It was on a bitterly cold night and frosty morning, towards the
end of the winter of '97, that I was awakened by a tugging at my
shoulder. It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his
eager, stooping face, and told me at a glance that something was
amiss.
"Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is afoot. Not a
word! Into your clothes and come!"
Ten minutes later we were both in a cab, and rattling through the
silent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint
winter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see
the occasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred
and indistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in
silence into his heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for
the air was most bitter, and neither of us had broken our fast.
It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station
and taken our places in the Kentish train that we were suffi-
ciently thawed, he to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note
from his pocket, and read aloud:
"Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent,
3:30 A.M.
"MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:
I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in
what promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something
quite in your line. Except for releasing the lady I will see
that everything is kept exactly as I have found it, but I beg
you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Sir
Eustace there.
"Yours faithfully,
"STANLEY HOPKINS.
"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion
his summons has been entirely justified," said Holmes. ''I fancy
that every one of his cases has found its way into your collec-
tion, and I must admit, Watson, that you have some power of
selection, which atones for much which I deplore in your narra-
tives. Your fatal habit of looking at everything from the point of
view of a story instead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what
might have been an instructive and even classical series of
demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmost finesse and
delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational details which may
excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader."
"Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, with some
bitterness.
"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you
know, fairly busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to
the composition of a textbook, which shall focus the whole art of
detection into one volume. Our present research appears to be a
case of murder."
"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agita-
tion, and he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has
been violence, and that the body is left for our inspection. A
mere suicide would not have caused him to send for me. As to
the release of the lady, it would appear that she has been locked
in her room during the tragedy. We are moving in high life,
Watson, crackling paper, 'E. B.' monogram, coat-of-arms, pic-
turesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will live up to his
reputation, and that we shall have an interesting morning. The
crime was committed before twelve last night."
"How can you possibly tell?"
"By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning the time.
The local police had to be called in, they had to communicate
with Scotland Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to
send for me. All that makes a fair night's work. Well, here we
are at Chiselhurst Station, and we shall soon set our doubts at
rest. "
A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes
brought us to a park gate, which was opened for us by an old
lodge-keeper, whose haggard face bore the reflection of some
great disaster. The avenue ran through a noble park, between
lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low, widespread house,
pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio. The central part
was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large
windows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and
one wing of the house appeared to be entirely new. The youthful
figure and alert, eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins con-
fronted us in the open doorway.
"I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you, too,
Dr. Watson. But, indeed, if I had my time over again, I should
not have troubled you, for since the lady has come to herself,
she has given so clear an account of the affair that there is not
much left for us to do. You remember that Lewisham gang of
burglars?"
"What, the three Randalls?"
"Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not a
doubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago and were
seen and described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so
near, but it is they, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this
time."
"Sir Eustace is dead, then?"
"Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker."
"Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me."
"Exactly -- one of the richest men in Kent -- Lady Brackenstall
is in the morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful
experience. She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think
you had best see her and hear her account of the facts. Then we
will examine the dining-room together."
Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I
seen so graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beauti-
ful a face. She was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and
would no doubt have had the perfect complexion which goes
with such colouring, had not her recent experience left her drawn
and haggard. Her sufferings were physical as well as mental, for
over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling, which her
maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously with vine-
gar and water. The lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but
her quick, observant gaze, as we entered the room, and the alert
expression of her beautiful features, showed that neither her wits
nor her courage had been shaken by her terrible experience. She
was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a
black sequin-covered dinner-dress lay upon the couch beside her.
"I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins," she said,
wearily. "Could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it
necessary, I will tell these gentlemen what occurTed. Have they
been in the dining-room yet?"
"I thought they had better hear your ladyship's story first."
"I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible to
me to think of him still lying there." She shuddered and buried
her face in her hands. As she did so, the loose gown fell back
from her forearms. Holmes uttered an exclamation.
"You have other injuries, madam! What is this?" Two vivid
red spots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily
covered it.
"It is nothing. It has no connection with this hideous business
to-night. If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you all I
can.
"I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been
married about a year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to
conceal that our marriage has not been a happy one. I fear that
all our neighbours would tell you that, even if I were to attempt
to deny it. Perhaps the fault may be partly mine. I was brought
up in the freer, less conventional atmosphere of South Australia,
and this English life, with its proprieties and its primness, is not
congenial to me. But the main reason lies in the one fact, which
is notorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was a
confirmed drunkard. To be with such a man for an hour is
unpleasant. Can you imagine what it means for a sensitive and
high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night? It is a
sacrilege, a crime, a villainy to hold that such a marriage is
binding. I say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a
curse upon the land -- God will not let such wickedness endure."
For an instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes
blazing from under the terrible mark upon her brow. Then the
strong, soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head down
on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into passionate
sobbing. At last she continued:
"I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, that
in this house all the servants sleep in the modern wing. This
central block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen
behind and our bedroom above. My maid, Theresa, sleeps above
my room. There is no one else, and no sound could alarm those
who are in the farther wing. This must have been well known to
the robbers, or they would not have acted as they did.
"Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants had
already gone to their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she
had remained in her room at the top of the house until I needed
her services. I sat until after eleven in this room, absorbed in a
book. Then I walked round to see that all was right before I went
upstairs. It was my custom to do this myself, for, as I have
explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be trusted. I went into
the kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room,
the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I approached the
window, which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly felt
the wind blow upon my face and realized that it was open. I
flung the curtain aside and found myself face to face with a
broad-shouldered elderly man, who had just stepped into the
room. The window is a long French one, which really forms a
door leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle lit in my
hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I saw two others,
who were in the act of entering. I stepped back, but the fellow
was on me in an instant. He caught me first by the wrist and then
by the throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a
savage blow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the
ground. I must have been unconscious for a few minutes, for
when I came to myself, I found that they had torn down the
bell-rope, and had secured me tightly to the oaken chair which
stands at the head of the dining-table. I was so firmly bound that
I could not move, and a handkerchief round my mouth prevented
me from uttering a sound. It was at this instant that my unfortu-
nate husband entered the room. He had evidently heard some
suspicious sounds, and he came prepared for such a scene as he
found. He was dressed in nightshirt and trousers, with his fa-
vourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He rushed at the burglars,
but another -- it was an elderly man -- stooped, picked the poker
out of the grate and struck him a horrible blow as he passed. He
fell with a groan and never moved again. I fainted once more,
but again it could only have been for a very few minutes during
which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes I found that
they had collected the silver from the sideboard, and they had
drawn a bottle of wine which stood there. Each of them had a
glass in his hand. I have already told you, have I not, that one
was elderly, with a beard, and the others young, hairless lads.
They might have been a father with his two sons. They talked
together in whispers. Then they came over and made sure that I
was securely bound. Finally they withdrew, closing the window
after them. It was quite a quarter of an hour before I got my
mouth free. When I did so, my sceams brought the maid to my
assistance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent
for the local police, who instantly communicated with London.
That is really all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it
will not be necessary for me to go over so painful a story
again."
"Any questions, Mr. Holmes?" asked Hopkins.
"I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstall's
patience and time," said Holmes. "Before I go into the dining-
room, I should like to hear your experience." He looked at the
maid.
"I saw the men before ever they came into the house," said
she. "As I sat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the
moonlight down by the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing
of it at the time. It was more than an hour after that I heard my
mistress scream and down I ran, to find her, poor lamb, just as
she says, and him on the floor, with his blood and brains over
the room. It was enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tied
there, and her very dress spotted with him, but she never wanted
courage, did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide, and Lady Brack-
enstall of Abbey Grange hasn't learned new ways. You've ques-
tioned her long enough, you gentlemen, and now she is coming
to her own room, just with her old Theresa, to get the rest that
she badly needs."
With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm
round her mistress and led her from the room.
"She has been with her all her life," said Hopkins. "Nursed
her as a baby, and came with her to England when they first left
Australia, eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and
the kind of maid you don't pick up nowadays. This way, Mr.
Holmes, if you please!"
The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive face,
and I knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had
departed. There still remained an arrest to be effected, but what
were these commonplace rogues that he should soil his hands
with them? An abstruse and learned specialist who finds that he
has been called in for a case of measles would experience
something of the annoyance which I read in my friend's eyes.
Yet the scene in the dining-room of the Abbey Grange was
sufficiently strange to arrest his attention and to recall his waning
interest.
It was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling,
oaken panelling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancient
weapons around the walls. At the further end from the door was
the high French window of which we had heard. Three smaller
windows on the right-hand side filled the apartment with cold
winter sunshine. On the left was a large, deep fireplace, with a
massive, overhanging oak mantelpiece. Beside the fireplace was
a heavy oaken chair with arms and crossbars at the bottom. In
and out through the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord
which was secured at each side to the crosspiece below. In
releasing the lady, the cord had been slipped off her, but the
knots with which it had been secured still remained. These
details only struck our attention afterwards, for our thoughts
were entirely absorbed by the terrible object which lay upon the
tigerskin hearthrug in front of the fire.
It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years of
age. He lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white
teeth grinning through his short, black beard. His two clenched
hands were raised above his head, and a heavy, blackthorn stick
lay across them. His dark, handsome, aquiline features were
convulsed into a spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his
dead face in a terribly fiendish expression. He had evidently
been in his bed when the alarm had broken out, for he wore a
foppish, embroidered nightshirt, and his bare feet projected from
his trousers. His head was horribly injured, and the whole room
bore witness to the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck
him down. Beside him lay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by
the concussion. Holmes examined both it and the indescribable
wreck which it had wrought.
"He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall," he remarked.
"Yes," said Hopkins. "I have some record of the fellow, and
he is a rough customer."
"You should have no difficulty in getting him."
"Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, and
there was some idea that he had got away to America. Now that
we know that the gang are here, I don't see how they can escape.
We have the news at every seaport already, and a reward will be
offered before evening. What beats me is how they could have
done so mad a thing, knowing that the lady could describe them
and that we could not fail to recognize the description."
"Exactly. One would have expected that they would silence
Lady Brackenstall as well."
"They may not have realized," I suggested, "that she had
recovered from her faint."
"That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless, they
would not take her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I
seem to have heard some queer stories about him."
" He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a
perfect fiend when he was drunk, or rather when he was half
drunk, for he seldom really went the whole way. The devil
seemed to be in him at such times, and he was capable of
anything. From what I hear, in spite of all his wealth and his
title, he very nearly came our way once or twice. There was a
scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it
on fire -- her ladyship's dog, to make the matter worse -- and that
was only hushed up with difficulty. Then he threw a decanter at
that maid, Theresa Wright -- there was trouble about that. On the
whole, and between ourselves, it will be a brighter house without
him. What are you looking at now?"
Holmes was down on his knees, examining with great atten-
tion the knots upon the red cord with which the lady had been
secured. Then he carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end
where it had snapped off when the burglar had dragged it down.
"When this was pulled down, the bell in the kitchen must
have rung loudly," he remarked.
"No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right at the back of
the house."
"How did the burglar know no one would hear it? How dared
he pull at a bellrope in that reckless fashion?"
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the very question
which I have asked myself again and again. There can be no
doubt that this fellow must have known the house and its habits.
He must have perfectly understood that the servants would all be
in bed at that comparatively early hour, and that no one could
possibly hear a bell ring in the kitchen. Therefore, he must have
been in close league with one of the servants. Surely that is
evident. But there are eight servants, and all of good character."
"Other things being equal," said Holmes, "one would sus-
pect the one at whose head the master threw a decanter. And yet
that would involve treachery towards the mistress to whom this
woman seems devoted. Well, well, the point is a minor one, and
when you have Randall you will probably find no difficulty in
securing his accomplice. The lady's story certainly seems to be
corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by every detail which
we see before us." He walked to the French window and threw
it open. "There are no signs here, but the ground is iron hard,
and one would not expect them. I see that these candles in the
mantelpiece have been lighted."
"Yes, it was by their light, and that of the lady's bedroom
candle, that the burglars saw their way about."
"And what did they take?"
"Well, they did not take much -- only half a dozen articles of
plate off the sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they were
themselves so disturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they did
not ransack the house, as they would otherwise have done."
"No doubt that is true, and yet they drank some wine, I
understand."
"To steady their nerves."
"Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard have been
untouched, I suppose?"
"Yes, and the bottle stands as they left it."
"Let us look at it. Halloa, halloa! What is this?"
The three glasses were grouped together, all of them tinged
with wine, and one of them containing some dregs of beeswing.
The bottle stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a
long, deeply stained cork. Its appearance and the dust upon the
bottle showed that it was no common vintage which the murder-
ers had enjoyed.
A change had come over Holmes's manner. He had lost his
listless expression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in
his keen, deep-set eyes. He raised the cork and examined it
minutely.
"How did they draw it?" he asked.
Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it lay some table
linen and a large corkscrew.
"Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was used?"
"No, you remember that she was senseless at the moment
when the bottle was opened."
"Quite so. As a matter of fact, that screw was not used. This
bottle was opened by a pocket screw, probably contained in a
knife, and not more than an inch and a half long. If you will
examine the top of the cork, you will observe that the screw was
driven in three times before the cork was extracted. It has never
been transfixed. This long screw would have transfixed it and
drawn it up with a single pull. When you catch this fellow, you
will find that he has one of these multiplex knives in his
possession."
"Excellent!" said Hopkins.
"But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady Brackenstall
actually saw the three men drinking, did she not?"
"Yes; she was clear about that."
"Then there is an end of it. What more is to be said? And yet,
you must admlt, that the three glasses are very remarkable,
Hopkins. What? You see nothing remarkable? Well, well, let it
pass. Perhaps, when a man has special knowledge and special
powers like my own, it rather encourages him to seek a complex
explanation when a simpler one is at hand. Of course, it must be
a mere chance about the glasses. Well, good-morning, Hopkins.
I don't see that I can be of any use to you, and you appear to
have your case very clear. You will let me know when Randall is
arrested, and any further developments which may occur. I trust
that I shall soon have to congratulate you upon a successful
conclusion. Come, Watson, I fancy that we may employ our-
selves more profitably at home."
During our return journey, I could see by Holmes's face that
he was much puzzled by something which he had observed.
Every now and then, by an effort, he would throw off the
impression, and talk as if the matter were clear, but then his
doubts would settle down upon him again, and his knitted brows
and abstracted eyes would show that his thoughts had gone back
once more to the great dining-room of the Abbey Grange, in
which this midnight tragedy had been enacted. At last, by a
sudden impulse, just as our train was crawling out of a suburban
station, he sprang on to the platform and pulled me out after
him.
"Excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we watched the
rear carriages of our train disappearing round a curve, "I am
sorry to make you the victim of what may seem a mere whim,
but on my life, Watson, I simply can't leave that case in this
condition. Every instinct that I possess cries out against it. It's
wrong -- it's all wrong -- I'll swear that it's wrong. And yet the
lady's story was complete, the maid's corroboration was suffi-
cient, the detail was fairly exact. What have I to put up against
that? Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I had not taken things
for granted, if I had examined everything with care which I
should have shown had we approached the case de novo and had
no cut-and-dried story to warp my mind, should I not then have
found something more definite to go upon? Of course I should.
Sit down on this bench, Watson, until a train for Chiselhurst
arrives, and allow me to lay the evidence before you, imploring
you in the first instance to dismiss from your mind the idea that
anything which the maid or her mistress may have said must
necessarily be true. The lady's charming personality must not be
permitted to warp our judgment.
"Surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at
in cold blood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made a
considerable haul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of
them and of their appearance was in the papers, and would
naturally occur to anyone who wished to invent a story in which
imaginary robbers should play a part. As a matter of fact,
burglars who have done a good stroke of business are as a rule
only too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without
embarking on another perilous undertaking. Again, it is unusual
for burglars to operate at so early an hour, it is unusual for
burglars to strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since one
would imagine that was the sure way to make her scream, it is
unusual for them to commit murder when their numbers are
sufficient to overpower one man, it is unusual for them to be
content with a limited plunder when there was much more within
their reach, and finally, I should say, that it was very unusual for
such men to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these unusuals
strike you, Watson?"
"Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet
each of them is quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing
of all, as it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to the
chair. "
"Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson, for it is evident
that they must either kill her or else secure her in such a way that
she could not give immediate notice of their escape. But at any
rate I have shown, have I not, that there is a certain element of
improbability about the lady's story? And now, on the top of
this, comes the incident of the wineglasses."
"What about the wineglasses?"
"Can you see them in your mind's eye?"
"I see them clearly."
"We are told that three men drank from them. Does that strike
you as likely?"
"Why not? There was wine in each glass."
"Exactly, but there was beeswing only in one glass. You must
have noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?"
"The last glass filled would be most likely to contain beeswing."
"Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable
that the first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged
with it. There are two possible explanations, and only two. One
is that after the second glass was filled the bottle was violently
agitated, and so the third glass received the beeswing. That does
not appear probable. No, no, I am sure that I am right."
"What, then, do you suppose?"
"That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both
were poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression
that three people had been here. In that way all the beeswing
would be in the last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced
that this is so. But if I have hit upon the true explanation of this
one small phenomenon, then in an instant the case rises from the
commonplace to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only
mean that Lady Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied
to us, that not one word of their story is to be believed, that they
have some very strong reason for covering the real criminal, and
that we must construct our case for ourselves without any help
from them. That is the mission which now lies before us, and
here, Watson, is the Sydenham train."
The household at the Abbey Grange were much surprised at
our return, but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins
had gone off to report to headquarters, took possession of the
dining-room, locked the door upon the inside, and devoted him-
self for two hours to one of those minute and laborious investiga-
tions which form the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of
deduction were reared. Seated in a corner like an interested
student who observes the demonstration of his professor, I fol-
lowed every step of that remarkable research. The window, the
curtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope -- each in turn was mi-
nutely examined and duly pondered. The body of the unfortunate
baronet had been removed, and all else remained as we had seen
it in the morning. Finally, to my astonishment, Holmes climbed
up on to the massive mantelpiece. Far above his head hung the
few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire. For
a long time he gazed upward at it, and then in an attempt to get
nearer to it he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the
wall. This brought his hand within a few inches of the broken
end of the rope, but it was not this so much as the bracket itself
which seemed to engage his attention. Finally, he sprang down
with an ejaculation of satisfaction.
"It's all right, Watson," said he. "We have got our case --
one of the most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how
slow-witted I have been, and how nearly I have committed the
blunder of my lifetime! Now, I think that, with a few missing
links, my chain is almost complete."
"You have got your men?"
"Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person.
Strong as a lion -- witness the blow that bent that poker! Six foot
three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers,
finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story
is of his concoction. Yes, Watson, we have come upon the
handiwork of a very remarkable individual. And yet, in that
bell-rope, he has given us a clue which should not have left us a
doubt. "
"Where was the clue?"
"Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where
would you expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is
attached to the wire. Why should it break three inches from the
top, as this one has done?"
"Because it is frayed there?"
"Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He was
cunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is not
frayed. You could not observe that from here, but if you were on
the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without any
mark of fraying whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred.
