their wardrobe.\'\n\n\"It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so\nthoughtful a man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the\nadvance was a great convenience, and yet there was something\nunnatural about the whole transaction which made me wish to know\na little more before I quite committed myself.\n\n\"\'May I ask where you live, sir?\' said I.\n\n\"\'Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five miles\non the far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my\ndear young lady, and the dearest old country-house.\'\n\n\"\'And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would\nbe.\'\n\n\"\'One child--one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if\nyou could see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack!\nsmack! smack! Three gone before you could wink!\' He leaned back\nin his chair and laughed his eyes into his head again.\n\n\"I was a little startled at the nature of the child\'s amusement,\nbut the father\'s laughter made me think that perhaps he was\njoking.\n\n\"\'My sole duties, then,\' I asked, \'are to take charge of a single\nchild?\'\n\n\"\'No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,\' he\ncried. \'Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense would\nsuggest, to obey any little commands my wife might give, provided\nalways that they were such commands as a lady might with\npropriety obey. You see no difficulty, heh?\'\n\n\"\'I should be happy to make myself useful.\'\n\n\"\'Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, you\nknow--faddy but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dress\nwhich we might give you, you would not object to our little whim.\nHeh?\'\n\n\"\'No,\' said I, considerably astonished at his words.\n\n\"\'Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to\nyou?\'\n\n\"\'Oh, no.\'\n\n\"\'Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?\'\n\n\"I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes,\nmy hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of\nchestnut. It has been considered artistic. I could not dream of\nsacrificing it in this offhand fashion.\n\n\"\'I am afraid that that is quite impossible,\' said I. He had been\nwatching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a\nshadow pass over his face as I spoke.\n\n\"\'I am afraid that it is quite essential,\' said he. \'It is a\nlittle fancy of my wife\'s, and ladies\' fancies, you know, madam,\nladies\' fancies must be consulted. And so you won\'t cut your\nhair?\'\n\n\"\'No, sir, I really could not,\' I answered firmly.\n\n\"\'Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a\npity, because in other respects you would really have done very\nnicely. In that case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more\nof your young ladies.\'\n\n\"The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers\nwithout a word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so\nmuch annoyance upon her face that I could not help suspecting\nthat she had lost a handsome commission through my refusal.\n\n\"\'Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?\' she asked.\n\n\"\'If you please, Miss Stoper.\'\n\n\"\'Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the\nmost excellent offers in this fashion,\' said she sharply. \'You\ncan hardly expect us to exert ourselves to find another such\nopening for you. Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.\' She struck a gong\nupon the table, and I was shown out by the page.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found\nlittle enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the\ntable, I began to ask myself whether I had not done a very\nfoolish thing. After all, if these people had strange fads and\nexpected obedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were\nat least ready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few\ngovernesses in England are getting 100 pounds a year. Besides,\nwhat use was my hair to me? Many people are improved by wearing\nit short and perhaps I should be among the number. Next day I was\ninclined to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after\nI was sure of it. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go\nback to the agency and inquire whether the place was still open\nwhen I received this letter from the gentleman himself. I have it\nhere and I will read it to you:\n\n \"\'The Copper Beeches, near Winchester.\n\"\'DEAR MISS HUNTER:--Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your\naddress, and I write from here to ask you whether you have\nreconsidered your decision. My wife is very anxious that you\nshould come, for she has been much attracted by my description of\nyou. We are willing to give 30 pounds a quarter, or 120 pounds a\nyear, so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which\nour fads may cause you. They are not very exacting, after all. My\nwife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue and would\nlike you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. You need\nnot, however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one\nbelonging to my dear daughter Alice (now in Philadelphia), which\nwould, I should think, fit you very well. Then, as to sitting\nhere or there, or amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that\nneed cause you no inconvenience. As regards your hair, it is no\ndoubt a pity, especially as I could not help remarking its beauty\nduring our short interview, but I am afraid that I must remain\nfirm upon this point, and I only hope that the increased salary\nmay recompense you for the loss. Your duties, as far as the child\nis concerned, are very light. Now do try to come, and I shall\nmeet you with the dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know your train.\nYours faithfully, JEPHRO RUCASTLE.\'\n\n\"That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and\nmy mind is made up that I will accept it. I thought, however,\nthat before taking the final step I should like to submit the\nwhole matter to your consideration.\"\n\n\"Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the\nquestion,\" said Holmes, smiling.\n\n\"But you would not advise me to refuse?\"\n\n\"I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to\nsee a sister of mine apply for.\"\n\n\"What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself\nformed some opinion?\"\n\n\"Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr.\nRucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not\npossible that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the\nmatter quiet for fear she should be taken to an asylum, and that\nhe humours her fancies in every way in order to prevent an\noutbreak?