The man needed the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of
giving the alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang
up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on
the bracket -- you will see the impression in the dust -- and so got
his knife to bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place by at
least three inches -- from which I infer that he is at least three
inches a bigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of
the oaken chair! What is it?"
"Blood."
"Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's story out
of court. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was
done, how comes that mark? No, no, she was placed in the chair
after the death of her husband. I'll wager that the black dress
shows a corresponding mark to this. We have not yet met our
Waterloo, Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in
defeat and ends in victory. I should like now to have a few
words with the nurse, Theresa. We must be wary for a while, if
we are to get the information which we want."
She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse --
taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes's
pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed
her into a corresponding amiability. She did not attempt to
conceal her hatred for her late employer.
"Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard
him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not
dare to speak so if her brother had been there. Then it was that
he threw it at me. He might have thrown a dozen if he had but
left my bonny bird alone. He was forever ill-treating her, and she
too proud to complain. She will not even tell me all that he has
done to her. She never told me of those marks on her arm that
you saw this morning, but I know very well that they come from
a stab with a hatpin. The sly devil -- God forgive me that I should
speak of him so, now that he is dead! But a devil he was, if ever
one walked the earth. He was all honey when first we met
him -- only eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were
eighteen years. She had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was
her first voyage -- she had never been from home before. He won
her with his title and his money and his false London ways. If
she made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did.
What month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after
we arrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. They were
married in January of last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-
room again, and I have no doubt she will see you, but you must
not ask too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh
and blood will stand."
Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked
brighter than before. The maid had entered with us, and began
once more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.
"I hope," said the lady, "that you have not come to cross-
examine me again?"
"No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "I will not
cause you any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my
whole desire is to make things easy for you, for I am convinced
that you are a much-tried woman. If you will treat me as a friend
and trust me, you may find that I will justify your trust."
"What do you want me to do?"
"To tell me the truth."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"No, no, Lady Brackenstall -- it is no use. You may have
heard of any little reputation which I possess. I will stake it all
on the fact that your story is an absolute fabrication."
Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces
and frightened eyes.
"You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa. "Do you mean
to say that my mistress has told a lie?"
Holmes rose from his chair.
"Have you nothing to tell me?"
"I have told you everything."
"Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not be better
to be frank?"
For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Then
some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask.
"I have told you all I know."
Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry,"
he said, and without another word we left the room and the
house. There was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led
the way. It was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the
convenience of a solitary swan. Holmes gazed at it, and then
passed on to the lodge gate. There he scribbled a short note for
Stanley Hopkins, and left it with the lodge-keeper.
"It may be a hit, or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do
something for friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit,"
said he. "I will not quite take him into my confidence yet. I
think our next scene of operations must be the shipping office of
the Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall
Mall, if I remember right. There is a second line of steamers
which connect South Australia with England, but we will draw
the larger cover first."
Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention,
and he was not long in acquiring all the information he needed.
In June of '95, only one of their line had reached a home port. It
was the Rock of Gibraltar, their largest and best boat. A refer-
ence to the passenger list showed that Miss Fraser, of Adelaide,
with her maid had made the voyage in her. The boat was now
somewhere south of the Suez Canal on her way to Australia. Her
officers were the same as in '95, with one exception. The first
officer, Mr. Jack Crocker, had been made a captain and was to
take charge of their new ship, the Bass Rock, sailing in two
days' time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he
was likely to be in that morning for instructions, if we cared to
wait for him.
No, Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad
to know more about his record and character.
His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the
fleet to touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty
but a wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship -- hot-
headed, excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was
the pith of the information with which Holmes left the office of
the Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to Scot-
land Yard, but, instead of entering, he sat in his cab with his
brows drawn down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove
round to the Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off a message,
and then, at last, we made for Baker Street once more.
"No, I couldn't do it, Watson," said he, as we reentered our
room. "Once that warrant was made out, nothing on earth would
save him. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done
more real harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had
done by his crime. I have learned caution now, and I had rather
play tricks with the law of England than with my own con-
science. Let us know a little more before we act."
Before evening, we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hop-
kins. Things were not going very well with him.
"I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do
sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now,
how on earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the
bottom of that pond?"
"I didn't know it."
"But you told me to examine it."
"You got it, then?"
"Yes, I got it."
"I am very glad if I have helped you."
"But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair far
more difficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver
and then throw it into the nearest pond?"
"It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely
going on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons
who did not want it -- who merely took it for a blind, as it
were -- then they would naturally be anxious to get rid of it."
"But why should such an idea cross your mind?"
"Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through
the French window, there was the pond with one tempting little
hole in the ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a
better hiding-place?"
"Ah, a hiding-place -- that is better!" cried Stanley Hopkins.
"Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon
the roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they
sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was
clear. Excellent, Mr. Holmes -- that is better than your idea of a
blind. "
"Quite so, you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt
that my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they
have ended in discovering the silver."
''Yes, sir -- yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad
setback."
"A setback?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New
York this morning."
"Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your
theory that they committed a murder in Kent last night."
"It is fatal, Mr. Holmes -- absolutely fatal. Still, there are
other gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new
gang of which the police have never heard."
"Quite so, it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to
the bottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give
me?"
"I have given you one."
"Which?"
"Well, I suggested a blind."
"But why, Mr. Holmes, why?"
"Ah, that's the question, of course. But I commend the idea
to your mind. You might possibly find that there was something
in it. You won't stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us
know how you get on."
Dinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes alluded
to the matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet
to the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his
watch.
"I expect developments, Watson."
"When?' '
"Now -- within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted
rather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?"
"I trust your judgment."
"A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way:
what I know is unofficial, what he knows is official. I have the
right to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all,
or he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not put
him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information
until my own mind is clear upon the matter."
"But when will that be?"
"The time has come. You will now be present at the last
scene of a remarkable little drama."
There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened
to admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through
it. He was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-
eyed, with a skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a
springy step, which showed that the huge frame was as active as
it was strong. He closed the door behind him, and then he stood
with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking down some
overmastering emotion.
"Sit down, Captain Crocker. You got my telegram?"
Our visitor sank into an armchair and looked from one to the
other of us with questioning eyes.
"I got yow telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard
that you had been down to the office. There was no getting away
from you. Let's hear the worst. What are you going to do with
me? Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and play
with me like a cat with a mouse."
"Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on that, Captain
Crocker, and don't let your nerves run away with you. I should
not sit here smoking with you if I thought that you were a
common criminal, you may be sure of that. Be frank with me
and we may do some good. Play tricks with me, and I'll crush
you."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey
Grange last night -- a true account, mind you, with nothing added
and nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go one
inch off the straight, I'll blow this police whistle from my
window and the affair goes out of my hands forever."
The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his
great sunburned hand.
"I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are a man of your
word, and a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one
thing I will say first. So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing
and I fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of
the job. Damn the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat, he
would owe them all to me! But it's the lady, Mary -- Mary
Fraser -- for never will I call her by that accursed name. When I
think of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life just to
bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul into
water. And yet -- and yet -- what less could I do? I'll tell you my
story, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you, as man to man, what
less could I do?
"I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I
expect that you know that I met her when she was a passenger
and I was first officer of the Rock of Gibraltar. From the first
day I met her, she was the only woman to me. Every day of that
voyage I loved her more, and many a time since have I kneeled
down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of
that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was never
engaged to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated
a man. I have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side,
and all good comradeship and friendship on hers. When we
parted she was a free woman, but I could never again be a free
man.
"Next time I came back from sea, I heard of her marriage.
Well, why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and
money -- who could carry them better than she? She was born for
all that is beautiful and dainty. I didn't grieve over her marriage.
I was not such a selfish hound as that. I just rejoiced that good
luck had come her way, and that she had not thrown herself
away on a penniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary Fraser.
"Well, I never thought to see her again, but last voyage I was
promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to
wait for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One
day out in a country lane I met Theresa Wright, her old maid.
She told me all about her, about him, about everything. I tell
you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This drunken hound,
that he should dare to raise his hand to her, whose boots he was
not worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary
herself -- and met her again. Then she would meet me no more.
But the other day I had a notice that I was to start on my voyage
within a week, and I determined that I would see her once before
I left. Theresa was always my friend, for she loved Mary and
hated this villain almost as much as I did. From her I learned the
ways of the house. Mary used to sit up reading in her own little
room downstairs. I crept round there last night and scratched at
the window. At first she would not open to me, but in her heart I
know that now she loves me, and she could not leave me in the
frosty night. She whispered to me to come round to the big front
window, and I found it open before me, so as to let me into the
dining-room. Again I heard from her own lips things that made
my blood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mishandled the
woman I loved. Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her just
inside the window, in all innocence, as God is my judge, when
he rushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilest
name that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across
the face with the stick he had in his hand. I had sprung for the
poker, and it was a fair fight between us. See here, on my arm,
where his first blow fell. Then it was my turn, and I went
through him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do you think I
was sorry? Not I! It was his life or mine, but far more than that,
it was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in the power of
this madman? That was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well,
then, what would either of you gentlemen have done, if you had
been in my position?"
"She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old
Theresa down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine
on the sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between
Mary's lips, for she was half dead with shock. Then I took a
drop myself. Theresa was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as
much as mine. We must make it appear that burglars had done
the thing. Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress,
while I swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed
her in her chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it
look natural, else they would wonder how in the world a burglar
could have got up there to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates
and pots of silver, to carry out the idea of the robbery, and there
I left them, with orders to give the alarm when I had a quarter of
an hour's start. I dropped the silver into the pond, and made off
for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I had done a real
good night's work. And that's the truth and the whole truth, Mr.
Holmes, if it costs me my neck."
Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the
room, and shook our visitor by the hand.
"That's what I think," said he. "I know that every word is
true, for you have hardly said a word which I did not know. No
one but an acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope
from the bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the
knots with which the cord was fastened to the chair. Only once
had this lady been brought into contact with sailors, and that was
on her voyage, and it was someone of her own class of life,
since she was trying hard to shield him, and so showing that she
loved him. You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands
upon you when once I had started upon the right trail."
"I thought the police never could have seen through our
dodge."
"And the police haven't, nor will they, to the best of my
belief. Now, look here, Captain Crocker, this is a very serious
matter, though I am willing to admit that you acted under the
most extreme provocation to which any man could be subjected.
I am not sure that in defence of your own life your action will
not be pronounced legitimate. However, that is for a British jury
to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that, if
you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours, I will
promise you that no one will hinder you."
"And then it will all come out?"
"Certainly it will come out."
The sailor flushed with anger.
"What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I know enough
of law to understand that Mary would be held as accomplice. Do
you think I would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk
away? No, sir, let them do their worst upon me, but for heaven's
sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way of keeping my poor Mary out
of the courts. "
Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor.
"I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, it
is a great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given
Hopkins an excellent hint, and if he can't avail himself of it I can
do no more. See here, Captain Crocker, we'll do this in due
form of law. You are the prisoner. Watson, you are a British
jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted to
represent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you
have heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not
guilty?"
"Not guilty, my lord," said I.
"Vox populi, vox Dei. You are acquitted, Captain Crocker.
So long as the law does not find some other victim you are safe
from me. Come back to this lady in a year, and may her future
and yours justify us in the judgment which we have pronounced
this night!"
====================================
The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet
"Holmes," said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window
looking down the street, "here is a madman coming along. It
seems rather sad that his relatives should allow him to come out
alone."
My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his
hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my
shoulder. It was a bright, crisp February morning, and the snow
of the day before still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering
brightly in the wintry sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had
been ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at
either side and on the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths it still
lay as white as when it fell. The gray pavement had been cleaned
and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so that there
were fewer passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of
the Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single
gentleman whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.
He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a
massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He
was dressed in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat,
shining hat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-gray trousers.
Yet his actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress
and features, for he was running hard, with occasional little
springs, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to
set any tax upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up and
down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most
extraordinary contortions.
"What on earth can be the matter with him?" I asked. "He is
looking up at the numbers of the houses."
"I believe that he is coming here," said Holmes, rubbing his
hands .
"Here?"
"Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally.
I think that I recognize the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?"
As he spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door
and pulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with the
clanging.
A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still
gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his
eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity.
For a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body
and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the
extreme limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his
feet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we
both rushed upon him and tore him away to the centre of the
room. Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair
and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in
the easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ.
"You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?" said
he. "You are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have
recovered yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into
any little problem which you may submit to me."
The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest,
fighting against his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief
over his brow, set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us.
"No doubt you think me mad?" said he.
"I see that you have had some great trouble," responded
Holmes.
"Cod knows I have! -- a trouble which is enough to unseat my
reason, so sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might
have faced, although I am a man whose character has never yet
borne a stain. Private affliction also is the lot of every man; but
the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have been
enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone. The
very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found
out of this horrible affair."
"Pray compose yourself, sir," said Holmes, "and let me have
a clear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen
you."
"My name," answered our visitor, "is probably familiar to
your ears. I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder
& Stevenson, of Threadneedle Street."
The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the
senior partner in the second largest private banking concern in
the City of London. What could have happened, then, to bring
one of the foremost citizens of London to this most pitiable pass?
We waited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced
himself to tell his story.
"I feel that time is of value," said he; "that is why I hastened
here when the police inspector suggested that I should secure
your cooperation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground
and hurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through
this snow. That is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man
who takes very little exercise. I feel better now, and I will put
the facts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as I can.
"It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful
banking business as much depends upon our being able to find
remunerative investments for our funds as upon our increasing
our connection and the number of our depositors. One of our
most lucrative means of laying out money is in the shape of
loans, where the security is unimpeachable. We have done a
good deal in this direction during the last few years, and there
are many noble families to whom we have advanced large sums
upon the security of their pictures, libraries, or plate.
"Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank
when a card was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started
when I saw the name, for it was that of none other than -- well,
perhaps even to you I had better say no more than that it was a
name which is a household word all over the earth -- one of the
highest, noblest, most exalted names in England. I was over-
whelmed by the honour and attempted, when he entered, to say
so, but he plunged at once into business with the air of a man
who wishes to hurry quickly through a disagreeable task.
" 'Mr. Holder,' said he, 'I have been informed that you are in
the habit of advancing money.'
" 'The firm does so when the security is good.' I answered.
'' 'It is absolutely essential to me,' said he, 'that I should
have 50,000 pounds at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a
sum ten times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it
a matter of business and to carry out that business myself. In my
position you can readily understand that it is unwise to place
one's self under obligations.'
" 'For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?' I asked.
" 'Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall
then most certainly repay what you advance, with whatever
interest you think it right to charge. But it is very essential to me
that the money should be paid at once.'
" 'I should be happy to advance it without further parley from
my own private purse,' said I, 'were it not that the strain would
be rather more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to
do it in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I must
insist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution
should be taken.'
" 'I should much prefer to have it so,' said he, raising up a
square, black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair.
'You have doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?'
" 'One of the most precious public possessions of the em-
pire,' said I.
" 'Precisely.' He opened the case, and there, imbedded in
soft, flesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery
which he had named. 'There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,'
said he, 'and the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The
lowest estimate would put the worth of the coronet at double the
sum which I have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you as
my security.'
"I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some
perplexity from it to my illustrious client.
" 'You doubt its value?' he asked.
" 'Not at all. I only doubt --'
" 'The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at
rest about that. I should not dream of doing so were it not
absolutely certain that I should be able in four days to reclaim it.
It is a pure matter of form. Is the security sufficient?'
" 'Ample. '
" 'You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong
proof of the confidence which I have in you, founded upon all
that I have heard of you. I rely upon you not only to be discreet
and to refrain from all gossip upon the matter but, above all, to
preserve this coronet with every possible precaution because I
need not say that a great public scandal would be caused if any
harm were to befall it. Any injury to it would be almost as
serious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the world
to match these, and it would be impossible to replace them. I
leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and I shall
call for it in person on Monday morning.'
"Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more
but, calling for my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty
1000 pound notes. When I was alone once more, however, with the
precious case lying upon the table in front of me, I could not but
think with some misgivings of the immense responsibility which
it entailed upon me. There could be no doubt that, as it was a
national possession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any mis-
fortune should occur to it. I already regretted having ever con-
sented to take charge of it. However, it was too late to alter the
matter now, so I locked it up in my private safe and turned once
more to my work.
"When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence to
leave so precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers' safes
had been forced before now, and why should not mine be? If so,
how terrible would be the position in which I should find myself!
I determined, therefore, that for the next few days I would
always carry the case backward and forward with me, so that
it might never be really out of my reach. With this intention,
I called a cab and drove out to my house at Streatham, carrying
the jewel with me. I did not breathe freely until I had taken it
upstairs and locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room.
"And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I
wish you to thoroughly understand the situation. My groom and
my page sleep out of the house, and may be set aside altogether.
I have three maid-servants who have been with me a number of
years and whose absolute reliability is quite above suspicion.
Another, Lucy Parr, the second waiting-maid, has only been in
my service a few months. She came with an excellent character,
however, and has always given me satisfaction. She is a very
pretty girl and has attracted admirers who have occasionally
hung about the place. That is the only drawback which we have
found to her, but we believe her to be a thoroughly good girl in
every way.
"So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it
will not take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an
only son, Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me, Mr.
Holmes -- a grievous disappointment. I have no doubt that I
am myself to blame. People tell me that I have spoiled him. Very
likely I have. When my dear wife died I felt that he was all I had
to love. I could not bear to see the smile fade even for a moment
from his face. I have never denied him a wish. Perhaps it would
have been better for both of us had I been sterner, but I meant it
for the best.
"It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in
my business, but he was not of a business turn. He was wild,
wayward, and, to speak the truth, I could not trust him in the
handling of large sums of money. When he was young he
became a member of an aristocratic club, and there, having
charming manners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men
with long purses and expensive habits. He learned to play heav-
ily at cards and to squander money on the turf, until he had again
and again to come to me and implore me to give him an advance
upon his allowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. He
tried more than once to break away from the dangerous company
which he was keeping, but each time the influence of his friend,
Sir George Burnwell, was enough to draw him back again.
"And. indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir
George Bumwell should gain an influence over him, for he has
frequently brought him to my house, and I have found myself
that I could hardly resist the fascination of his manner. He is
older than Arthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who
had been everywhere. seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a
man of great personal beauty. Yet when I think of him in cold
blood, far away from the glamour of his presence, I am con-
vinced from his cynical speech and the look which I have caught
in his eyes that he is one who should be deeply distrusted. So I
think, and so, too, thinks my little Mary, who has a woman's
quick insight into character.
"And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece;
but when my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the
world I adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my
daughter. She is a sunbeam in my house -- sweet, loving, beauti-
ful, a wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and
quiet and gentle as a woman could be. She is my right hand. I do
not know what I could do without her. In only one matter has
she ever gone against my wishes. Twice my boy has asked her to
marry him, for he loves her devotedly, but each time she has
refused him. I think that if anyone could have drawn him into the
right path it would have been she, and that his marriage might
have changed his whole life; but now, alas! it is too late --
forever too late!
"Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my
roof, and I shall continue with my miserable story.
"When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night
after dinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the
precious treasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only
the name of my client. Lucy Parr, who had brought in the
coffee, had, I am sure, left the room; but I cannot swear that the
door was closed. Mary and Arthur were much interested and
wished to see the famous coronet, but I thought it better not to
disturb it.
" 'Where have you put it?' asked Arthur.
" 'In my own bureau.'
" 'Well, I hope to goodness the house won't be burgled
during the night.' said he.
" 'It is locked up,' I answered.
" 'Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a young-
ster I have opened it myself with the key of the box-room
cupboard. '
"He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little of
what he said. He followed me to my room, however, that night
with a very grave face.
" 'Look here, dad,' said he with his eyes cast down, 'can you
let me have 200 pounds?'
" 'No, I cannot!' I answered sharply. 'I have been far too
generous with you in money matters.'
" 'You have been very kind,' said he, 'but I must have this
money, or else I can never show my face inside the club again.'
" 'And a very good thing, too!' I cried.
" 'Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured
man,' said he. 'I could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the
money in some way, and if you will not let me have it, then I
must try other means.'
"I was very angry, for this was the third demand during the
month. 'You shall not have a farthing from me,' I cried, on
which he bowed and left the room without another word.
"When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my
treasure was safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go round
the house to see that all was secure -- a duty which I usually
leave to Mary but which I thought it well to perform myself that
night. As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself at the side
window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as I approached.
" 'Tell me, dad,' said she, looking, I thought, a little dis-
turbed, 'did you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?'
" 'Certainly not.'
" 'She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt
that she has only been to the side gate to see someone, but I
think that it is hardly safe and should be stopped.'
" 'You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you
prefer it. Are you sure that everything is fastened?'
" 'Quite sure. dad.'
" 'Then. good-night.' I kissed her and went up to my bed-
room again, where I was soon asleep.
"I am endeavouring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes,
which may have any bearing upon the case, but I beg that you
will question me upon any point which I do not make clear."
"On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid."
"I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to
be particularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety
in my mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than
usual. About two in the morning. then, I was awakened by some
sound in the house. It had ceased ere I was wide awake, but it
had left an impression behind it as though a window had gently
closed somewhere. I lay listening with all my ears. Suddenly, to
my horror. there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving softly
in the next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear,
and peeped round the comer of my dressing-room door.
" 'Arthur!' I screamed, 'you villain! you thief! How dare you
touch that coronet?'
"The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy,
dressed only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the
light, holding the coronet in his hands. He appeared to be
wrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. At my cry he
dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. I snatched
it up and examined it. One of the gold corners, with three of the
beryls in it, was missing.
" 'You blackguard!' I shouted, beside myself with rage. 'You
have destroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are
the jewels which you have stolen?'
" 'Stolen!' he cried.
" 'Yes, thief!' I roared, shaking him by the shoulder.
" 'There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,'
said he.
" 'There are three missing. And you know where they are.
Must I call you a liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying
to tear off another piece?'
" 'You have called me names enough,' said he, 'I will not
stand it any longer. I shall not say another word about this
business, since you have chosen to insult me. I will leave your
house in the moming and make my own way in the world.'
" 'You shall leave it in the hands of the police!' I cried
half-mad with grief and rage. 'I shall have this matter probed to
the bottom.'
" 'You shall learn nothing from me,' said he with a passion
such as I should not have thought was in his nature. 'If you
choose to call the police, let the police find what they can.'
"By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my
voice in my anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and,
at the sight of the coronet and of Arthur's face, she read the
whole story and, with a scream. fell down senscless on the
ground. I sent the house-maid for the police and put the investi-
gation into their hands at once. When the inspector and a consta-
ble entered the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with his
arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge
him with theft. I answered that it had ceased to be a private
matter, but had become a public one, since the ruined coronet
was national property. I was determined that the law should have
its way in everything.
" 'At least,' said he, 'you will not have me arrested at once.
It would be to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave
the house for five minutes.'
" 'That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal
what you have stolen,' said I. And then, realizing the dreadful
position in which I was placed, I implored him to remember that
not only my honour but that of one who was far greater than I
was at stake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which
would convulse the nation. He might avert it all if he would but
tell me what he had done with the three missing stones.
" 'You may as well face the matter,' said I; 'you have been
caught in the act, and no confession could make your guilt more
heinous. If you but make such reparation as is in your power, by
telling us where the beryls are, all shall be forgiven and forgotten.'
" 'Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,' he an-
swered, turning away from me with a sneer. I saw that he was
too hardened for any words of mine to influence him. There was
but one way for it. I called in the inspector and gave him into
custody. A search was made at once not only of his person but of
his room and-of every portion of the house where he could
possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of them could be
found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all our
persuasions and our threats. This morning he was removed to a
cell, and I, after going through all the police formalities, have
hurried round to you to implore you to use your skill in unravel-
ling the matter. The police have openly confessed that they can
at present make nothing of it. You may go to any expense which
you think necessary. I have already offered a reward of lOOO pounds.
My God, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my gems, and
my son in one night. Oh, what shall I do!"
He put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to
and fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got
beyond words.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes. with his
brows knitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire.
"Do you receive much company?" he asked.
"None save my partner with his family and an occasional
friend of Arthur's. Sir George Burnwell has been several times
lately. No one else, I think."
"Do you go out much in society?"
"Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care
for it."
"That is unusual in a young girl."
"She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young.
She is four-and-twenty."
"This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock
to her also."
"Terrible! She is even more affected than I."
"You have neither of you any doubt as to your son's guilt?"
"How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with
the coronet in his hands."
"I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder
of the coronet at all injured?"
"Yes, it was twisted."
"Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to
straighten it?"
"God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for
me. But it is too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If
his purpose were innocent, why did he not say so?"
"Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie?
His silence appears to me to cut both ways. There are several
singular points about the case. What did the police think of the
noise which awoke you from your sleep?"
"They considered that it might be caused by Arthur's closing
his bedroom door."
"A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his
door so as to wake a household. What did they say, then, of the
disappearance of these gems?"
"They are still sounding the planking and probing the furni-
ture in the hope of finding them."
"Have they thought of looking outside the house?"
"Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole gar-
den has already been minutely examined."
"Now, my dear sir," said Holmes. "is it not obvious to you
now that this matter really strikes very much deeper than either
you or the police were at first inclined to think? It appeared to
you to be a simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex.
Consider what is involved by your theory. You suppose that your
son came down from his bed, went. at great risk, to your
dressing-room, opened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke
otf by main force a small portion of it, went off to some other
place, concealed three gems out of the thirty-nine. with such
skill that nobody can find them, and then returned with the other
thirty-six into the room in which he exposed himself to the
greatest danger of being discovered. I ask you now, is such a
theory tenable?"
"But what other is there?" cried the banker with a gesture of
despair. "If his motives were innocent, why does he not explain
them?"
"It is our task to find that out," replied Holmes; "so now, if
you please, Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together,
and devote an hour to glancing a little more closely into details."
My friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expe-
dition, which I was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and
sympathy were deeply stirred by the story to which we had
listened. I confess that the guilt of the banker's son appeared to
me to be as obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still I had
such faith in Holmes's judgment that I felt that there must be
some grounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the
accepted explanation. He hardly spoke a word the whole way out
to the southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and
his hat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our
client appeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of
hope which had been presented to him, and he even broke into a
desultory chat with me over his business affairs. A short railway
journey and a shorter walk brought us to Fairbank, the modest
residence of the great financier.
Fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, stand-
ing back a little from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with a
snow-clad lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron gates
which closed the entrance. On the right side was a small wooden
thicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedges
stretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming the
tradesmen's entrance. On the left ran a lane which led to the
stables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being a
public, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us standing
at the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the
front, down the tradesmen's path, and so round by the garden
behind into the stable lane. So long was he that Mr. Holder and I
went into the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should
return. We were sitting there in silence when the door opened
and a young lady came in. She was rather above the middle
height, slim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker
against the absolute pallor of her skin. I do not think that I have
ever seen such deadly paleness in a woman's face. Her lips, too,
were bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying. As she
swept silently into the room she impressed me with a greater
sense of grief than the banker had done in the morning, and it
was the more striking in her as she was evidently a woman of
strong character, with immense capacity for self-restraint. Disre-
garding my presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed
her hand over his head with a sweet womanly caress.
"You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have
you not, dad?" she asked.
"No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom."
"But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what
woman's instincts are. I know that he has done no harm and that
you will be sorry for having acted so harshly."
"Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?"
"Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you
should suspect him."
"How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him
with the coronet in his hand?"
"Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do
take my word for it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and
say no more. It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in
prison!"
"I shall never let it drop until the gems are found -- never,
Mary! Your affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful
consequences to me. Far from hushing the thing up, I have
brought a gentleman down from London to inquire more deeply
into it."
"This gentleman?" she asked, facing round to me.
"No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round
in the stable lane now."
"The stable lane?" She raised her dark eyebrows. "What can
he hope to find there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir, that
you will succeed in proving, what I feel sure is the truth, that my
cousin Arthur is innocent of this crime."
"I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we may
prove it," returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the
snow from his shoes. "I believe I have the honour of addressing
Miss Mary Holder. Might I ask you a question or two?"
"Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up."
"You heard nothing yourself last night?"
"Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heard
that, and I came down."
"You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did
you fasten all the windows?"
"Yes ."
"Were they all fastened this morning?"
"Yes."
"You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you
remarked to your uncle last night that she had been out to see
him?"
"Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room.
and who may have heard uncle's remarks about the coronet."
"I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her
sweetheart, and that the two may have planned the robbery."
"But what is the good of all these vague theories," cried the
banker impatiently, "when I have told you that I saw Arthur
with the coronet in his hands?"
"Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About
this girl, Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I
presume?"
"Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the
night I met her slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom."
"Do you know him?''
"Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetables
round. His name is Francis Prosper."
"He stood," said Holmes, "to the left of the door -- that is to
say, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?"
"Yes, he did."
"And he is a man with a wooden leg?"
Something like fear sprang up in the young lady's expressive
black eyes. "Why, you are like a magician," said she. "How do
you know that?" She smiled, but there was no answering smile
in Holmes's thin, eager face.
"I should be very glad now to go upstairs," said he. "I shall
probably wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps
I had better take a look at the lower windows before I go up."
He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only
at the large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane.
This he opened and made a very careful examination of the sill
with his powerful magnifying lens. "Now we shall go upstairs,"
said he at last.
The banker's dressing-room was a plainly furnished little cham-
ber, with a gray carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror.
Holmes went to the bureau first and looked hard at the lock.
"Which key was used to open it?" he asked.
"That which my son himself indicated -- that of the cupboard
of the lumber-room."
"Have you it here?"
"That is it on the dressing-table."
Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau.
"It is a noiseless lock," said he. "It is no wonder that it did
not wake you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We
must have a look at it." He opened the case, and taking out the
diadem he laid it upon the table. It was a magnificent specimen
of the jeweller's art, and the thiny-six stones were the finest that
I have ever seen. At one side of the coronet was a cracked edge,
where a corner holding three gems had been torn away.
"Now, Mr. Holder," said Holmes, "here is the corner which
corresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I
beg that you will break it off."
The banker recoiled in horror. "I should not dream of trying,"
said he.
"Then I will." Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but
without result. "I feel it give a little," said he; "but, though I
am exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my
time to break it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do
you think would happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There
would be a noise like a pistol shot. Do you tell me that all this
happened within a few yards of your bed and that you heard
nothing of it?"
"I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me."
"But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you
think, Miss Holder?"
"I confess that I still share my uncle's perplexity."
"Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?"
"He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt."
"Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordi-
nary luck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own
fault if we do not succeed in clearing the matter up. With your
pemmission, Mr. Holder, I shall now continue my investigations
outside."
He went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any
unnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. For
an hour or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet
heavy with snow and his features as inscrutable as ever.
"I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr.
Holder," said he; "I can serve you best by returning to my
rooms."
"But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?"
"I cannot tell."
The banker wrung his hands. "I shall never see them again!"
he cried. "And my son? You give me hopes?"
"My opinion is in no way altered."
"Then, for God's sake, what was this dark business which
was acted in my house last night?"
"If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow
morning between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can
to make it clearer. I understand that you give me carte blanche to
act for you, provided only that I get back the gems, and that you
place no limit on the sum I may draw."
"I would give my fortune to have them back."
"Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and
then. Good-bye; it is just possible that I may have to come over
here again before evening."
It was obvious to me that my companion's mind was now
made up about the case, although what his conclusions were was
more than I could even dimly imagine. Several times during our
homeward journey I endeavoured to sound him upon the point,
but he always glided away to some other topic, until at last I
gave it over in despair. It was not yet three when we found
ourselves in our rooms once more. He hurried to his chamber
and was down again in a few minutes dressed as a common
loafer. With his collar turned up, his shiny, seedy coat, his red
cravat, and his worn boots, he was a perfect sample of the class.
"I think that this should do," said he, glancing into the glass
above the fireplace. "l only wish that you could come with me,
Watson, but I fear that it won't do. I may be on the trail in this
matter, or I may be following a will-o'-the-wisp, but I shall soon
know which it is. I hope that I may be back in a few hours." He
cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard, sandwiched
it between two rounds of bread, and thrusting this rude meal into
his pocket he started off upon his expedition.
I had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in excel-
lent spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand. He
chucked it down into a corner and helped himself to a cup of
tea.
"I only looked in as I passed," said he. "I am going right on."
"Where to?"
"Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some time
before I get back. Don't wait up for me in case I should be
late."
"How are you getting on?"
"Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to
Streatham since I saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It
is a very sweet little problem, and I would not have missed it for
a good deal. However, I must not sit gossiping here, but must
get these disreputable clothes off and return to my highly re-
spectable self."
I could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for
satisfaction than his words alone would imply. His eyes twin-
kled, and there was even a touch of colour upon his sallow
cheeks. He hastened upstairs, and a few minutes later I heard the
slam of the hall door, which told me that he was off once more
upon his congenial hunt.
I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so
I retired to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be
away for days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent,
so that his lateness caused me no surprise. I do not know at what
hour he came in, but when I came down to breakfast in the
morning there he was with a cup of coffee in one hand and the
paper in the other, as fresh and trim as possible.
"You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson," said
he, "but you remember that our client has rather an early
appointment this morning."
"Why, it is after nine now," I answered. "I should not be
surprised if that were he. I thought I heard a ring."
It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the
change which had come over him, for his face which was
naturally of a broad and massive mould, was now pinched and
fallen in, while his hair seemed to me at least a shade whiter. He
entered with a weariness and lethargy which was even more
painful than his violence of the morning before, and he dropped
heavily into the armchair which I pushed forward for him.
"I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried,"
said he. "Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man,
without a care in the world. Now I am left to a lonely and
dishonoured age. One sorrow comes close upon the heels of
another. My niece, Mary, has deserted me."
"Deserted you?"
"Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room
was empty, and a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said
to her last night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had
married my boy all might have been well with him. Perhaps it
was thoughtless of me to say so. It is to that remark that she
refers in this note:
"MY DEAREST UNCLE:
"I feel that I have brought trouble upon you, and that if I
had acted differently this terrible misfortune might never
have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever
again be happy under your roof, and I feel that I must leave
you forever. Do not worry about my future, for that is
provided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for it
will be fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. In life or in
death, I am ever
"Your loving
"MARY.
"What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think
it points to suicide?"
"No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible
solution. I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of
your troubles."
"Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes;
you have learned something! Where are the gems?"
"You would not think 1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum for
them?"
"I would pay ten."
"That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the
matter. And there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your
check-book? Here is a pen. Better make it out for 4000 pounds."
With a dazed face the banker made out the required check.
Holmes walked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece
of gold with three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.
With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.
"You have it!" he gasped. "I am saved! I am saved!"
The reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been,
and he hugged his recovered gems to his bosom.
"There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder," said Sher-
lock Holmes rather sternly.
"Owe!" He caught up a pen. "Name the sum, and I will pay
it."
"No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology
to that noble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this
matter as I should be proud to see my own son do, should I ever
chance to have one."
"Then it was not Arthur who took them?''
"I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not."
"You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let
him know that the truth is known."
"He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an
interview with him. and finding that he would not tell me the
story, I told it to him, on which he had to confess that I was right
and to add the very few details which were not yet quite clear to
me. Your news of this morning, however, may open his lips."
"For heaven's sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary
mystery !"
"I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I
reached it. And let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest
for me to say and for you to hear: there has been an understand-
ing between Sir George Burnwell and your niece Mary. They
have now fled together."
"My Mary? Impossible!"
"It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither
you nor your son knew the true character of this man when you
admitted him into your family circle. He is one of the most
dangerous men in England -- a ruined gambler, an absolutely
desperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. Your niece
knew nothing of such men. When he breathed his vows to her,
as he had done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that
she alone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what he
said, but at least she became his tool and was in the habit of
seeing him nearly every evening."
"I cannot, and I will not, believe it!" cried the banker with an
ashen face.
"I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night.
Your niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room.
slipped down and talked to her lover through the window which
leads into the stable lane. His footmarks had pressed right through
the snow, so long had he stood there. She told him of the
coronet. His wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he
bent her to his will. I have no doubt that she loved you, but there
are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes all other
loves, and I think that she must have been one. She had hardly
listened to his instructions when she saw you coming downstairs,
on which she closed the window rapidly and told you about one
of the servants' escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which
was all perfectly true.
"Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you
but he slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club
debts. In the middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his
door, so he rose and, looking out, was surprised to see his
cousin walking very stealthily along the passage until she disap-
peared into your dressing-room. Petrified with astonishment. the
lad slipped on some clothes and waited there in the dark to see
what would come of this strange affair. Presently she emerged
from the room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your
son saw that she carried the precious coronet in her hands. She
passed down the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror, ran along
and slipped behind the curtain near your door, whence he could
see what passed in the hall beneath. He saw her stealthily open
the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and
then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite
close to where he stood hid behind the curtain.
"As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action
without a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But
the instant that she was gone he realized how crushing a misfor-
tune this would be for you, and how all-important it was to set it
right. He rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened
the window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane,
where he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. Sir George
Burnwell tried to get away, but Arthur caught him, and there
was a struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the
coronet, and his opponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son
struck Sir George and cut him over the eye. Then something
suddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the coronet
in his hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your
room, and had just observed that the coronet had been twisted in
the struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you
appeared upon the scene."
"Is it possible?" gasped the banker.
"You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment
when he felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could
not explain the true state of affairs without betraying one who
certainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. He
took the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her
secret."
"And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw
the coronet," cried Mr. Holder. "Oh, my God! what a blind
fool I have been! And his asking to be allowed to go out for five
minutes! The dear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were
at the scene of the struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!'
"When I arrived at the house," continued Holmes, "I at once
went very carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in
the snow which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since
the evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost to
preserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen's path, but
found it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it,
however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood
and talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side
showed that he had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had
been disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door,
as was shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while
Wooden-leg had waited a little, and then had gone away. I
thought at the time that this might be the maid and her sweet-
heart, of whom you had already spoken to me, and inquiry
showed it was so. I passed round the garden without seeing
anything more than random tracks, which I took to be the police;
but when I got into the stable lane a very long and complex story
was written in the snow in front of me.