\"\n\n\"That is a possible solution--in fact, as matters stand, it is\nthe most probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a\nnice household for a young lady.\"\n\n\"But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!\"\n\n\"Well, yes, of course the pay is good--too good. That is what\nmakes me uneasy. Why should they give you 120 pounds a year, when\nthey could have their pick for 40 pounds? There must be some\nstrong reason behind.\"\n\n\"I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would\nunderstand afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so\nmuch stronger if I felt that you were at the back of me.\"\n\n\"Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that\nyour little problem promises to be the most interesting which has\ncome my way for some months. There is something distinctly novel\nabout some of the features. If you should find yourself in doubt\nor in danger--\"\n\n\"Danger! What danger do you foresee?\"\n\nHolmes shook his head gravely. \"It would cease to be a danger if\nwe could define it,\" said he. \"But at any time, day or night, a\ntelegram would bring me down to your help.\"\n\n\"That is enough.\" She rose briskly from her chair with the\nanxiety all swept from her face. \"I shall go down to Hampshire\nquite easy in my mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once,\nsacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for Winchester\nto-morrow.\" With a few grateful words to Holmes she bade us both\ngood-night and bustled off upon her way.\n\n\"At least,\" said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descending\nthe stairs, \"she seems to be a young lady who is very well able\nto take care of herself.\"\n\n\"And she would need to be,\" said Holmes gravely. \"I am much\nmistaken if we do not hear from her before many days are past.\"\n\nIt was not very long before my friend\'s prediction was fulfilled.\nA fortnight went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts\nturning in her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of\nhuman experience this lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual\nsalary, the curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to\nsomething abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether\nthe man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond\nmy powers to determine. As to Holmes, I observed that he sat\nfrequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an\nabstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of his\nhand when I mentioned it. \"Data! data! data!\" he cried\nimpatiently. \"I can\'t make bricks without clay.\" And yet he would\nalways wind up by muttering that no sister of his should ever\nhave accepted such a situation.\n\nThe telegram which we eventually received came late one night\njust as I was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling down\nto one of those all-night chemical researches which he frequently\nindulged in, when I would leave him stooping over a retort and a\ntest-tube at night and find him in the same position when I came\ndown to breakfast in the morning. He opened the yellow envelope,\nand then, glancing at the message, threw it across to me.\n\n\"Just look up the trains in Bradshaw,\" said he, and turned back\nto his chemical studies.\n\nThe summons was a brief and urgent one.\n\n\"Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday\nto-morrow,\" it said. \"Do come! I am at my wit\'s end. HUNTER.\"\n\n\"Will you come with me?\" asked Holmes, glancing up.\n\n\"I should wish to.\"\n\n\"Just look it up, then.\"\n\n\"There is a train at half-past nine,\" said I, glancing over my\nBradshaw. \"It is due at Winchester at 11:30.\"\n\n\"That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my\nanalysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the\nmorning.\"\n\nBy eleven o\'clock the next day we were well upon our way to the\nold English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers\nall the way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he\nthrew them down and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal\nspring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white\nclouds drifting across from west to east. The sun was shining\nvery brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air,\nwhich set an edge to a man\'s energy. All over the countryside,\naway to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little red and\ngrey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light\ngreen of the new foliage.\n\n\"Are they not fresh and beautiful?\" I cried with all the\nenthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.\n\nBut Holmes shook his head gravely.\n\n\"Do you know, Watson,\" said he, \"that it is one of the curses of\na mind with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with\nreference to my own special subject. You look at these scattered\nhouses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them,\nand the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their\nisolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed\nthere.\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I cried. \"Who would associate crime with these\ndear old homesteads?\"\n\n\"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief,\nWatson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest\nalleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin\nthan does the smiling and beautiful countryside.\"\n\n\"You horrify me!\"\n\n\"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion\ncan do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no\nlane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of\na drunkard\'s blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among\nthe neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever\nso close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is\nbut a step between the crime and the dock. But look at these\nlonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part\nwith poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the\ndeeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on,\nyear in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. Had this\nlady who appeals to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I\nshould never have had a fear for her. It is the five miles of\ncountry which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that she is\nnot personally threatened.\"\n\n\"No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get away.\"\n\n\"Quite so. She has her freedom.\"\n\n\"What CAN be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?\"\n\n\"I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would\ncover the facts as far as we know them. But which of these is\ncorrect can only be determined by the fresh information which we\nshall no doubt find waiting for us. Well, there is the tower of\nthe cathedral, and we shall soon learn all that Miss Hunter has\nto tell.\"\n\nThe Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no\ndistance from the station, and there we found the young lady\nwaiting for us. She had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch\nawaited us upon the table.\n\n\"I am so delighted that you have come,\" she said earnestly. \"It\nis so very kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I\nshould do. Your advice will be altogether invaluable to me.\"\n\n\"Pray tell us what has happened to you.\"\n\n\"I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr.\nRucastle to be back before three. I got his leave to come into\ntown this morning, though he little knew for what purpose.\"\n\n\"Let us have everything in its due order.\" Holmes thrust his long\nthin legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen.\n\n\"In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole,\nwith no actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is\nonly fair to them to say that. But I cannot understand them, and\nI am not easy in my mind about them.\"\n\n\"What can you not understand?\"\n\n\"Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just\nas it occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and\ndrove me in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he\nsaid, beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in itself,\nfor it is a large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all\nstained and streaked with damp and bad weather. There are grounds\nround it, woods on three sides, and on the fourth a field which\nslopes down to the Southampton highroad, which curves past about\na hundred yards from the front door. This ground in front belongs\nto the house, but the woods all round are part of Lord\nSoutherton\'s preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in\nfront of the hall door has given its name to the place.\n\n\"I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever,\nand was introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child.\nThere was no truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to\nus to be probable in your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is\nnot mad. I found her to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much\nyounger than her husband, not more than thirty, I should think,\nwhile he can hardly be less than forty-five. From their\nconversation I have gathered that they have been married about\nseven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by\nthe first wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia. Mr.\nRucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them\nwas that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As\nthe daughter could not have been less than twenty, I can quite\nimagine that her position must have been uncomfortable with her\nfather\'s young wife.\n\n\"Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as\nin feature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse.\nShe was a nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately\ndevoted both to her husband and to her little son. Her light grey\neyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting every\nlittle want and forestalling it if possible. He was kind to her\nalso in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole they\nseemed to be a happy couple. And yet she had some secret sorrow,\nthis woman. She would often be lost in deep thought, with the\nsaddest look upon her face. More than once I have surprised her\nin tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the disposition of\nher child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never met so\nutterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small\nfor his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large.\nHis whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between\nsavage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving\npain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea\nof amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning\nthe capture of mice, little birds, and insects. But I would\nrather not talk about the creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed, he\nhas little to do with my story.\"\n\n\"I am glad of all details,\" remarked my friend, \"whether they\nseem to you to be relevant or not.\"\n\n\"I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one\nunpleasant thing about the house, which struck me at once, was\nthe appearance and conduct of the servants. There are only two, a\nman and his wife. Toller, for that is his name, is a rough,\nuncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual\nsmell of drink. Twice since I have been with them he has been\nquite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it.\nHis wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, as\nsilent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a most\nunpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the\nnursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one\ncorner of the building.\n\n\"For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was\nvery quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after\nbreakfast and whispered something to her husband.\n\n\"\'Oh, yes,\' said he, turning to me, \'we are very much obliged to\nyou, Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut\nyour hair. I assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest\niota from your appearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue\ndress will become you. You will find it laid out upon the bed in\nyour room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we should\nboth be extremely obliged.\'\n\n\"The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade\nof blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it\nbore unmistakable signs of having been worn before. It could not\nhave been a better fit if I had been measured for it. Both Mr.