"There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a
second double line which I saw with delight belonged to a man
with naked feet. I was at once convinced from what you had told
me that the latter was your son. The first had walked both ways,
but the other had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in
places over the depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had
passed after the other. I followed them up and found they led to
the hall window, where Boots had worn all the snow away while
waiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred
yards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced
round, where the snow was cut up as though there had been a
struggle, and, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to
show me that I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down the
lane, and another little smudge of blood showed that it was he
who had been hurt. When he came to the highroad at the other
end, I found that the pavement had been cleared, so there was an
end to that clue.
"On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remem-
ber, the sill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and
I could at once see that someone had passed out. I could distin-
guish the outline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed
in coming in. I was then beginning to be able to form an opinion
as to what had occurred. A man had waited outside the window;
someone had brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by
your son; he had pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they
had each tugged at the coronet, their united strength causing
injuries which neither alone could have effected. He had returned
with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his
opponent. So far I was clear. The question now was, who was
the man and who was it brought him the coronet?
"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the
impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the
truth. Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down,
so there only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were
the maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in
their place? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his
cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he
should retain her secret -- the more so as the secret was a dis-
graceful one. When I remembered that you had seen her at that
window, and how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again,
my conjecture became a certainty.
"And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover
evidently, for who else could outweigh the love and gratitude
which she must feel to you? I knew that you went out little, and
that your circle of friends was a very limited one. But among
them was Sir George Burnwell. I had heard of him before as
being a man of evil reputation among women. It must have been
he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems. Even
though he knew that Arthur had discovered him, he might still
flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word
without compromising his own family.
"Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I
took next. I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house,
managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that
his master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at the
expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of his
cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and
saw that they exactly fitted the tracks."
"I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening,"
said Mr. Holder.
"Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came
home and changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had
to play then, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to
avert scandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that
our hands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first,
of course, he denied everything. But when I gave him every
particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a
life-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I
clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he
became a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give
him a price for the stones he held lOOO pounds apiece. That brought
out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why, dash it all!'
said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the three!' I soon
managed to get the address of the receiver who had them, on
promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I set to
him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000 pounds apiece.
Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all was right, and
eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after what I may
call a really hard day's work."
"A day which has saved England from a great public scan-
dal," said the banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank
you, but you shall not find me ungrateful for what you have
done. Your skill has indeed exceeded all that I have heard of it.
And now I must fly to my dear boy to apologize to him for the
wrong which I have done him. As to what you tell me of poor
Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even your skill can inform
me where she is now."
"I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she
is wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too,
that whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than
sufficient punishment."
================================
The Aduenture of Black Peter
I have never known my friend to be in better form, both mental
and physical, than in the year '95. His increasing fame had
brought with it an immense practice, and I should be guilty of an
indiscretion if I were even to hint at the identity of some of the
illustrious clients who crossed our humble threshold in Baker
Street. Holmes, however, like all great artists, lived for his art's
sake, and, save in the case of the Duke of Holdernesse, I have
seldom known him claim any large reward for his inestimable
services. So unworldly was he -- or so capricious -- that he fre-
quently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where the
problem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would
devote weeks of most intense application to the affairs of some
humble client whose case presented those strange and dramatic
qualities which appealed to his imagination and challenged his
ingenuity.
In this memorable year '95, a curious and incongruous succes-
sion of cases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous
investigation of the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca -- an inquiry
which was carried out by him at the express desire of His
Holiness the Pope -- down to his arrest of Wilson, the notorious
canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot from the East End of
London. Close on the heels of these two famous cases came the
tragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the very obscure circumstances
which surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of
the doings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which
did not include some account of this very unusual affair.
During the first week of July, my friend had been absent so
often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had some-
thing on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called
during that time and inquired for Captain Basil made me under-
stand that Holmes was working somewhere under one of the
numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own
formidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in differ-
ent parts of London, in which he was able to change his person-
ality. He said nothing of his business to me, and it was not my
habit to force a confidence. The first positive sign which he gave
me of the direction which his investigation was taking was an
extraordinary one. He had gone out before breakfast, and I had
sat down to mine when he strode into the room, his hat upon his
head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella
under his arm.
"Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You don't mean to say
that you have been walking about London with that thing?"
"I drove to the butcher's and back."
"The butcher's?"
"And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be no
question, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise before break-
fast. But I am prepared to bet that you will not guess the form
that my exercise has taken."
"I will not attempt it."
He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.
"If you could have looked into Allardyce's back shop, you
would have seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling,
and a gentleman in his shirt sleeves furiously stabbing at it with
this weapon. I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied
myself that by no exertion of my strength can I transfix the pig
with a single blow. Perhaps you would care to try?"
"Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?"
"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the
mystery of Woodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last
night, and I have been expecting you. Come and join us."
Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age,
dressed in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of
one who was accustomed to official uniform. I recognized him at
once as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector, for whose
future Holmes had high hopes while he in turn professed the
admiration and respect of a pupil for the scientific methods of the
famous amateur. Hopkins's brow was clouded, and he sat down
with an air of deep dejection.
"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I
spent the night in town, for I came up yesterday to report."
"And what had you to report?"
"Failure, sir, absolute failure."
"You have made no progress?"
"None."
"Dear me! I must have a look at the matter."
"I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes. It's my first
big chance, and I am at my wit's end. For goodness' sake, come
down and lend me a hand."
"Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all the
available evidence, including the report of the inquest, with
some care. By the way, what do you make of that tobacco
pouch, found on the scene of the crime? Is there no clue there?"
Hopkins looked surprised.
"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it.
And it was of sealskin -- and he was an old sealer."
"But he had no pipe."
"No, sir, we could find no pipe. Indeed, he smoked very
little, and yet he might have kept some tobacco for his friends."
"No doubt. I only mention it because, if I had been handling
the case, I should have been inclined to make that the starting-
point of my investigation. However, my friend, Dr. Watson,
knows nothing of this matter, and I should be none the worse for
hearing the sequence of events once more. Just give us some
short sketches of the essentials."
Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket.
"I have a few dates here which will give you the career of the
dead man, Captain Peter Carey. He was bom in '45 -- fifty years
of age. He was a most daring and successful seal and whale
fisher. In 1883 he commanded the steam sealer Sea Unicorn, of
Dundee. He had then had several successful voyages in succes-
sion, and in the following year, 1884, he retired. After that he
travelled for some years, and finally he bought a small place
called Woodman's Lee, near Forest Row, in Sussex. There he
has lived for six years, and there he died just a week ago to-day.
"There were some most singular points about the man. In
ordinary life, he was a strict Puritan -- a silent, gloomy fellow.
His household consisted of his wife, his daughter, aged twenty,
and two female servants. These last were continually changing,
for it was never a very cheery situation, and sometimes it
became past all bearing. The man was an intermittent drunkard,
and when he had the fit on him he was a perfect fiend. He has
been known to drive his wife and daughter out of doors in the
middle of the night and flog them through the park until the
whole village outside the gates was aroused by their screams.
"He was summoned once for a savage assault upon the old
vicar, who had called upon him to remonstrate with him upon his
conduct. In short, Mr. Holmes, you would go far before you
found a more dangerous man than Peter Carey, and I have heard
that he bore the same character when he commanded his ship.
He was known in the trade as Black Peter, and the name was
given him, not only on account of his swarthy features and the
colour of his huge beard, but for the humours which were the
terror of all around him. I need not say that he was loathed and
avoided by every one of his neighbours, and that I have not
heard one single word of sorrow about his terrible end.
"You must have read in the account of the inquest about the
man's cabin, Mr. Holmes, but perhaps your friend here has not
heard of it. He had built himself a wooden outhouse -- he always
called it the 'cabin' -- a few hundred yards from his house, and it
was here that he slept every night. It was a little, single-roomed
hut, sixteen feet by ten. He kept the key in his pocket, made his
own bed, cleaned it himself, and allowed no other foot to cross
the threshold. There are small windows on each side, which
were covered by curtains and never opened. One of these win-
dows was turned towards the high road, and when the light
burned in it at night the folk used to point it out to each other and
wonder what Black Peter was doing in there. That's the window,
Mr. Holmes, which gave us one of the few bits of positive
evidence that came out at the inquest.
"You remember that a stonemason, named Slater, walking
from Forest Row about one o'clock in the morning -- two days
before the murder -- stopped as he passed the grounds and looked
at the square of light still shining among the trees. He swears
that the shadow of a man's head turned sideways was clearly
visible on the blind, and that this shadow wals certainly not that
of Peter Carey, whom he knew well. It was that of a bearded
man, but the beard was short and bristled forward in a way very
differrnt from that of the captain. So he says, but he had been
two hours in the public-house, and it is some distance from the
road to the window. Besides, this refers to the Monday, and the
crime was done upon the Wednesday.
"On the Tuesday, Peter Carey was in one of his blackest
moods, flushed with drink and as savage as a dangerous wild
beast. He roamed about the house, and the women ran for it
when they heard him coming. Late in the evening, he went down
to his own hut. About two o'clock the following morning, his
daughter, who slept with her window open, heard a most fearful
yell from that direction, but it was no unusual thing for him to
bawl and shout when he was in drink, so no notice was taken.
On rising st seven, one of the maids noticed that the door of the
hut was open, but so great was the terror which the man caused
that it was midday before anyone would venture down to see
what bad become of him. Peeping into the open door, they saw
a sight which sent them flying, with white faces into the village.
Within an hour, I was on the spot and had taken over the case.
"Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you know, Mr. Holmes,
but I give you my word, that I got a shake when I put my head
into that little house. It was droning like a harmonium with the
flies and bluebottles, and the floor and walls were like a
slaughter-house. He had called it a cabin, and a cabin it was, sure enough,
for you would have thought that you were in a ship. There was a
bunk at one end, a sea-chest, maps and charts, a picture of the
Sea Unicorin, a line of logbooks on a shelf, all exactly as one
would expect to find it in a captain's room. And there, in the
middle of it, was the man himself -- his face twisted like a lost
soul in tornment, and his great brindled beard stuck upward in his
agony. Right through his broad breast a steel tarpoon had been
driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of the wall behind
him. He was pinned like a beetle on a card. Of course, he was
quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he had uttered
that last yell of agony.
"I know your methods, sir, and I applied them. Before I permitted
anything to be moved, I examined most carefully the ground outside,
and also the floor of the room. There were no footmarks."
"Meaning that you saw none?"
"I assure you, sir, that there were none."
"My good Hopkins, I have investigated many crimes, but I have never
yet seen one which was commited by a flying creature. As long as the
criminal remains upon two legs so long must there be some indentation,
some abrasion, some trifling displacement which can be detected by the
scientific searcher. It is incredible that this blood-bespattered room
contained no trace which could have aided us. I understand, however,
from the inquest that there were some objects which you failed to
overlook?"
The young inspector winced at my companion's ironical comments.
"I was a fool not to call you in at the time, Mr. Holmes. However,
that's past praying for now. Yes, there were several objects in the
room which called for special attention. One was the harpoon with
which the deed was committed. It had been snatched down from a rack
on the wall. Two others remained there, and there was a vacant place
for the third. On the stock was engraved 'SS. Sea Unicorn, Dundee.'
This seemed to establish that the crime had been done in a moment
of fury, and that the murderer had seized the first weapon which
came in his way. The fact that the crime was committed at two in the
morning, and yet Peter Carey was fully dressed, suggested that he had
an appointment with the murderer, which is borne out by the fact that
a bottle of rum and two dirty glasses stood upon the table."
"Yes," said Holmes, "I think that both inferences are permissable.
Was there any other spirit but rum in the room?"
"Yes, there was a tantalus containing brandy and whisky on the
sea-chest. It is of no importance to us, however, since the decanters
were full, and it had therefore not been used."
"For all that, its presence had some significance," said Holmes.
"However, let us hear some more about the objects which do seem to
you to bear upon the case."
"There was the tobacco-pouch upon the table."
"What part of the table?"
"It lay in the middle. It was of coarse sealskin -- the straight-
haired skin, with a leather thong to bind it. Inside was 'P. C.' on
the flap. There was half an ounce of strong ship's tobacco in it."
"Excellent! What more?"
Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered note-
book. The outside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured.
On the first page were written the initials "J. H. N." and the
date "1883." Holmes laid it on the table and examined it in his
minute way, while Hopkins and I gazed over each shoulder. On
the second page were the printed letters "C. P. R.," and then
came several sheets of numbers. Another heading was "Argen-
tine," another "Costa Rica," and another "San Paulo," each
with pages of signs and figures after it.
"What do you make of these?" asked Holmes.
"They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange securities. I
thought that 'J. H. N.' were the initials of a broker, and that
'C. P. R.' may have been his client."
"Try Canadian Pacific Railway," said Holmes.
Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth, and struck his thigh
with his clenched hand.
"What a fool I have been!" he cried. "Of course, it is as you
say. Then 'J. H. N.' are the only initials we have to solve. I
have already examined the old Stock Exchange lists, and I can
find no one in 1883, either in the house or among the outside
brokers, whose initials correspond with these. Yet I feel that the
clue is the most important one that I hold. You will admit, Mr.
Holmes, that there is a possibility that these initials are those of
the second person who was present -- in other words, of the
murderer. I would also urge that the introduction into the case of
a document relating to large masses of valuable securities gives
us for the first time some indication of a motive for the crime."
Sherlock Holmes's face showed that he was thoroughly taken
aback by this new development.
"I must admit both your points," said he. "I confess that this
notebook, which did not appear at the inquest, modifies any
views which I may have formed. I had come to a theory of the
crime in which I can find no place for this. Have you endeav-
oured to trace any of the securities here mentioned?''
"Inquiries are now being made at the offices, but I fear that
the complete register of the stockholders of these South Ameri-
can concerns is in South America, and that some weeks must
elapse before we can trace the shares."
Holmes had been examining the cover of the notebook with
his magnifying lens.
"Surely there is some discolouration here," said he.
"Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told you that I picked the book
off the floor."
"Was the blood-stain above or below?"
"On the side next the boards."
"Which proves, of course, that the book was dropped after the
crime was committed."
"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and I conjec-
tured that it was dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. It
lay near the door."
"I suppose that none of these securities have been found
among the property of the dead man?"
"No, sir."
"Have you any reason to suspect robbery?"
"No, sir. Nothing seemed to have been touched."
"Dear me, it is certainly a very interesting case. Then there
was a knife, was there not?"
"A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It lay at the feet of the
dead man. Mrs. Carey has identified it as being her husband's
property."
Holmes was lost in thought for some time.
"Well," said he, at last, "I suppose I shall have to come out
and have a look at it."
Stanley Hopkins gave a cry of joy.
"Thank you, sir. That will, indeed, be a weight off my mind. "
Holmes shook his finger at the inspector.
"It would have been an easier task a week ago," said he.
"But even now my visit may not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if
you can spare the time, I should be very glad of your company.
If you will call a four-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to
start for Forest Row in a quarter of an hour."
Alighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some
miles through the remains of widespread woods, which were
once part of that great forest which for so long held the Saxon
invaders at bay -- the impenetrable "weald," for sixty years the
bulwark of Britain. Vast sections of it have been cleared, for this
is the seat of the first iron-works of the country, and the trees
have been felled to smelt the ore. Now the richer fields of the
North have absorbed the trade, and nothing save these ravaged
groves and great scars in the earth show the work of the past.
Here, in a clearing upon the green slope of a hill, stood a long,
low, stone house, approached by a curving drive running through
the fields. Nearer the road, and surrounded on three sides by
bushes, was a small outhouse, one window and the door facing
in our direction. It was the scene of the murder.
Stanley Hopkins led us first to the house, where he introduced
us to a haggard, gray-haired woman, the widow of the murdered
man, whose gaunt and deep-lined face, with the furtive look of
terror in the depths of her red-rimmed eyes. told of the years of
hardship and ill-usage which she had endured. With her was her
daughter, a pale, fair-haired girl, whose eyes blazed defiantly at
us as she told us that she was glad that her father was dead, and
that she blessed the hand which had struck him down. It was a
terrible household that Black Peter Carey had made for himself,
and it was with a sense of relief that we found ourselves in the
sunlight again and making our way along a path which had been
worn across the fields by the feet of the dead man.
The outhouse was the simplest of dwellings, wooden-walled,
shingle-roofed, one window beside the door and one on the
farther side. Stanley Hopkins drew the key from his pocket and
had stooped to the lock, when he paused with a look of attention
and surprise upon his face.
"Someone has been tampering with it," he said.
There could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut,
and the scratches showed white through the paint, as if they had
been that instant done. Holmes had been examining the window.
"Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has
failed to make his way in. He must have been a very poor
burglar."
"This is a most extraordinary thing," said the inspector, "I
could swear that these marks were not here yesterday evening."
"Some curious person from the village, perhaps," I suggested.
"Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to set foot in the
grounds, far less try to force their way into the cabin. What do
you think of it, Mr. Holmes?"
"I think that fortune is very kind to us."
"You mean that the person will come again?"
"It is very probable. He came expecting to find the door open.
He tried to get in with the blade of a very small penknife. He
could not manage it. What would he do?"
"Come again next night with a more useful tool."
"So I should say. It will be our fault if we are not there to
receive him. Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin."
The traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniture
within the little room still stood as it had been on the night of the
crime. For two hours, with most intense concentration, Holmes
examined every object in turn, but his face showed that his quest
was not a successful one. Once only he paused in his patient
investigation.
"Have you taken anything off this shelf, Hopkins?"
"No, I have moved nothing."
"Something has been taken. There is less dust in this corner
of the shelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on its
side. It may have been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more.
Let us walk in these beautiful woods, Watson, and give a few
hours to the birds and the flowers. We shall meet you here later,
Hopkins, and see if we can come to closer quarters with the
gentleman who has paid this visit in the night."
It.was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little ambus-
cade. Hopkins was for leaving the door of the hut open, but
Holmes was of the opinion that this would rouse the suspicions
of the stranger. The lock was a perfectly simple one, and only a
strong blade was needed to push it back. Holmes also suggested
that we should wait, not inside the hut, but outside it, among the
bushes which grew round the farther window. In this way we
should be able to watch our man if he struck a light, and see
what his object was in this stealthy nocturnal visit.
It was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with it
something of the thrill which the hunter feels when he lies beside
the water-pool, and waits for the coming of the thirsty beast of
prey. What savage creature was it which might steal upon us out
of the darkness? Was it a fierce tiger of crime, which could only
be taken fighting hard with flashing fang and claw, or would it
prove to be some skulking jackal, dangerous only to the weak
and unguarded?
In absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting
for whatever might come. At first the steps of a few belated
villagers, or the sound of voices from the village, lightened our
vigil, but one by one these interruptions died away, and an
absolute stillness fell upon us, save for the chimes of the distant
church, which told us of the progress of the night, and for the
rustle and whisper of a fine rain falling amid the foliage which
roofed us in.
Half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour which
precedes the dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp click
came from the direction of the gate. Someone had entered the
drive. Again there was a long silence, and I had begun to fear
that it was a false alarm, when a stealthy step was heard upon the
other side of the hut, and a moment later a metallic scraping and
clinking. The man was trying to force the lock. This time his
skill was greater or his tool was better, for there was a sudden
snap and the creak of the hinges. Then a match was struck, and
next instant the steady light from a candle filled the interior of
the hut. Through the gauze curtain our eyes were all riveted upon
the scene within.
The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a
black moustache, which intensified the deadly pallor of his face.
He could not have been much above twenty years of age. I have
never seen any human being who appeared to be in such a
pitiable fright, for his teeth were visibly chattering, and he was
shaking in every limb. He was dressed like a gentleman, in
Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his
head. We watched him staring round with frightened eyes. Then
he laid the candle-end upon the table and disappeared from our
view into one of the corners. He returned with a large book, one
of the logbooks which formed a line upon the shelves. Leaning
on the table, he rapidly turned over the leaves of this volume
until he came to the entry which he sought. Then, with an angry
gesture of his clenched hand, he closed the book, replaced it in
the corner, and put out the light. He had hardly turned to leave
the hut when Hopkins's hand was on the fellow's collar, and I
heard his loud gasp of terror as he understood that he was taken.
The candle was relit, and there was our wretched captive, shiver-
ing and cowering in the grasp of the detective. He sank down
upon the sea-chest, and looked helplessly from one of us to the
other.
"Now, my fine fellow," said Stanley Hopkins, "who are
you, and what do you want here?"
The man pulled himself together, and faced us with an effort
at self-composure.
"You are detectives, I suppose?" said he. "You imagine I am
connected with the death of Captain Peter Carey. I assure you
that I am innocent."
"We'll see about that," said Hopkins. "First of all, what is
your name?"
"It is John Hopley Neligan."
I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick glance.
"What are you doing here?"
"Can I speak confidentially?"
"No, certainly not."
"Why should I tell you?"
"If you have no answer, it may go badly with you at the
trial."
The young man winced.
"Well, I will tell you," he said. "Why should I not? And yet
I hate to think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Did
you ever hear of Dawson and Neligan?"
I could see, from Hopkins's face, that he never had, but
Holmes was keenly interested.
"You mean the West Country bankers," said he. "They
failed for a million, ruined half the county families of Cornwall,
and Neligan disappeared."
"Exactly. Neligan was my father."
At last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemed
a long gap between an absconding banker and Captain Peter
Carey pinned against the wall with one of his own harpoons. We
all listened intently to the young man's words.
"It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson had
retired. I was only ten years of age at the time, but I was old
enough to feel the shame and horror of it all. It has always been
said that my father stole all the securities and fled. It is not true.
It was his belief that if he were given time in which to realize
them, all would be well and every creditor paid in full. He
started in his little yacht for Norway just before the warrant was
issued for his arrest. I can remember that last night, when he
bade farewell to my mother. He left us a list of the securities he
was taking, and he swore that he would come back with his
honour cleared, and that none who had trusted him would suffer.
Well, no word was ever heard from him again. Both the yacht
and he vanished utterly. We believed, my mother and I, that he
and it, with the securities that he had taken with him, were at the
bottom of the sea. We had a faithful friend, however, who is a
business man, and it was he who discovered some time ago that
some of the securities which my father had with him had reap-
peared on the London market. You can imagine our amazement.
I spent months in trying to trace them, and at last, after many
doubtings and difficulties, I discovered that the original seller
had been Captain Peter Carey, the owner of this hut.
"Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found that
he had been in command of a whaler which was due to return
from the Arctic seas at the very time when my father was
crossing to Norway. The autumn of that year was a stormy one,
and there was a long succession of southerly gales. My father's
yacht may well have been blown to the north, and there met by
Captain Peter Carey's ship. If that were so, what had become of
my father? In any case, if I could prove from Peter Carey's
evidence how these securities came on the market it would be a
proof that my father had not sold them, and that he had no view
to personal profit when he took them.
"I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the
captain, but it was at this moment that his terrible death occurred.
I read at the inquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated
that the old logbooks of his vessel were preserved in it. It struck
me that if I could see what occurred in the month of August,
1883, on board the Sea Unicorn, I might settle the mystery of
my father's fate. I tried last night to get at these logbooks, but
was unable to open the door. To-night I tried again and suc-
ceeded, but I find that the pages which deal with that month have
been torn from the book. lt was at that moment I found myself a
prisoner in your hands."
"Is that all?" asked Hopkins.
"Yes, that is all." His eyes shifted as he said it.
"You have nothing else to tell us?"
He hesitated.
"No, there is nothing."
"You have not been here before last night?''
"No.D "
"Then how do you account for that?" cried Hopkins, as he
held up the damning notebook, with the initials of our prisoner on
the first leaf and the blood-stain on the cover.
The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands,
and trembled all over.
"Where did you get it?" he groaned. "I did not know. I
thought I had lost it at the hotel."
"That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly. "Whatever else
you have to say, you must say in court. You will walk down
with me now to the police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very
much obliged to you and to your friend for coming down to help
me. As it turns out your presence was unnecessary, and I would
have brought the case to this successful issue without you, but,
none the less, I am grateful. Rooms have been reserved for you
at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can a]l walk down to the village
together."
"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" asked Holmes, as
we travelled back next morning.
"I can see that you are not satisfied."
"Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied. At the
same time, Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend them-
selves to me. I am disappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped
for better things from him. One should always look for a possi-
ble alternative, and provide against it. It is the first rule of
criminal investigation."
"What, then, is the alternative?"
"The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing.
It may give us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow it
to the end."
Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He
snatched one of them up, opened it, and burst out into a trium-
phant chuckle of laughter.
"Excellent, Watson! The alternative develops. Have you tele-
graph forms? Just write a couple of messages for me: 'Sumner,
Shipping Agent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive
ten to-morrow morning. -- Basil.' That's my name in those parts.
The other is: 'Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46 Lord Street, Brixton.
Come breakfast to-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if un-
able to come. -- Sherlock Holmes.' There, Watson, this infernal
case has haunted me for ten days. I hereby banish it completely
from my presence. To-morrow, I trust that we shall hear the last
of it forever."
Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared,
and we sat down together to the excellent breakfast which Mrs.
Hudson had prepared. The young detective was in high spirits at
his success.
"You really think that your solution must be correct?" asked
Holmes.
"I could not imagine a more complete case."
"It did not seem to me conclusive."
"You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more could one ask
for?"
"Does your explanation cover every point?"
"Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan arrived at the
Brambletye Hotel on the very day of the crime. He came on the
pretence of playing golf. His room was on the ground-floor, and
he could get out when he liked. That very, night he went down to
Woodman's Lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut, quarrelled with
him, and killed him with the harpoon. Then, horrified by what
he had done, he fled out of the hut, dropping the notebook which
he had brought with him in order to question Peter Carey about
these different securities. You may have observed that some of
them were marked with ticks, and the others -- the great majority --
were not. Those which are ticked have been traced on the
London market, but the others, presumably, were still in the
possession of Carey, and young Neligan, according to his own
account, was anxious to recover them in order to do the right
thing by his father's creditors. After his flight he did not dare to
approach the hut again for some time, but at last he forced
himself to do so in order to obtain the information which he
needed. Surely that is all simple and obvious?"
Holmes smiled and shook his head.
"It seems to me to have only one drawback, Hopkins, and
that is that it is intrinsically impossible. Have you tried to drive a
harpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must
really pay attention to these details. My friend Watson could tell
you that I spent a whole morning in that exercise. It is no easy
matter, and requires a strong and practised arm. But this blow
was delivered with such violence that the head of the weapon
sank deep into the wall. Do you imagine that this anaemic youth
was capable of so frightful an assault? Is he the man who
hobnobbed in rum and water with Black Peter in the dead of the
night? Was it his profile that was seen on the blind two nights
before? No, no, Hopkins, it is another and more formidable
person for whom we must seek."
The detective's face had grown longer and longer during
Holmes's speech. His hopes and his ambitions were all crum-
bling about him. But he would not abandon his position without
a struggle.
"You can't deny that Neligan was present that night, Mr.
Holmes. The book will prove that. I fancy that I have evidence
enough to satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it.
Besides, Mr. Holmes, I have laid my hand upon my man. As to
this terrible person of yours, where is he?"
"I rather fancy that he is on the stair," said Holmes, serenely.
"I think, Watson, that you would do well to put that revolver
where you can reach it." He rose and laid a written paper upon a
side-table. "Now we are ready," said he.
There had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and now
Mrs. Hudson opened the door to say that there were three men
inquiring for Captain Basil.
"Show them in one by one," said Holmes.
The first who entered was a little Ribston pippin of a man,
with ruddy cheeks and fluffy white side-whiskers. Holmes had
drawn a letter from his pocket.
"What name?" he asked.
"James Lancaster."
"I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full. Here is half a
sovereign for your trouble. Just step into this room and wait
there for a few minutes."
The second man was a long, dried-up creature, with lank hair
and sallow cheeks. His name was Hugh Pattins. He also received
his dismissal, his half-sovereign, and the order to wait.
The third applicant was a man of remarkable appearance. A
fierce bull-dog face was framed in a tangle of hair and beard,
and two bold, dark eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick,
tufted, overhung eyebrows. He saluted and stood sailor-fashion,
turning his cap round in his hands.
"Your name?" asked Holmes.
"Patrick Cairns."
"Harpooner?"
"Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages."
"Dundee, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir."
"And ready to start with an exploring ship?"
"Yes, sir."
"What wages?"
"Eight pounds a month."
"Could you start at once?"
"As soon as I get my kit."
"Have you your papers?"
"Yes, sir." He took a sheaf of worn and greasy forms from
his pocket. Holmes glanced over them and returned them.
"You are just the man I want," said he. "Here's the agree-
ment on the side-table. If you sign it the whole matter will be
settled."
The seaman lurched across the room and took up the pen.
"Shall I sign here?'' he asked, stooping over the table.
Holmes leaned over his shoulder and passed both hands over
his neck.
"This will do," said he.
I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. The
next instant Holmes and the seaman were rolling on the ground
together. He was a man of such gigantic strength that, even with
the handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly fastened upon his
wrists, he would have very quickly overpowered my friend had
Hopkins and I not rushed to his rescue. Only when I pressed the
cold muzzle of the revolver to his temple did he at last under-
stand that resistance was vain. We lashed his ankles with cord
and rose breathless from the struggle.
"I must really apologize, Hopkins," said Sherlock Holmes.
"I fear that the scrambled eggs are cold. However, you will
enjoy the rest of your breakfast all the better, will you not, for
the thought that you have brought your case to a triumphant
conclusion."
Stanley Hopkins was speechless with amazement.
"I don't know what to say, Mr. Holmes," he blurted out at
last, with a very red face. "It seems to me that I have been
making a fool of myself from the beginning. I understand now,
what I should never have forgotten, that I am the pupil and you
are the master. Even now I see what you have done, but I don't
know how you did it or what it signifies."
"Well, well," said Holmes, good-humouredly. "We all learn
by experience, and your lesson this time is that you should never
lose sight of the alternative. You were so absorbed in young
Neligan that you could not spare a thought to Patrick Cairns, the
true murderer of Peter Carey."
The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation.
"See here, mister," said he, "I make no complaint of being
man-handled in this fashion, but I would have you call things by
their right names. You say I murdered Peter Carey, I say I killed
Peter Carey, and there's all the difference. Maybe you don't
believe what I say. Maybe you think I am just slinging you a
yarn."
"Not at all," said Holmes. "Let us hear what you have to
say."
"It's soon told, and, by the Lord, every word of it is truth. I
knew Black Peter, and when he pulled out his knife I whipped a
harpoon through him sharp, for I knew that it was him or me.
That's how he died. You can call it murder. Anyhow, I'd as
soon die with a rope round my neck as with Black Peter's knife
in my heart."
"How came you there?" asked Holmes.
"I'll tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me up a little, so
as I can speak easy. It was in '83 that it happened -- August of
that year. Peter Carey was master of the Sea Unicorn, and I was
spare harpooner. We were coming out of the ice-pack on our
way home, with head winds and a week's southerly gale, when
we picked up a little craft that had been blown north. There was
one man on her -- a landsman. The crew had thought she would
founder and had made for the Norwegian coast in the dinghy. I
guess they were all drowned. Well, we took him on board, this
man, and he and the skipper had some long talks in the cabin.
All the baggage we took off with him was one tin box. So far as
I know, the man's name was never mentioned, and on the
second night he disappeared as if he had never been. It was
given out that he had either thrown himself overboard or fallen
overboard in the heavy weather that we were having. Only one
man knew what had happened to him, and that was me, for, with
my own eyes, I saw the skipper tip up his heels and put him over
the rail in the middle watch of a dark night, two days before we
sighted the Shetland Lights.
"Well, I kept my knowledge to myself, and waited to see
what would come of it. When we got back to Scotland it was
easily hushed up, and nobody asked any questions. A stranger
died by accident, and it was nobody's business to inquire. Shortly
after Peter Carey gave up the sea, and it was long years before I
could find where he was. I guessed that he had done the deed for
the sake of what was in that tin box, and that he could afford
now to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut.
"I found out where he was through a sailor man that had met
him in London, and down I went to squeeze him. The first night
he was reasonable enough, and was ready to give me what would
make me free of the sea for life. We were to fix it all two nights
later. When I came, I found him three parts drunk and in a vile
temper. We sat down and we drank and we yarned about old
times, but the more he drank the less I liked the look on his face.
I spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and I thought I might need
it before I was through. Then at last he broke out at me, spitting
and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great clasp-knife in his
hand. He had not time to get it from the sheath before I had the
harpoon through him. Heavens! what a yell he gave! and his face
gets between me and my sleep. I stood there, with his blood
splashing round me, and I waited for a bit, but all was quiet, so l
took heart once more. I looked round, and there was the tin box
on the shelf. I had as much right to it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so
I took it with me and left the hut. Like a fool I left my
baccy-pouch upon the table.
"Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. I had
hardly got outside the hut when I heard someone coming, and I
hid among the bushes. A man came slinking along, went into the
hut, gave a cry as if he had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as
he could run until he was out of sight. Who he was or what he
wanted is more than I can tell. For my part I walked ten miles,
got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so reached London, and no
one the wiser.
"Well, when I came to examine the box I found there was no
money in it, and nothing but papers that I would not dare to sell.
I had lost my hold on Black Peter and was stranded in London
without a shilling. There was only my trade left. I saw these
advertisements about harpooners, and high wages, so I went to
the shipping agents, and they sent me here. That's all I know
and I say again that if I killed Bllck Peter, the law should give
me thanks, for I saved them the price of a hempen rope."
"A very clear statement," said Holmes, rising and lighting his
pipe. "I think, Hopkins, that you should lose no time in convey-
ing your prisoner to a place of safety. This room is not well
adapted for a cell, and Mr. Patrick Cairns occupies too large a
proportion of our carpet."
"Mr. Holmes," said Hopkins, "I do not know how to express
my gratitude. Even now I do not understand how you attained
this result."
"Simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue from
the beginning. It is very possible if I had known about this
notebook it might have led away my thoughts, as it did yours.
But all I heard pointed in the one direction. The amazing strength,
the skill in the use of the harpoon, the rum and water, the
sealskin tobacco-pouch with the coarse tobacco -- all these pointed
to a seaman, and one who had been a whaler. I was convinced
that the initials 'P. C.' upon the pouch were a coincidence, and
not those of Peter Carey, since he seldom smoked, and no pipe
was found in his cabin. You remember that I asked whether
whisky and brandy were in the cabin. You said they were. How
many landsmen are there who would drink rum when they could
get these other spirits? Yes, I was ccrtain it was a seaman."
"And how did you find him?"
"My dear sir, the problem had become a very simple one. If it
were a seaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with
him on the Sea Unicorn. So far as I could learn he had sailed in
no other ship. I spent three days in wiring to Dundee, and at the
end of that time I had ascertained the names of the crew of the
Sea Unicorn in 1883. When I found Patrick Cairns among the
harpooners, my research was nearing its end. I argued that the
man was probably in London, and that he would desire to leave
the country for a time. I therefore spent some days in the East
End, devised an Arctic expedition, put forth tempting terms for
harpooners who would serve under Captain Basil -- and behold
the result!"
"Wonderful!" cried Hopkins. "Wonderful!"
"You must obtain the release of young Neligan as soon as
possible," said Holmes. "I confess that I think you owe him
some apology. The tin box must be returned to him, but, of
course, the securities which Peter Carey has sold are lost forever.
There's the cab, Hopkins, and you can remove your man. If you
want me for the trial, my address and that of Watson will be
somewhere in Norway -- I'll send particulars later."
=================================
The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holrnes upon the
second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing
him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the
sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach
upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently
newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden
chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and
disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked
in several places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the
chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner
for the purpose of examination.
"You are engaged," said l; "perhaps I interrupt you."
"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can
discuss my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one" -- he
jerked his thumb in the direction of the old hat -- "but there are
points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of
interest and even of instruction."
I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before
his crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows
were thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked, "that,
homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to
it -- that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of
some mystery and the punishment of some crime."
"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only
one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when
you have four million human beings all jostling each other within
the space of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of
so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of
events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem
will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without
being criminal. We have already had experience of such."
"So much so," l remarked, "that of the last six cases which I
have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any
legal crime."
"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene
Adler papers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and
to the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no
doubt that this small matter will fall into the same innocent
category. You know Peterson, the commissionaire?"
"Yes."
"It is to him that this trophy belongs."
"It is his hat."
"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you
will look upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual
problem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon
Christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is,
I have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's
fire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmas morn-
ing, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was
returning from some small jollification and was making his way
homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw,
in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and
carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached
the corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this
stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off
the man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself
and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind
him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his
assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window,
and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards
him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the
labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham
Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of
Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of battle,
and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat
and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose."
"Which surely he restored to their owner?"
"My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that 'For
Mrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied
to the bird's left leg, and it is also true that the initials 'H. B.'
are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are some
thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this
city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one of
them."
"What, then, did Peterson do?"
"He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas
morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest
to me. The goose we retained until this morning, when there
were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that
it should be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has
carried it off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose,
while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who
lost his Christmas dinner."
"Did he not advertise?"
"No."
"Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?"
"Only as much as we can deduce."
"From his hat?"
"Precisely."
"But you are joking. What can you gather from this old
battered felt?"
"Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you
gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn
this article?"
I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather
ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round
shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of
red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's
name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials "H. B." were
scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-
securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked,
exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there
seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured
patches by smearing them with ink.
"I can see nothing," said I, handing it back to my friend.
"On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail,
however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in
drawing your inferences."
"Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this
hat?"
He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective
fashion which was characteristic of him. "It is perhaps less
suggestive than it might have been," he remarked, "and yet
there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few
others which represent at least a strong balance of probability.
That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon
the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the
last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He
had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a
moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his
fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink,
at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact
that his wife has ceased to love him."