\nand Mrs. Rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it, which\nseemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. They were waiting for\nme in the drawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching\nalong the entire front of the house, with three long windows\nreaching down to the floor. A chair had been placed close to the\ncentral window, with its back turned towards it. In this I was\nasked to sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on the\nother side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest\nstories that I have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how\ncomical he was, and I laughed until I was quite weary. Mrs.\nRucastle, however, who has evidently no sense of humour, never so\nmuch as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad,\nanxious look upon her face. After an hour or so, Mr. Rucastle\nsuddenly remarked that it was time to commence the duties of the\nday, and that I might change my dress and go to little Edward in\nthe nursery.\n\n\"Two days later this same performance was gone through under\nexactly similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I\nsat in the window, and again I laughed very heartily at the funny\nstories of which my employer had an immense répertoire, and which\nhe told inimitably. Then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and\nmoving my chair a little sideways, that my own shadow might not\nfall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud to him. I read for\nabout ten minutes, beginning in the heart of a chapter, and then\nsuddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to cease and\nto change my dress.\n\n\"You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to\nwhat the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly\nbe. They were always very careful, I observed, to turn my face\naway from the window, so that I became consumed with the desire\nto see what was going on behind my back. At first it seemed to be\nimpossible, but I soon devised a means. My hand-mirror had been\nbroken, so a happy thought seized me, and I concealed a piece of\nthe glass in my handkerchief. On the next occasion, in the midst\nof my laughter, I put my handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able\nwith a little management to see all that there was behind me. I\nconfess that I was disappointed. There was nothing. At least that\nwas my first impression. At the second glance, however, I\nperceived that there was a man standing in the Southampton Road,\na small bearded man in a grey suit, who seemed to be looking in\nmy direction. The road is an important highway, and there are\nusually people there. This man, however, was leaning against the\nrailings which bordered our field and was looking earnestly up. I\nlowered my handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to find her\neyes fixed upon me with a most searching gaze. She said nothing,\nbut I am convinced that she had divined that I had a mirror in my\nhand and had seen what was behind me. She rose at once.\n\n\"\'Jephro,\' said she, \'there is an impertinent fellow upon the\nroad there who stares up at Miss Hunter.\'\n\n\"\'No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?\' he asked.\n\n\"\'No, I know no one in these parts.\'\n\n\"\'Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to\nhim to go away.\'\n\n\"\'Surely it would be better to take no notice.\'\n\n\"\'No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn\nround and wave him away like that.\'\n\n\"I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew\ndown the blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have\nnot sat again in the window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor\nseen the man in the road.\"\n\n\"Pray continue,\" said Holmes. \"Your narrative promises to be a\nmost interesting one.\"\n\n\"You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may\nprove to be little relation between the different incidents of\nwhich I speak. On the very first day that I was at the Copper\nBeeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a small outhouse which stands\nnear the kitchen door. As we approached it I heard the sharp\nrattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving\nabout.\n\n\"\'Look in here!\' said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between two\nplanks. \'Is he not a beauty?\'\n\n\"I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a\nvague figure huddled up in the darkness.\n\n\"\'Don\'t be frightened,\' said my employer, laughing at the start\nwhich I had given. \'It\'s only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine,\nbut really old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can do\nanything with him. We feed him once a day, and not too much then,\nso that he is always as keen as mustard. Toller lets him loose\nevery night, and God help the trespasser whom he lays his fangs\nupon. For goodness\' sake don\'t you ever on any pretext set your\nfoot over the threshold at night, for it\'s as much as your life\nis worth.\'\n\n\"The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened to\nlook out of my bedroom window about two o\'clock in the morning.\nIt was a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the\nhouse was silvered over and almost as bright as day. I was\nstanding, rapt in the peaceful beauty of the scene, when I was\naware that something was moving under the shadow of the copper\nbeeches. As it emerged into the moonshine I saw what it was. It\nwas a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging\njowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. It walked slowly\nacross the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the other side.\nThat dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which I do not\nthink that any burglar could have done.\n\n\"And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as\nyou know, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a\ngreat coil at the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the\nchild was in bed, I began to amuse myself by examining the\nfurniture of my room and by rearranging my own little things.\nThere was an old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper ones\nempty and open, the lower one locked. I had filled the first two\nwith my linen, and as I had still much to pack away I was\nnaturally annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer. It\nstruck me that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight,\nso I took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. The very\nfirst key fitted to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There\nwas only one thing in it, but I am sure that you would never\nguess what it was. It was my coil of hair.