"My dear Holmes!"
"He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect," he
continued, disregarding my remonstrance. "He is a man who
leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely,
is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the
last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are
the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat.
Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas
laid on in his house."
"You are certainly joking, Holmes."
"Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give
you these results, you are unable to see how they are attained?"
"I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that
I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce
that this man was intellectual?"
For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came
right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose.
"It is a question of cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so
large a brain must have something in it."
"The decline of his fortunes, then?"
"This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the
edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at
the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could
afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no
hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world."
"Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the
foresight and the moral retrogression?"
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "Here is the foresight," said he
putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer.
"They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a
sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his
way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see
that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it
is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is
a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has
endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by
daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely
lost his self-respect."
"Your reasoning is certainly plausible."
"The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is
grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-
cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the
lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of
hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear
to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. This
dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, gray dust of the street
but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been
hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture
upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very
freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training."
"But his wife -- you said that she had ceased to love him."
"This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you,
my dear Watson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your
hat, and when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I
shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough to lose
your wife's affection."
"But he might be a bachelor."
"Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to
his wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg."
"You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you
deduce that the gas is not laid on in his house?"
"One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but
when I see no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt
that the individual must be brought into frequent contact with
burning tallow -- walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in
one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never
got tallow-stains from a gasjet. Are you satisfied?"
"Well, it is very ingenious," said I, laughing; "but since, as
you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no
harm done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a
waste of energy."
Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the
door flew open, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into
the apartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is
dazed with astonishment.
"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped.
"Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off
through the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round
upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face.
"See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!" He held
out his hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a
brilliantly scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in
size, but of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an
electric point in the dark hollow of his hand.
Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By Jove, Peterson!"
said he, "this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what
you have got?"
"A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as
though it were putty."
"It's. more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone."
"Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!" I ejaculated.
"Precisely so. l ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I
have read the advertisement about it in The Times every day
lately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjec-
tured, but the reward offered of 1000 pounds is certainly not within a
twentieth part of the market price."
"A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" The commis-
sionaire plumped down into a chair and stared from one to the
other of us.
"That is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are
sentimental considerations in the background which would in-
duce the Countess to part with half her fortune if she could but
recover the gem."
"It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopoli-
tan," I remarked.
"Precisely so, on December 22d, just five days ago. John
Horner, a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the
lady's jewel-case. The evidence against him was so strong that
the case has been referred to the Assizes. I have some account of
the matter here, I believe." He rummaged amid his newspapers,
glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out,
doubled it over, and read the following paragraph:
"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26,
plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon
the 22d inst., abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess
of Morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle.
James Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evi-
dence to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the
dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the day of
the robbery in order that he might solder the second bar of
the grate, which was loose. He had remained with Horner
some little time, but had finally been called away. On
returning, he found that Horner had disappeared, that the
bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco
casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess
was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon
the dressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner
was arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be
found either upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine
Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed to having heard
Ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to
having rushed into the room, where she found matters as
described by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B divi-
sion, gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who strug-
gled frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest
terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having
been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to
deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the
Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion
during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and
was carried out of court.
"Hum! So much for the police-court," said Holmes thought-
fully, tossing aside the paper. "The question for us now to solve
is the sequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one
end to the crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other.
You see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a
much more important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone;
the stone came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr.
Henry Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other
characteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must set
ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertain-
ing what part he has played in this little mystery. To do this, we
must try the simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an
advertisement in all the evening papers. If this fail, I shall have
recourse to other methods."
"What will you say?"
"Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then:
"Found at the corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a
black felt hat. Mr. Henry Baker can have the same by
applying at 6:30 this evening at 221B, Baker Street.
That is clear and concise."
"Very. But will he see it?"
"Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a
poor man, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by
his mischance in breaking the window and by the approach of
Peterson that he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he
must have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to
drop his bird. Then, again, the introduction of his name will
cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him will direct his
attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the advertis-
ing agency and have this put in the evening papers."
"In which, sir?"
"Oh, in the Clobe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, Evening
News Standard, Echo, and any others that occur to you."
"Very well, sir. And this stone?"
"Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And, I say,
Peterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here
with me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place
of the one which your family is now devouring."
When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone
and held it against the light. "It's a bonny thing," said he. "Just
see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus
of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In
the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody
deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the
banks of the Amoy River in southem China and is remarkable in
having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is blue
in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has already a
sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing,
a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this
forty-grain weight of crystallized charcoal. Who would think that
so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the
prison? I'll lock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to
the Countess to say that we have it."
"Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?"
"I cannot tell."
"Well, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker,
had anything to do with the matter?"
"It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an
absolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he
was carrying was of considerably more value than if it were
made of solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very
simple test if we have an answer to our advertisement."
"And you can do nothing until then?"
"Nothing. "
"In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I
shall come back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned,
for I should like to see the solution of so tangled a business."
"Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, I
believe. By the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps I
ought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop."
I had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-past
six when I found myself in Baker Street once more. As I
approached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a
coat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the
bright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as l
arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to
Holmes's room.
"Mr. Henry Baker, I believe," said he, rising from his armchair
and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he
could so readily assume. "Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr.
Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation is
more adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have
just come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr. Baker?"
"Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat."
He was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head,
and a broad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of
grizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slight
tremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes's surmise as to his
habits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in front,
with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded from his
sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a slow
staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the
impression generally of a man of learning and letters who had
had ill-usage at the hands of fortune.
"We have retained these things for some days," said Holmes,
"because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving
your address. I am at a loss to know now why you did not
advertise."
Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. "Shillings have
not been so plentiful with me as they once were," he remarked.
"I had no doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had
carried off both my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more
money in a hopeless attempt at recovering them."
"Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were com-
pelled to eat it."
"To eat it!" Our visitor half rose from his chair in his
excitement.
"Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not
done so. But I presume that this other goose upon the sideboard,
which is about the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer
your purpose equally well?"
"Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of
relief.
"Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of
your own bird, so if you wish --"
The man burst into a hearty laugh. "They might be useful to
me as relics of my adventure," said he, "but beyond that I can
hardly see what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance
are going to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your permis-
sion, I will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I
perceive upon the sideboard."
Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight
shrug of his shoulders.
"There is your hat, then, and there your bird," said he. "By
the way, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other
one from? I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom
seen a better grown goose."
"Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen and tucked his
newly gained property under his arm. "There are a few of us
who frequent the Alpha Inn, near the Museum -- we are to be
found in the Museum itself during the day, you understand. This
year our good host, Windigate by name, instituted a goose club,
by which, on consideration of some few pence every week, we
were each to receive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly
paid, and the rest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you,
sir, for a Scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my
gravity." With a comical pomposity of manner he bowed sol-
emnly to both of us and strode off upon his way.
"So much for Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes when he had
closed the door behind him. "It is quite certain that he knows
nothing whatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?"
"Not particularly."
"Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and
follow up this clue while it is still hot."
"By all means."
It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped
cravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly
in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out into
smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply
and loudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter, Wimpole
Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street into Ox-
ford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury at the
Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of one of
the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed open
the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from
the ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord.
"Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your
geese," said he.
"My geese!" The man seemed surprised.
"Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry
Baker, who was a member of your goose club."
"Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them's not our geese."
"Indeed! Whose, then?"
"Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden."
"Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?"
"Breckinridge is his name."
"Ah! I don't know him. Well, here's your good health
landlord, and prosperity to your house. Good-night.
"Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his
coat as we came out into the frosty air. "Remember, Watson
that though we have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of
this chain, we have at the other a man who will certainly get
seven years' penal servitude unless we can establish his inno-
cence. It is possible that our inquiry may but confirm his guilt
but, in any case, we have a line of investigation which has been
missed by the police, and which a singular chance has placed in
our hands. Let us follow it out to the bitter end. Faces to the
south, then, and quick march!"
We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through
a zigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest
stalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor
a horsy-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers
was helping a boy to put up the shutters.
"Good-evening. It's a cold night," said Holmes.
The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my
companion.
"Sold out of geese, I see," continued Holmes, pointing at the
bare slabs of marble.
"Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning."
"That's no good."
"Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare."
"Ah, but I was recommended to you."
"Who by?"
"The landlord of the Alpha."
"Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen."
"Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them
from?"
To my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from
the salesman.
"Now, then, mister," said he, with his head cocked and his
arms akimbo, "what are you driving at? Let's have it straight,
now."
"It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the
geese which you supplied to the Alpha."
"Well then, I shan't tell you. So now!"
"Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don't know why
you should be so warm over such a trifle."
"Warm! You'd be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered
as I am. When I pay good money for a good article there should
be an end of the business; but it's 'Where are the geese?' and
'Who did you sell the geese to?' and 'What will you take for the
geese?' One would think they were the only geese in the world,
to hear the fuss that is made over them."
"Well, I have no connection with any other people who have
been making inquiries," said Holmes carelessly. "If you won't
tell us the bet is off, that is all. But I'm always ready to back my
opinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that the bird
I ate is country bred."
"Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred,"
snapped the salesman.
"It's nothing of the kind."
"I say it is."
"I don't believe it."
"D'you think you know more about fowls than I, who have
handled them ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds
that went to the Alpha were town bred."
"You'll never persuade me to believe that."
"Will you bet, then?"
"It's merely taking your money, for I know that I am right.
But I'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be
obstinate."
The salesman chuckled grimly. "Bring me the books, Bill,"
said he.
The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great
greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging
lamp.
"Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman, "I thought
that I was out of geese, but before I finish you'll find that there
is still one left in my shop. You see this little book?"
"Well?"
"That's the list of the folk from whom I buy. D'you see?
Well, then, here on this page are the country folk, and the
numbers after their names are where their accounts are in the big
ledger. Now, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that
is a list of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just
read it out to me."
"Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road -- 249," read Holmes.
"Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger."
Holmes turned to the page indicated. "Here you are, 'Mrs.
Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier."
"Now, then, what's the last entry?"
" 'December 22d. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.' "
"Quite so. There you are. And underneath?"
" 'Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.' "
"What have you to say now?"
Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sover-
eign from his pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning
away with the air of a man whose disgust is too deep for words.
A few yards off he stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the
hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him.
"When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the
'Pink 'un' protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him
by a bet," said he. "I daresay that if I had put lOO pounds down in
front of him, that man would not have given me such complete
information as was drawn from him by the idea that he was
doing me on a wager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing
the end of our quest, and the only point which remains to be
determined is whether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott
to-night, or whether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is
clear from what that surly fellow said that there are others
besides ourselves who are anxious about the matter, and I
should --"
His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which
broke out from the stall which we had just left. Turning round
we saw a little rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the
circle of yellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp,
while Breckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall,
was shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure.
"I've had enough of you and your geese," he shouted. "I
wish you were all at the devil together. If you come pestering me
any more with your silly talk I'll set the dog at you. You bring
Mrs. Oakshott here and I'll answer her, but what have you to do
with it? Did I buy the geese off you?"
"No; but one of them was mine all the same," whined the
little man.
"Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it."
"She told me to ask you."
"Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I've
had enough of it. Get out of this!" He rushed fiercely forward,
and the inquirer flitted away into the darkness.
"Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton Road," whispered
Holmes. "Come with me, and we will see what is to be made of
this fellow." Striding through the scattered knots of people who
lounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily over-
took the little man and touched him upon the shoulder. He
sprang round, and I could see in the gas-light that every vestige
of colour had been driven from his face.
"Who are you, then? What do you want?" he asked in a
quavering voice.
"You will excuse me," said Holmes blandly, "but I could not
help overhearing the questions which you put to the salesman
just now. I think that I could be of assistance to you."
"You? Who are you? How could you know anything of the
matter?"
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know
what other people don't know."
"But you can know nothing of this?"
"Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring
to trace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of
Brixton Road, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn
to Mr. Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of
which Mr. Henry Baker is a member."
"Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet,"
cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering
fingers. "I can hardly explain to you how interested I am in this
matter."
Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing.
"In that case we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than
in this wind-swept market-place," said he. "But pray tell me,
before we go farther, who it is that I have the pleasure of
assisting."
The man hesitated for an instant. "My name is John Robin-
son," he answered with a sidelong glance.
"No, no; the real name," said Holmes sweetly. "It is always
awkward doing business with an alias."
A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. "Well
then," said he, "my real name is James Ryder."
"Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray
step into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you everything
which you would wish to know."
The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with
half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whether
he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. Then he
stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in the
sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during our
drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and
the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervous
tension within him.
"Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the
room. "The fire looks very seasonabe in this weather. You look
cold, Mr. Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will just put on my
slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then!
You want to know what became of those geese?"
"Yes, sir."
"Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine
in which you were interested -- white, with a black bar across the
tail."
Ryder quivered with emotion. "Oh, sir," he cried, "can you
tell me where it went to?"
"It came here."
"Here?"
"Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder
that you should take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it was
dead -- the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever was seen. I
have it here in my museum."
Our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece
with his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up
the blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold
brilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a
drawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it.
"The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly. "Hold up,
man, or you'll be into the fire! Give him an arm back into his
chair, Watson. He's not got blood enough to go in for felony
with impunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he looks a
little more human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!"
For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the
brandy brought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat
staring with frightened eyes at his accuser.
"I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs
which I could possibly need, so there is little which you need tell
me. Still, that little may as well be cleared up to make the case
complete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of the
Countess of Morcar's?"
"It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it," said he in a
crackling voice.
"I see -- her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of
sudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has
been for better men before you; but you were not very scrupu-
lous in the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that there is
the making of a very pretty villain in you. You knew that this
man Horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such
matter before, and that suspicion would rest the more readily
upon him. What did you do, then? You made some small job in
my lady's room -- you and your confederate Cusack -- and you
managed that he should be the man sent for. Then, when he had
left, you rifled the jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this
unfortunate man arrested. You then --"
Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched
at my companion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!" he
shrieked. "Think of my father! of my mother! It would break
their hearts. I never went wrong before! I never will again. I
swear it. I'll swear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court!
For Christ's sake, don't!"
"Get back into your chair!" said Holmes sternly. "It is very
well to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of
this poor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew
nothing."
"I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then
the charge against him will break down."
"Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true
account of the next act. How came the stone into the goose, and
how came the goose into the open market? Tell us the truth, for
there lies your only hope of safety."
Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell you
it just as it happened, sir," said he. "When Horner had been
arrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get
away with the stone at once, for I did not know at what moment
the police might not take it into their heads to search me and my
room. There was no place about the hotel where it would be
safe. I went out, as if on some commission, and I made for my
sister's house. She had married a man named Oakshott, and
lived in Brixton Road, where she fattened fowls for the market.
All the way there every man I met seemed to me to be a
policeman or a detective; and, for all that it was a cold night, the
sweat was pouring down my face before I came to the Brixton
Road. My sister asked me what was the matter, and why I was
so pale; but I told her that I had been upset by the jewel robbery
at the hotel. Then I went into the back yard and smoked a pipe
and wondered what it would be best to do.
"I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad,
and has just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had
met me, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how
they could get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be
true to me, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up
my mind to go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him
into my confidence. He would show me how to turn the stone
into money. But how to get to him in safety? I thought of the
agonies I had gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at
any moment be seized and searched, and there would be the
stone in my waistcoat pocket. I was leaning against the wall at
the time and looking at the geese which were waddling about
round my feet, and suddenly an idea came into my head which
showed me how I could beat the best detective that ever lived.
"My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have
the pick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that
she was always as good as her word. I would take my goose
now, and in it I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a
little shed in the yard, and behind this I drove one of the
birds -- a fine big one, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and
prying its bill open, I thrust the stone down its throat as far as
my finger could reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone
pass along its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature
flapped and struggled, and out came my sister to know what was
the matter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and
fluttered off among the others.
" 'Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?' says she.
" 'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me one for Christmas,
and I was feeling which was the fattest.'
" 'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you -- Jem's bird,
we call it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's twenty-six
of them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two
dozen for the market.'
" 'Thank you, Maggie,' says l; 'but if it is all the same to
you, I'd rather have that one I was handling just now.'
" 'The other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we
fattened it expressly for you.'
" 'Never mind. I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,' said I.
" 'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is it
you want, then?'
" 'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of
the flock.'
" 'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.'
"Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird
all the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was
a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed
until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My
heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I
knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird
rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard. There
was not a bird to be seen there.
" 'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried.
" 'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.'
" 'Which dealer's?'
" 'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.'
" 'But was there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the
same as the one I chose?'
" 'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could
never tell them apart.'
"Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my
feet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold
the lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where
they had gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has
always answered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going
mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now -- and now I
am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the
wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God help
me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in
his hands.
There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing
and by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes's finger-tips
upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open
the door.
"Get out!" said he.
"What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!"
"No more words. Get out!"
And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter
upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running
footfalls from the street.
"After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for
his clay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their
deficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing;
but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must
collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony. but it is just
possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong
again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and
you make him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of
forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and
whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you
will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin
another investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief
feature."
==================================
The Boscombe Valley Mystery
We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I,
when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock
Holmes and ran in this way:
Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired
for from the west of England in connection with Boscombe
Valley tragedy. Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air
and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15.
"What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at
me. "Will you go?"
"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at
present."
"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been
looking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you
good, and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes's
cases."
"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained
through one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must
pack at once, for I have only half an hour."
My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the
effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants
were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in
a cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station.
Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall,
gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long gray
travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap.
"It is reaily very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It
makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me
on whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either
worthless or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I
shall get the tickets."
We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of
papers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he
rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of medita-
tion, until we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them
all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack.
"Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.
"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days."
"The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just
been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the
particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those
simple cases which are so extremely difficult."
"That sounds a little paradoxical."
"But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a
clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the
more difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they
have established a very serious case against the son of the
murdered man."
"It is a murder, then?"
"Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for
granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it.
I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able
to understand it, in a very few words.
"Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from
Ross, in Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part
is a Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and
returned some years ago to the old country. One of the farms
which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCar-
thy, who was also an ex-Australian. The men had known each
other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they
came to settle down they should do so as near each other as
possible. Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy
became his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of
perfect equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had
one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of
the same age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear
to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families
and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were
fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of
the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants -- a man and a
girl. Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at
the least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the
families. Now for the facts.
"On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his
house at Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down
to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the
spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe
Valley. He had been out with his serving-man in the morning at
Ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an
appointment of importance to keep at three. From that appoint-
ment he never came back alive.
"From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quar-
ter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this
ground. One was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned,
and the other was William Crowder, a game-keeper in the em-
ploy of Mr. Turner. Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy
was walking alone. The game-keeper adds that within a few
minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son,
Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under
his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight
at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more
of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had
occurred.
"The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William
Crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe
Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of
reeds round the edge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is
the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate,
was in one of the woods picking flowers. She states that while
she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by
the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be
having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder
using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter
raise up his hand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened
by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she
reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling
near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were
going to fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr.
McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found
his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the
lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without either his gun or his
hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained
with fresh blood. On following him they found the dead body
stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had been
beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon.
The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by
the butt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on the grass
within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances the
young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful mur-
der' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on
Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have
referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of
the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court."
"I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked.
"If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so
here."
"Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered
Holmes thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one
thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may
find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to some-
thing entirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the
case looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is
very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several
people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss
Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who be-
lieve in his innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom
you may recollect in connection with 'A Study in Scarlet', to
work out the case in his interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled,
has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged
gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of
quietly digesting their breakfasts at home."
"I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that you
will find little credit to be gained out of this case."
"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he
answered, laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some
other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious
to Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am
boasting when I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his
theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or
even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very
clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the
right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would
have noted even so self-evident a thing as that."
"How on earth --"
"My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military
neatness which characterizes you. You shave every morning, and
in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving
is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side,
until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of
the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated
than the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking
at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result.
I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and infer-
ence. Therein lies my metier, and it is just possible that it may
be of some service in the investigation which lies before us.
There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the
inquest, and which are worth considering."
"What are they?"
"It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after
the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary
informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was
not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts.
This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any
traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the
coroner's jury."
"It was a confession," I ejaculated.
"No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence."
"Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was
at least a most suspicious remark."
"On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift
which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he
might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see
that the circumstances were very black against him. Had he
appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it,
I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such
surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances,
and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man.
His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an
innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and
firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not
unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of
his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so
far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and
even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important,
to raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and
contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be
the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty on."
I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far
slighter evidence," I remarked.
"So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged."
"What is the young man's own account of the matter?"
"It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters,
though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive.
You will find it here, and may read it for yourself."
He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire
paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the
paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his
own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in
the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this
way:
Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased,
was then called and gave evidence as follows: "I had been
away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just
returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3d. My
father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I
was informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross
with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return I heard
the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my
window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard,
though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I
then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the
Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit-
warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw
William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his
evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following
my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. When
about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of
'Cooee!' which was a usual signal between my father and
myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by
the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me
and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A
conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to
blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper.
Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left
him and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone
more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous
outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again.
I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head
terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my
arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for
some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's
lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assis-
tance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I
have no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a
popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his
manners, but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I
know nothing further of the matter."
The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you
before he died?
Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only
catch some allusion to a rat.
The Coroner: What did you understand by that?
Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he
was delirious.
The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and
your father had this final quarrel?
Witness: I should prefer not to answer.
The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it.
Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can
assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy
which followed.
The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not
point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice
your case considerably in any future proceedings which may
arise.
Witness: I must still refuse.
The Coroner: I understand that the cry of "Cooee" was a
common signal between you and your father?
Witnesls: It was.
The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before
he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned
from Bristol?
Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know.
A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your
suspiclons when you returned on hearing the cry and found
your father fatally injured?
Witness: Nothing definite.
The Coroner: What do you mean?
Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out
into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my
father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward
something lay upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed
to me to be something gray in colour, a coat of some sort,
or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked
round for it, but it was gone.
"Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for
help?"
"Yes, it was gone."
"You cannot say what it was?"
"No, I had a feeling something was there."
"How far from the body?"
"A dozen yards or so."
"And how far from the edge of the wood?"
"About the same."
"Then if it was removed it was while you were within a
dozen yards of it?"
"Yes, but with my back towards it."
This concluded the examination of the witness.
"I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the
coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young
McCarthy. He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrep-
ancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him
also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his
father, and his singular account of his father's dying words.
They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son."
Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out
upon the cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been
at some pains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points
in the young man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately
give him credit for having too much imaginition and too little?
Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would
give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from
his own inner consciousness anything so outre as a dying refer-
ence to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I
shall approach this case from the point of view that what this
young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis
will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not
another word shall I say of this case until we are on the scene of
action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be there in
twenty minutes."
It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing
through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming
Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross.
A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for
us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and
leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic sur-
roundings, I had no difficulty in recognizing Lestrade, of Scot-
land Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a
room had already been engaged for us.
"I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a
cup of tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would
not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime."
"It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes an-
swered. "It is entirely a question of barometric pressure."
Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said.
"How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a
cloud in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need
smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country
hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall
use the carriage to-night."
Lestrade laughed indulgently. "Yau have, no doubt, already
formed your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The
case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the
plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and
such a very positive one, too. She hai heard of you, and would
have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was
nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why,
bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door."
He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of
the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life.
Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her
cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpower-
ing excitement and concern.
"Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to
the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition,
fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have
come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James
didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work
knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We
have known each other since we were little children, and I know
his faults as no one else does; but he is too tenderhearted to hurt
a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him."
"I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock
Holmes. "You may rely upon my doing all that I can."
"But you have read the evidence. You have formed some
conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you
not yourself think that he is innocent?"
"I think that it is very probable."
"There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking
defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes."
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my col-
league has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he
said.
"But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did
it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the
reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was
because I was concerned in it."
"In what way?" asked Holmes.
"It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father
had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very
anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I
have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course
he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and -- and -- well,
he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there
were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them."
"And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of
such a union?"
"No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was
in favour of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face
as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her.
"Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your
father if I call to-morrow?"
"I am afraid the doctor won't allow it."
"The doctor?"
"Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong
for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has
taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and
that his nlervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only
man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria."
"Ha! ln Victoria! That is important."
"Yes, at the mines."
"Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr.
Turner made his money."
"Yes, certainly."
"Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assis-
tance to me."
"You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt
you will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr.
Holmes, do tell him that I know him to be innocent."
"I will, Miss Turner."
"I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so
if I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertak-
ing." She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had
entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down
the street.
"I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity
after a few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes
which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of
heart, but I call it cruel."
"I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said
Holmes. "Have you an order to see him in prison?"
"Yes, but only for you and me."
"Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We
have still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?"
"Ample."
"Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very
slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours."
I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered
through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the
hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a
yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin,
however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we
were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually
from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room
and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of
the day. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were
absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unfore-
seen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the
time when he parted from his father, and the moment when
drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was
something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the
nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I
rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which
contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's
deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal
bone and the left half of the occipital bone hail been shattered by
a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my
own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from
behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as
when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it
did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned
his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to
call Holmes's attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying
reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be
delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly
become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to
explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I
cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then
the incident of the gray cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that
were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his
dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had
the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when
the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off.
What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing
was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so
much faith in Sherlock Holmes's insight that I could not lose
hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his convic-
tion of young McCarthy's innocence.
It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back
alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town.
"The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat
down. "It is of importance that it should not rain before we are
able to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be
at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did
not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen
young McCarthy."
"And what did you learn from him?"
"Nothing."
"Could he throw no light?"
"None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew
who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am
convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a
very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should
think, sound at heart."
"I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact
that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady
as this Miss Turner."
"Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly,
insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was
only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away
five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get
into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a
registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can
imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for
not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he
knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this
sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his
father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to
Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting
himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard
man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the
truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last
three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was.
Mark that point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil,
however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in
serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over
utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband
already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie
between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled young
McCarthy for all that he has suffered."
"But if he is innocent, who has done it?"
"Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two
points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with
someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been
his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he
would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to
cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are
the crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us
talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all
minor matters until to-morrow."
There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning
broke bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for
us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the
Boscombe Pool.
"There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It
is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is
despaired of."
"An elderly man, I presume?" saild Holmes.
"About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his
life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This
business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old
friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him,
for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free."
"Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes.
"Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Every-
body about here speaks of his kindness to him."
"Really! Does it not strike- you as a little singular that this
McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to
have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of
marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably,
heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as
if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow?
It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was
averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not
deduce something from that?"
"We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said
Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts,
Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies."
"You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very
hard to tackle the facts."
"Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it
difficult to get hold of," replied Lesbiade with some warmth.
"And that is --"
"That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior
and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine."
"Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes,
laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley
Farm upon the left."
"Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-looking
building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of
lichen upon the gray walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless
chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight
of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when
the maid, at Holmes's request, showed us the boots which her
master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's,
though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured
these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes
desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed
the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool.
Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such
a scent as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and
logician of Baker Street would have failed to recognize him. His
face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard
black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a
steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed,
his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his
long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely
animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely con-
centrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark
fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a
quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his
way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by
way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy
ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet,
both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on
either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop
dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow.
Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and
contemptuous, while I watched my friend with the interest which
sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was
directed towards a definite end.
The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water
some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the
Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner.
Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could
see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich
landowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the
woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden
grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees land the
reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at
which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the
ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by
the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his
eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be
read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is
picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion.
"What did you go into the pool for?" he asked.
"I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some
weapon or other trace. But how on earth --"
"Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its
inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and
there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all
have been had I been here before they came like a herd of
buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with
the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six
or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of
the same feet." He drew out a lens and lay down upon his
waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to
himself than to us. "These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he
was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are
deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his
story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here
are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then?
It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this?
Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite
unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again -- of course
that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?" He ran
up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track
until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the
shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood.
Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down
once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a
long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried
sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an
envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but
even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone
was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined
and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the wood
until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost.
"It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked,
returning to his natural manner. "I fancy that this gray house on
the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a
word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done
that, we may drive back to our lunchebn. You may walk to the
cab, and I shall be with you presently."
It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove
back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which
he had picked up in the wood.
"This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it
out. "The murder was done with it."
"I see no marks."
"There are none."
"How do you know, then?"
"The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few
days. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It
corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other
weapon."
"And the murderer?''
"Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears
thick-soled shooting-boots and a gray cloak, smokes Indian ci-
gars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his
pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be
enough to aid us in our search."
Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," he
said. "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a
hard-headed British jury."
"Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You work your
own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this after-
noon, and shall probably return to London by the evening train."
"And leave your case unfinished?"
"No, finished."
"But the mystery?"
"It is solved.'
"Who was the criminal, then?"
"The gentleman I describe."
"But who is he?''
"Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a
populous neighbourhood."
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he
said, "and I really cannot undertake to go about the country
looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game-leg. I should
become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard."
"All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the
chance. Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a
line before I leave."
Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel,
where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and
buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one
who finds himself in a perplexing position.
"Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared
"just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little.
don't know quite what to do, and I should value your advice.
Light a cigar and let me expound."
"Pray do so."
"Well, now, in considering this case there are two points
about young McCarthy's narrative which struck us both in-
stantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against
him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his
account, cry 'Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his
singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you
understand, but that was all that caught the son's ear. Now from
this double point our research must commence, and we will
begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true."
"What of this 'Cooee!' then?"
"Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son.
The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance
that he was within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the
attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with.
But 'Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used
between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the
person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool
was someone who had been in Australia."
"What of the rat, then?"
Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and
flattened it out on the table. "This is a map of the Colony of
Victoria," he said. "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He put
his hand over part of the map. "What do you read?"
"ARAT," I read.
"And now?" He raised his hand.
"BALLARAT. "
"Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which
his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter
the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat."
"It is wonderful!" I exclaimed.
"It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field
down considerably. The possession of a gray garment was a third
point which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a
certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the
definite conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a gray
cloak."
"Certainly. "
"And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can
only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers
could hardly wander."
"Quite so."
"Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of
the ground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that
imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal."
"But how did you gain them?"
"You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of
trifles."
"His height I know that you might roughly judge from the
length of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their
traces."
"Yes, they were peculiar boots."
"But his lameness?"
"The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than
his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped -- he
was lame."
"But his left-handedness."
"You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as
recorded by the surgeon at-the inquest. The blow was struck
from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now,
how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had
stood behind that tree during the interview between the father
and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar,
which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to
pronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted
some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the
ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette
tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discov-
ered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an
Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam."
"And the cigar-holder?"
"I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore
he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the
cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife."
"Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round this man
from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent
human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging
him. I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit
is --"
"Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door
of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor.
The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His
slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of
decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and
his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual
strength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled
hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an
air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an
ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were
tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he
was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease.
"Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently. "You had
my note?"
"Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you
wished to see me here to avoid scandal."
"I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall."
"And why did you wish to see me?" He looked across at my
companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his ques-
tion was already answered.
"Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the
words. "It is so. I know all about McCarthy."
The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he
cried. "But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I
give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against
him at the Assizes."
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely.
"I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It
would break her heart -- it will break her heart when she hears
that I am arrested."
"It may not come to that," said Holmes.
"What?"
"I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter
who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests.
Young McCarthy must be got off, however."
"I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have had diabetes
for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a
month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a jail."
Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand
and a bundle of paper before him. "lust tell us the truth," he
said. "I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson
here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the
last extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall
not use it unless it is absolutely needed."
"It's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether I
shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should
wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing
clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not
take me long to tell.
"You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil
incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of
such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years,
and he has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be in
his power.
"It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chap
then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at any-
thing; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck
with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what
you would call over here a highway robber. There were six of
us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from
time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings.
Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party
is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang.
"One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Mel-
bourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six
troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied
four of their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were
killed, however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the
head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I
wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him,
though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though
to remember every feature. We got away with the gold, became
wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being
suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to
settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate,
which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little
good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had
earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left
me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee
hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had
ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to
make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid
hls grip upon me.
"I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in
Regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot.
"'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm;
'we'll be as good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and
my son, and you can have the keeping of us. If you don't -- it's a
fine, law-abiding country is England, and there's always a po-
liceman within hail.'
"Well, down they came to the west country, there was no
shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best
land ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forget-
fulness; turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning
face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon
saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police.
Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave
him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he
asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for Alice.
"His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I
was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him
that his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was
firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not
that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and
that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved
him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway
between our houses to talk it over.
"When we went down there I found him talking with his son,
so smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be
alone. But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in
me seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my
daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she
were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I
and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a
man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying
and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of
limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and
my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul
tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I
have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But
that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held
me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no
more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous
beast. His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of
the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak
which I had dropped in my flight. That is the true story, gentle-
men, of all that occurred."
"Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the old
man signed the statement which had been drawn out. "I pray
that we may never be exposed to such a temptation."
"I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?"
"In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that
you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than
the Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is
condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be
seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or
dead, shall be safe with us."
"Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "Your own
deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of
the peace which you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking
in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room.
"God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence. "Why does
fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of
such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say,
'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.' "
James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength
of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes
and submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for
seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there
is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live
happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon
their past.
===================================
The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans
In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow
fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thurs-
day I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in
Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. The first day
Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references.
The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject
which he had recently made his hobby -- the music of the Middle
Ages. But when, for the fourth time, after pushing back our
chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still
drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-
panes, my comrade's impatient and active nature could endure
this drab existence no longer. He paced restlessly about our
sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails,
tapping the furniture, and chafing against inaction.
"Nothing of interest in the paper, Watson?" he said.
I was aware that by anything of interest, Holmes meant any-
thing of criminal interest. There was the news of a revolution, of
a possible war, and of an impending change of government; but
these did not come within the horizon of my companion. I could
see nothing recorded in the shape of crime which was not
commonplace and futile. Holmes groaned and resumed his rest-
less meanderings.
"The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow," said he in
the querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him.
"Look out of this window, Watson. See how the figures loom
up, are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the cloud-
bank. The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a
day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and
then evident only to his victim."
"There have," said I, "been numerous petty thefts."
Holmes snorted his contempt.
"This great and sombre stage is set for something more
worthy than that," said he. "It is fortunate for this community
that I am not a criminal."
"It is, indeed!" said I heartily.
"Suppose that I were Brooks or Woodhouse, or any of the fifty
men who have good reason for taking my life, how long could I
survive against my own pursuit? A summons, a bogus appointment,
and all would be over. It is well they don't have days of fog in
the Latin countries -- the countries of assassination. By Jove! here
comes something at last to break our dead monotony."
It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore it open and burst
out laughing.
"Well, well! What next?" said he. "Brother Mycroft is com-
ing round."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a
country lane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall
Mall lodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehall -- that is his cycle.
Once, and only once, he has been here. What upheaval can
possibly have derailed him?"
"Does he not explain?"
Holmes handed me his brother's telegram.
Must see you over Cadogan West. Coming at once.
MYCROFT.
"Cadogan West? I have heard the name."
"It recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should break
out in this erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave its orbit.
By the way, do you know what Mycroft is?"
I had some vague recollection of an explanation at the time of
the Adventure of the Greek Interpreter.
"You told me that he had some small office under the British
government."
Holmes chuckled.
"I did not know you quite so well in those days. One has to
be discreet when one talks of high matters of state. You are
right in thinking that he is under the British government. You
would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally
he is the British government."
"My dear Holmes!"
"I thought I might surprise you. Mycroft draws four hundred
and fifty pounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions
of any kind, will receive neither honour nor title, but remains the
most indispensable man in the country."
"But how?"
"Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself.
There has never been anything like it before, nor will be again.
He has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest
capacity for storing facts, of any man living. The same great
powers which I have turned to the detection of crime he has used
for this particular business. The conclusions of every department
are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearing-
house, which makes out the balance. All other men are special-
ists, but his specialism is omniscience. We will suppose that a
minister needs information as to a point which involves the
Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question; he could get
his separate advices from various departments upon each, but
only Mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each
factor would affect the other. They began by using him as a
short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential.
In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be
handed out in an instant. Again and again his word has decided
the national policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothing else save
when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him
and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems. But
Jupiter is descending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who is
Cadogan West, and what is he to Mycroft?"
"I have it," I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers
upon the sofa. "Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogan
West was the young man who was found dead on the Under-
ground on Tuesday morning."
Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips.
"This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my
brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the
world can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as I
remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the train
and killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was no
particular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?"
"There has been an inquest," said I, "and a good many fresh
facts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly
say that it was a curious case."
"Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must
be a most extraordinary one." He snuggled down in his arm-
chair. "Now, Watson, let us have the facts."
"The man's name was Arthur Cadogan West. He was twenty-
seven years of age, unmarried, and a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal."
"Government employ. Behold the link with Brother Mycroft!"
"He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen
by his fiancee, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in
the fog about 7:30 that evening. There was no quarrel between
them and she can give no motive for his action. The next thing
heard of him was when his dead body was discovered by a
plate-layer named Mason, just outside Aldgate Station on the
Underground system in London."
"When?"
"The body was found at six on the Tuesday morning. It was
lying wide of the metals upon the left hand of the track as one
goes eastward, at a point close to the station, where the line
emerges from the tunnel in which it runs. The head was badly
crushed -- an injury which might well have been caused by a fall
from the train. The body could only have come on the line in
that way. Had it been carried down from any neighbouring
street, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector
is always standing. This point seems absolutely certain."
"Very good. The case is definite enough. The man, dead or
alive, either fell or was precipitated from a train. So much is
clear to me. Continue."
"The trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the
body was found are those which run from west to east, some
being purely Metropolitan, and some from Willesden and outly-
ing junctions. It can be stated for certain that this young man
when he met his death, was travelling in this direction at some
late hour of the night, but at what point he entered the train it is
impossible to state."
"His ticket, of course, would show that."
"There was no ticket in his pockets."
"No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular.
According to my experience it is not possible to reach the
platform of a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one's ticket.