\n\n\"I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint,\nand the same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing\nobtruded itself upon me. How could my hair have been locked in\nthe drawer? With trembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out the\ncontents, and drew from the bottom my own hair. I laid the two\ntresses together, and I assure you that they were identical. Was\nit not extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, I could make nothing at\nall of what it meant. I returned the strange hair to the drawer,\nand I said nothing of the matter to the Rucastles as I felt that\nI had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they had\nlocked.\n\n\"I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes,\nand I soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head.\nThere was one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited\nat all. A door which faced that which led into the quarters of\nthe Tollers opened into this suite, but it was invariably locked.\nOne day, however, as I ascended the stair, I met Mr. Rucastle\ncoming out through this door, his keys in his hand, and a look on\nhis face which made him a very different person to the round,\njovial man to whom I was accustomed. His cheeks were red, his\nbrow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins stood out at his\ntemples with passion. He locked the door and hurried past me\nwithout a word or a look.\n\n\"This aroused my curiosity, so when I went out for a walk in the\ngrounds with my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I\ncould see the windows of this part of the house. There were four\nof them in a row, three of which were simply dirty, while the\nfourth was shuttered up. They were evidently all deserted. As I\nstrolled up and down, glancing at them occasionally, Mr. Rucastle\ncame out to me, looking as merry and jovial as ever.\n\n\"\'Ah!\' said he, \'you must not think me rude if I passed you\nwithout a word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with\nbusiness matters.\'\n\n\"I assured him that I was not offended. \'By the way,\' said I,\n\'you seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one\nof them has the shutters up.\'\n\n\"He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled\nat my remark.\n\n\"\'Photography is one of my hobbies,\' said he. \'I have made my\ndark room up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we\nhave come upon. Who would have believed it? Who would have ever\nbelieved it?\' He spoke in a jesting tone, but there was no jest\nin his eyes as he looked at me. I read suspicion there and\nannoyance, but no jest.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there\nwas something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know,\nI was all on fire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity,\nthough I have my share of that. It was more a feeling of duty--a\nfeeling that some good might come from my penetrating to this\nplace. They talk of woman\'s instinct; perhaps it was woman\'s\ninstinct which gave me that feeling. At any rate, it was there,\nand I was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass the\nforbidden door.\n\n\"It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you that,\nbesides Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find something to\ndo in these deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a large\nblack linen bag with him through the door. Recently he has been\ndrinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk; and when\nI came upstairs there was the key in the door. I have no doubt at\nall that he had left it there. Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both\ndownstairs, and the child was with them, so that I had an\nadmirable opportunity. I turned the key gently in the lock,\nopened the door, and slipped through.\n\n\"There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and\nuncarpeted, which turned at a right angle at the farther end.\nRound this corner were three doors in a line, the first and third\nof which were open. They each led into an empty room, dusty and\ncheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, so\nthick with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly through\nthem. The centre door was closed, and across the outside of it\nhad been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked\nat one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the other with\nstout cord. The door itself was locked as well, and the key was\nnot there. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with the\nshuttered window outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer from\nbeneath it that the room was not in darkness. Evidently there was\na skylight which let in light from above. As I stood in the\npassage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret it\nmight veil, I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room\nand saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little\nslit of dim light which shone out from under the door. A mad,\nunreasoning terror rose up in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My\noverstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I turned and ran--ran\nas though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the\nskirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage, through the door,\nand straight into the arms of Mr. Rucastle, who was waiting\noutside.\n\n\"\'So,\' said he, smiling, \'it was you, then. I thought that it\nmust be when I saw the door open.\'\n\n\"\'Oh, I am so frightened!\' I panted.\n\n\"\'My dear young lady! my dear young lady!\'--you cannot think how\ncaressing and soothing his manner was--\'and what has frightened\nyou, my dear young lady?\'\n\n\"But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I\nwas keenly on my guard against him.\n\n\"\'I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,\' I answered.\n\'But it is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was\nfrightened and ran out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still in\nthere!\'\n\n\"\'Only that?\' said he, looking at me keenly.\n\n\"\'Why, what did you think?\' I asked.\n\n\"\'Why do you think that I lock this door?\'\n\n\"\'I am sure that I do not know.\'\n\n\"\'It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do you\nsee?\' He was still smiling in the most amiable manner.\n\n\"\'I am sure if I had known--\'\n\n\"\'Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over\nthat threshold again\'--here in an instant the smile hardened into\na grin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a\ndemon--\'I\'ll throw you to the mastiff.\'\n\n\"I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that\nI must have rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing\nuntil I found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then I\nthought of you, Mr. Holmes. I could not live there longer without\nsome advice. I was frightened of the house, of the man, of the\nwoman, of the servants, even of the child. They were all horrible\nto me. If I could only bring you down all would be well. Of\ncourse I might have fled from the house, but my curiosity was\nalmost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon made up. I would\nsend you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down to the\noffice, which is about half a mile from the house, and then\nreturned, feeling very much easier. A horrible doubt came into my\nmind as I approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but I\nremembered that Toller had drunk himself into a state of\ninsensibility that evening, and I knew that he was the only one\nin the household who had any influence with the savage creature,\nor who would venture to set him free. I slipped in in safety and\nlay awake half the night in my joy at the thought of seeing you.\nI had no difficulty in getting leave to come into Winchester this\nmorning, but I must be back before three o\'clock, for Mr. and\nMrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the\nevening, so that I must look after the child. Now I have told you\nall my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should be very glad if you\ncould tell me what it all means, and, above all, what I should\ndo.\"\n\nHolmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story.\nMy friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in\nhis pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity upon\nhis face.\n\n\"Is Toller still drunk?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do\nnothing with him.\"\n\n\"That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?\"\n\n\"Yes, the wine-cellar.\"\n\n\"You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very\nbrave and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could\nperform one more feat? I should not ask it of you if I did not\nthink you a quite exceptional woman.\"\n\n\"I will try. What is it?\"\n\n\"We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o\'clock, my friend\nand I. The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will,\nwe hope, be incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might\ngive the alarm. If you could send her into the cellar on some\nerrand, and then turn the key upon her, you would facilitate\nmatters immensely.\"\n\n\"I will do it.\"\n\n\"Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of\ncourse there is only one feasible explanation. You have been\nbrought there to personate someone, and the real person is\nimprisoned in this chamber. That is obvious. As to who this\nprisoner is, I have no doubt that it is the daughter, Miss Alice\nRucastle, if I remember right, who was said to have gone to\nAmerica. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height,\nfigure, and the colour of your hair. Hers had been cut off, very\npossibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of\ncourse, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance you\ncame upon her tresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly some\nfriend of hers--possibly her fiancé--and no doubt, as you wore\nthe girl\'s dress and were so like her, he was convinced from your\nlaughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture,\nthat Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no longer\ndesired his attentions. The dog is let loose at night to prevent\nhim from endeavouring to communicate with her. So much is fairly\nclear. The most serious point in the case is the disposition of\nthe child.\"\n\n\"What on earth has that to do with it?\" I ejaculated.\n\n\"My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining\nlight as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the\nparents. Don\'t you see that the converse is equally valid. I have\nfrequently gained my first real insight into the character of\nparents by studying their children. This child\'s disposition is\nabnormally cruel, merely for cruelty\'s sake, and whether he\nderives this from his smiling father, as I should suspect, or\nfrom his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in their\npower.\"\n\n\"I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes,\" cried our client. \"A\nthousand things come back to me which make me certain that you\nhave hit it. Oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing help to\nthis poor creature.\"\n\n\"We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning\nman. We can do nothing until seven o\'clock. At that hour we shall\nbe with you, and it will not be long before we solve the\nmystery.\"\n\nWe were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we\nreached the Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside\npublic-house. The group of trees, with their dark leaves shining\nlike burnished metal in the light of the setting sun, were\nsufficient to mark the house even had Miss Hunter not been\nstanding smiling on the door-step.\n\n\"Have you managed it?\" asked Holmes.\n\nA loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. \"That is\nMrs. Toller in the cellar,\" said she. \"Her husband lies snoring\non the kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the duplicates\nof Mr. Rucastle\'s.\"\n\n\"You have done well indeed!\" cried Holmes with enthusiasm. \"Now\nlead the way, and we shall soon see the end of this black\nbusiness.\"\n\nWe passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a\npassage, and found ourselves in front of the barricade which Miss\nHunter had described. Holmes cut the cord and removed the\ntransverse bar. Then he tried the various keys in the lock, but\nwithout success. No sound came from within, and at the silence\nHolmes\' face clouded over.\n\n\"I trust that we are not too late,\" said he. \"I think, Miss\nHunter, that we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put\nyour shoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our\nway in.\"\n\nIt was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united\nstrength. Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There\nwas no furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a\nbasketful of linen. The skylight above was open, and the prisoner\ngone.\n\n\"There has been some villainy here,\" said Holmes; \"this beauty\nhas guessed Miss Hunter\'s intentions and has carried his victim\noff.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it.\" He\nswung himself up onto the roof. \"Ah, yes,\" he cried, \"here\'s the\nend of a long light ladder against the eaves. That is how he did\nit.\"\n\n\"But it is impossible,\" said Miss Hunter; \"the ladder was not\nthere when the Rucastles went away.\"\n\n\"He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever and\ndangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this were\nhe whose step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it\nwould be as well for you to have your pistol ready.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at\nthe door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy\nstick in his hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against the\nwall at the sight of him, but Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and\nconfronted him.\n\n\"You villain!\" said he, \"where\'s your daughter?\"\n\nThe fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open\nskylight.\n\n\"It is for me to ask you that,\" he shrieked, \"you thieves! Spies\nand thieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I\'ll\nserve you!\" He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he\ncould go.\n\n\"He\'s gone for the dog!\" cried Miss Hunter.\n\n\"I have my revolver,\" said I.\n\n\"Better close the front door,\" cried Holmes, and we all rushed\ndown the stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when we\nheard the baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a\nhorrible worrying sound which it was dreadful to listen to. An\nelderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came staggering out\nat a side door.\n\n\"My God!\" he cried. \"Someone has loosed the dog. It\'s not been\nfed for two days. Quick, quick, or it\'ll be too late!\"\n\nHolmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with\nToller hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its\nblack muzzle buried in Rucastle\'s throat, while he writhed and\nscreamed upon the ground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and\nit fell over with its keen white teeth still meeting in the great\ncreases of his neck. With much labour we separated them and\ncarried him, living but horribly mangled, into the house. We laid\nhim upon the drawing-room sofa, and having dispatched the sobered\nToller to bear the news to his wife, I did what I could to\nrelieve his pain. We were all assembled round him when the door\nopened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room.\n\n\"Mrs. Toller!\" cried Miss Hunter.\n\n\"Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before he\nwent up to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn\'t let me know\nwhat you were planning, for I would have told you that your pains\nwere wasted.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said Holmes, looking keenly at her. \"It is clear that Mrs.\nToller knows more about this matter than anyone else.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know.\"\n\n\"Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several\npoints on which I must confess that I am still in the dark.\"\n\n\"I will soon make it clear to you,\" said she; \"and I\'d have done\nso before now if I could ha\' got out from the cellar. If there\'s\npolice-court business over this, you\'ll remember that I was the\none that stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice\'s friend\ntoo.\n\n\"She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn\'t, from the time\nthat her father married again. She was slighted like and had no\nsay in anything, but it never really became bad for her until\nafter she met Mr. Fowler at a friend\'s house. As well as I could\nlearn, Miss Alice had rights of her own by will, but she was so\nquiet and patient, she was, that she never said a word about them\nbut just left everything in Mr. Rucastle\'s hands. He knew he was\nsafe with her; but when there was a chance of a husband coming\nforward, who would ask for all that the law would give him, then\nher father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her to\nsign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use\nher money. When she wouldn\'t do it, he kept on worrying her until\nshe got brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death\'s door. Then\nshe got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her\nbeautiful hair cut off; but that didn\'t make no change in her\nyoung man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Holmes, \"I think that what you have been good enough\nto tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce\nall that remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to this\nsystem of imprisonment?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of\nthe disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler.\"\n\n\"That was it, sir.\"\n\n\"But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should\nbe, blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain\narguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your\ninterests were the same as his.\"\n\n\"Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman,\" said\nMrs. Toller serenely.\n\n\"And in this way he managed that your good man should have no\nwant of drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment\nwhen your master had gone out.\"\n\n\"You have it, sir, just as it happened.\"\n\n\"I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller,\" said Holmes, \"for\nyou have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And\nhere comes the country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think,\nWatson, that we had best escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester,\nas it seems to me that our locus standi now is rather a\nquestionable one.\"\n\nAnd thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the\ncopper beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but\nwas always a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of\nhis devoted wife. They still live with their old servants, who\nprobably know so much of Rucastle\'s past life that he finds it\ndifficult to part from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were\nmarried, by special license, in Southampton the day after their\nflight, and he is now the holder of a government appointment in\nthe island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, my friend\nHolmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further\ninterest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one\nof his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at\nWalsall, where I believe that she has met with considerable success.'"