Presumably, then, the young man had one. Was it taken from
him in order to conceal the station from which he came? It is
possible. Or did he drop it in the carriage? That also is possible.
But the point is of curious interest. I understand that there was
no sign of robbery?"
"Apparently not. There is a list here of his possessions. His
purse contained two pounds fifteen. He had also a check-book on
the Woolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Through
this his identity was established. There were also two dress-circle
tickets for the Woolwich Theatre, dated for that very evening.
Also a small packet of technical papers."
Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction.
"There we have it at last, Watson! British government --
Woolwich. Arsenal -- technical papers -- Brother Mycroft, the chain
is complete. But here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak
for himself."
A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes
was ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was
a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above
this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its
brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips,
and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance
one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant
mind.
At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of Scotland Yard --
thin and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretold some
weighty quest. The detective shook hands without a word. Mycroft
Holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided into an armchair.
"A most annoying business, Sherlock," said he. "I extremely
dislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take no
denial. In the present state of Siam it is most awkward that I
should be away from the office. But it is a real crisis. I have
never seen the Prime Minister so upset. As to the Admiralty -- it
is buzzing like an overturned bee-hive. Have you read up the
case?"
"We have just done so. What were the technical papers?"
"Ah, there's the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. The
press would be furious if it did. The papers which this wretched
youth had in his pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partington
submarine."
Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his
sense of the importance of the subject. His brother and I sat
expectant.
"Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard of
it."
"Only as a name."
"Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. It has been the
most jealously guarded of all government secrets. You may take
it from me that naval warfare becomes impossible within the
radius of a Bruce-Partington's operation. Two years ago a very
large sum was smuggled through the Estimates and was ex-
pended in acquiring a monopoly of the invention. Every effort
has been made to keep the secret. The plans, which are exceed-
ingly intricate, comprising some thirty separate patents, each
essential to the working of the whole, are kept in an elaborate
safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-
proof doors and windows. Under no conceivable circumstances
were the plans to be taken from the office. If the chief construc-
tor of the Navy desired to consult them, even he was forced to
go to the Woolwich office for the purpose. And yet here we find
them in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of London.
From an official point of view it's simply awful."
"But you have recovered them?"
"No, Sherlock, no! That's the pinch. We have not. Ten
papers were taken from Woolwich. There were seven in the
pocket of Cadogan West. The three most essential are gone --
stolen, vanished. You must drop everything, Sherlock. Never
mind your usual petty puzzles of the police-court. It's a vital
international problem that you have to solve. Why did Cadogan
West take the papers, where are the missing ones, how did he
die, how came his body where it was found, how can the evil be
set right? Find an answer to all these questions, and you will
have done good service for your country."
"Why do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft? You can see as
far as I."
"Possibly, Sherlock. But it is a question of getting details.
Give me your details, and from an armchair I will return you an
excellent expert opinion. But to run here and run there, to
cross-question railway guards, and lie on my face with a lens to
my eye -- it is not my metier. No, you are the one man who can
clear the matter up. If you have a fancy to see your name in the
next honours list --"
My friend smiled and shook his head.
"I play the game for the game's own sake," said he. "But the
problem certainly presents some points of interest, and I shall be
very pleased to look into it. Some more facts, please."
"I have jotted down the more essential ones upon this sheet of
paper, together with a few addresses which you will find of
service. The actual official guardian of the papers is the famous
government expert, Sir James Walter. whose decorations and
sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown
gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most
exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond
suspicion. He is one of two who have a key of the safe. I may
add that the papers were undoubtedly in the office during work-
ing hours on Monday, and that Sir James left for London about
three o'clock taking his key with him. He was at the house of
Admiral Sinclair at Barclay Square during the whole of the
evening when this incident occurred."
"Has the fact been verified?"
"Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to
his departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his
arrival in London; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the
problem."
"Who was the other man with a key?"
"The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sidney Johnson. He
is a man of forty, married, with five children. He is a silent,
morose man, but he has, on the whole, an excellent record in the
public service. He is unpopular with his colleagues, but a hard
worker. According to his own account, corroborated only by the
word of his wife, he was at home the whole of Monday evening
after office hours, and his key has never left the watch-chain
upon which it hangs."
"Tell us about Cadogan West."
"He has been ten years in the service and has done good
work. He has the reputation of being hot-headed and impetuous,
but a straight, honest man. We have nothing against him. He was
next to Sidney Johnson in the office. His duties brought him into
daily, personal contact with the plans. No one else had the
handling of them."
"Who locked the plans up that night?"
"Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk."
"Well, it is surely perfectly clear who took them away. They
are actually found upon the person of this junior clerk, Cadogan
West. That seems final, does it not?"
"It does, Sherlock, and yet it leaves so much unexplained. In
the first place, why did he take them?"
"I presume they were of value?"
"He could have got several thousands for them very easily."
"Can you suggest any possible motive for taking the papers to
London except to sell them?"
"No, I cannot."
"Then we must take that as our working hypothesis. Young
West took the papers. Now this could only be done by having a
false key --"
"Several false keys. He had to open the building and the
room."
"He had, then, several false keys. He took the papers to
London to sell the secret, intending, no doubt, to have the plans
themselves back in the safe next morning before they were
missed. While in London on this treasonable mission he met his
end."
"How?"
"We will suppose that he was travelling back to Woolwich
when he was killed and thrown out of the compartment."
"Aldgate, where the body was found, is considerably past the
station for London Bridge, which would be his route to
Woolwich."
"Many circumstances could be imagined under which he would
pass London Bridge. There was someone in the carriage, for
example, with whom he was havitlg an absorbing interview. This
interview led to a violent scene in which he lost his life. Possibly
he tried to leave the carriage, fell out on the line, and so met his
end. The other closed the door. There was a thick fog, and
nothing could be seen."
"No better explanation can be given with our present knowl-
edge; and yet consider, Sherlock, how much you leave un-
touched. We will suppose, for argument's sake, that young
Cadogan West had determined to convey these papers to Lon-
don. He would naturally have made an appointment with the
foreign agent and kept his evening clear. Instead of that he took
two tickets for the theatre, escorted his fiancee halfway there,
and then suddenly disappeared."
"A blind," said Lestrade, who had sat listening with some
impatience to the conversation.
"A very singular one. That is objection No. 1. Objection No.
2: We will suppose that he reaches London and sees the foreign
agent. He must bring back the papers before morning or the loss
will be discovered. He took away ten. Only seven were in his
pocket. What had become of the other three? He certainly would
not leave them of his own free will. Then, again, where is the
price of his treason? One would have expected to find a large
sum of money in his pocket."
"It seems to me perfectly clear," said Lestrade. "I have no
doubt at all as to what occurred. He took the papers to sell them.
He saw the agent. They could not agree as to price. He started
home again, but the agent went with him. In the train the agent
murdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw his
body from the carriage. That would account for everything,
would it not?"
"Why had he no ticket?"
"The ticket would have shown which station was nearest the
agent's house. Therefore he took it from the murdered man's
pocket."
"Good, Lestrade, very good," said Holmes. "Your theory
holds together. But if this is true, then the case is at an end. On
the one hand, the traitor is dead. On the other, the plans of the
Bruce-Partington submarine are presumably already on the Con-
tinent. What is there for us to do?"
"To act, Sherlock -- to act!" cried Mycroft, springing to his
feet. "All my instincts are against this explanation. Use your
powers! Go to the scene of the crime! See the people concerned!
Leave no stone unturned! In all your career you have never had
so great a chance of serving your country."
"Well, well!" said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "Come,
Watson! And you, Lestrade, could you favour us with your
company for an hour or two? We will begin our investigation by
a visit to Aldgate Station. Good-bye, Mycroft. I shall let you
have a report before evening, but I warn you in advance that you
have little to expect."
An hour later Holmes, Lestrade and I stood upon the Under-
ground railroad at the point where it emerges from the tunnel
immediately before Aldgate Station. A courteous red-faced old
gentleman represented the railway company.
"This is where the young man's body lay," said he, indicat-
ing a spot about three feet from the metals. "It could not have
fallen from above, for these, as you see, are all blank walls.
Therefore, it could only have come from a train, and that train,
so far as we can trace it, must have passed about midnight on
Monday."
"Have the carriages been examined for any sign of violence?"
"There are no such signs, and no ticket has been found."
"No record of a door being found open?"
"None."
"We have had some fresh evidence this morning," said
Lestrade. "A passenger who passed Aldgate in an ordinary
Metropolitan train about 11:40 on Monday night declares that he
heard a heavy thud, as of a body striking the line, just before the
train reached the station. There was dense fog, however, and
nothing could be seen. He made no report of it at the time. Why
whatever is the matter with Mr. Holmes?"
My friend was standing with an expression of strained inten-
sity upon his face, staring at the railway metals where they
curved out of the tunnel. Aldgate is a junction, and there was a
network of points. On these his eager, questioning eyes were
fixed, and I saw on his keen, alert face that tightening of the
lips, that quiver of the nostrils, and concentration of the heavy
tufted brows which I knew so well.
"Points," he muttered, "the points."
"What of it? What do you mean?"
"I suppose there are no great number of points on a system
such as this?"
"No; there are very few."
"And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were
only so."
"What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?"
"An idea -- an indication, no more. But the case certainly
grows in interest. Unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? I
do not see any indications of bleeding on the line."
"There were hardly any."
"But I understand that there was a considerable wound."
"The bone was crushed, but there was no great external
injury."
"And yet one would have expected some bleeding. Would it
be possible for me to inspect the train which contained the
passenger who heard the thud of a fall in the fog?"
"I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up before
now, and the carriages redistributed."
"I can assure you, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade, "that every
carriage has been carefully examined. I saw to it myself."
It was one of my friend's most obvious weaknesses that he
was impatient with less alert intelligences than his own.
"Very likely," said he, turning away. "As it happens, it was
not the carriages which I desired to examine. Watson, we have
done all we can here. We need not trouble you any further, Mr.
Lestrade. I think our investigations must now carry us to
Woolwich."
At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother,
which he handed to me before dispatching it. It ran thus:
See some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker
out. Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return
at Baker Street, a complete list of all foreign spies or
international agents known to be in England, with full
address.
SHERLOCK.
"That should be helpful, Watson," he remarked as we took
our seats in the Woolwich train. "We certainly owe Brother
Mycroft a debt for having introduced us to what promises to be a
really very remarkable case."
His eager face still wore that expression of intense and high-
strung energy, which showed me that some novel and suggestive
circumstance had opened up a stimulating line of thought. See
the foxhound with hanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls about
the kennels, and compare it with the same hound as, with
gleaming eyes and straining muscles, it runs upon a breast-high
scent -- such was the change in Holmes since the morning. He
was a different man from the limp and lounging figure in the
mouse-coloured dressing-gown who had prowled so restlessly
only a few hours before round the fog-girt room.
"There is material here. There is scope," said he. "I am dull
indeed not to have understood its possibilities."
"Even now they are dark to me."
"The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of one idea
which may lead us far. The man met his death elsewhere, and
his body was on the roof of a carriage."
"On the roof!"
"Remarkable, is it not? But consider the facts. Is it a coinci-
dence that it is found at the very point where the train pitches
and sways as it comes round on the points? Is not that the place
where an object upon the roof might be expected to fall off? The
points would affect no object inside the train. Either the body fell
from the roof, or a very curious coincidence has occurred. But
now consider the question of the blood. Of course, there was no
bleeding on the line if the body had bled elsewhere. Each fact is
suggestive in itself. Together they have a cumulative force."
"And the ticket, too!" I cried.
"Exactly. We could not explain the absence of a ticket. This
would explain it. Everything fits together."
"But suppose it were so, we are still as far as ever from
unravelling the mystery of his death. Indeed, it becomes not
simpler but stranger."
"Perhaps," said Holmes thoughtfully, "perhaps." He re-
lapsed into a silent reverie, which lasted until the slow train drew
up at last in Woolwich Station. There he called a cab and drew
Mycroft's paper from his pocket.
"We have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make,"
said he. "I think that Sir James Walter claims our first attention. "
The house of the famous official was a fine villa with green
lawns, stretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog
was lifting, and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A
butler answered our ring.
"Sir James, sir!" said he with solemn face. "Sir James died
this morning."
"Good heavens!" cried Holmes in amazement. "How did he
die?"
"Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother,
Colonel Valentine?"
"Yes, we had best do so."
We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an in-
stant later we were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-
bearded man of fifty, the younger brother of the dead scientist.
His wild eyes, stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke of the
sudden blow which had fallen upon the household. He was
hardly articulate as he spoke of it.
"It was this horrible scandal," said he. "My brother, Sir
James, was a man of very sensitive honour, and he could not
survive such an affair. It broke his heart. He was always so
proud of the efficiency of his department, and this was a crush-
ing blow."
"We had hoped that he might have given us some indications
which would have helped us to clear the matter up."
"I assure you that it was all a mystery to him as it is to you
and to all of us. He had already put all his knowledge at the
disposal of the police. Naturally he had no doubt that Cadogan
West was guilty. But all the rest was inconceivable."
"You cannot throw any new light upon the affair?"
"I know nothing myself save what I have read or heard. I
have no desire to be discourteous, but you can understand, Mr.
Holmes, that we are much disturbed at present, and I must ask
you to hasten this interview to an end."
"This is indeed an unexpected development," said my friend
when we had regained the cab. "I wonder if the death was
natural, or whether the poor old fellow killed himself! If the
latter, may it be taken as some sign of self-reproach for duty
neglected? We must leave that question to the future. Now we
shall turn to the Cadogan Wests."
A small but well-kept house in the outskirts of the town
sheltered the bereaved mother. The old lady was too dazed with
grief to be of any use to us, but at her side was a white-faced
young lady, who introduced herself as Miss Violet Westbury, the
fiancee of the dead man, and the last to see him upon that fatal
night.
"I cannot explain it, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I have not shut
an eye since the tragedy, thinking, thinking, thinking, night and
day, what the true meaning of it can be. Arthur was the most
single-minded, chivalrous, patriotic man upon earth. He would
have cut his right hand off before he would sell a State secret
confided to his keeping. It is absurd, impossible, preposterous to
anyone who knew him."
"But the facts, Miss Westbury?"
"Yes, yes I admit I cannot explain them."
"Was he in any want of money?"
"No; his needs were very simple and his salary ample. He had
saved a few hundreds, and we were to marry at the New Year."
"No signs of any mental excitement? Come, Miss Westbury,
be absolutely frank with us."
The quick eye of my companion had noted some change in her
manner. She coloured and hesitated.
"Yes," she said at last, "I had a feeling that there was
something on his mind."
"For long?"
"Only for the last week or so. He was thoughtful and worried.
Once I pressed him about it. He admitted that there was some-
thing, and that it was concerned with his official life. 'It is too
serious for me to speak about, even to you,' said he. I could get
nothing more."
Holmes looked grave.
"Go on, Miss Westbury. Even if it seems to tell against him,
go on. We cannot say what it may lead to."
"Indeed, I have nothing more to tell. Once or twice it seemed
to me that he was on the point of telling me something. He spoke
one evening of the importance of the secret, and I have some
recollection that he said that no doubt foreign spies would pay a
great deal to have it."
My friend's face grew graver still.
"Anything else?"
"He said that we were slack about such matters -- that it would
be easy for a traitor to get the plans."
"Was it only recently that he made such remarks?"
"Yes, quite recently."
"Now tell us of that last evening."
"We were to go to the theatre. The fog was so thick that a cab
was useless. We walked, and our way took us close to the office.
Suddenly he darted away into the fog."
"Without a word?"
"He gave an exclamation; that was all. I waited but he never
returned. Then I walked home. Next morning, after the office
opened, they came to inquire. About twelve o'clock we heard
the terrible news. Oh, Mr. Holmes, if you could only, only save
his honour! It was so much to him."
Holmes shook his head sadly.
"Come, Watson," said he, "our ways lie elsewhere. Our next
station must be the office from which the papers were taken.
"It was black enough before against this young man, but our
inquiries make it blacker," he remarked as the cab lumbered off.
"His coming marriage gives a motive for the crime. He naturally
wanted money. The idea was in his head, since he spoke about
it. He nearly made the girl an accomplice in the treason by
telling her his plans. It is all very bad."
"But surely, Holmes, character goes for something? Then,
again, why should he leave the girl in the street and dart away to
commit a felony?"
"Exactly! There are certainly objections. But it is a formida-
ble case which they have to meet."
Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk, met us at the office and
recelved us with that respect which my companion's card always
commanded. He was a thin, gruff, bespectacled man of middle
age, his cheeks haggard, and his hands twitching from the
nervous strain to which he had been subjected.
"It is bad, Mr. Holmes, very bad! Have you heard of the
death of the chief?"
"We have just come from his house."
"The place is disorganized. The chief dead, Cadogan West
dead, our papers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on
Monday evening, we were as efficient an office as any in the
government service. Good God, it's dreadful to think of! That
West, of all men, should have done such a thing!"
"You are sure of his guilt, then?"
"I can see no other way out of it. And yet I would have trusted
him as I trust myself."
"At what hour was the office closed on Monday?"
"At five."
"Did you close it?"
"I am always the last man out."
"Where were the plans?"
"In that safe. I put them there myself."
"Is there no watchman to the building?"
"There is, but he has other departments to look after as well.
He is an old soldier and a most trustworthy man. He saw nothing
that evening. Of course the fog was very thick."
"Suppose that Cadogan West wished to make his way into the
building after hours; he would need three keys, would he not,
before he could reach the papers?"
"Yes, he would. The key of the outer door, the key of the
office, and the key of the safe."
"Only Sir James Walter and you had those keys?"
"I had no keys of the doors -- only of the safe."
"Was Sir James a man who was orderly in his habits?"
"Yes, I think he was. I know that so far as those three keys
are concerned he kept them on the same ring. I have often seen
them there."
"And that ring went with him to London?"
"He said so."
"And your key never left your possession?"
"Never."
"Then West, if he is the culprit, must have had a duplicate.
And yet none was found upon his body. One other point: if a
clerk in this office desired to sell the plans, would it not be
simpler to copy the plans for himself than to take the originals,
as was actually done?"
"It would take considerable technical knowledge to copy the
plans in an effective way."
"But I suppose either Sir James, or you, or West had that
technical knowledge?"
"No doubt we had, but I beg you won't try to drag me into
the matter, Mr. Holmes. What is the use of our speculating in
this way when the original plans were actually found on West?"
"Well, it is certainly singular that he should run the risk of
taking originals if he could safely have taken copies, which
would have equally served his turn."
"Singular, no doubt -- and yet he did so."
"Every inquiry in this case reveals something inexplicable.
Now there are three papers still missing. They are, as I under-
stand, the vital ones."
"Yes, that is so."
"Do you mean to say that anyone holding these three papers
and without the seven others, could construct a Bruce-Partington
submarine?"
"I reported to that effect to the Admiralty. But to-day I have
been over the drawings again, and I am not so sure of it. The
double valves with the automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in
one of the papers which have been returned. Until the foreigners
had invented that for themselves they could not make the boat.
Of course they might soon get over the difficulty."
"But the three missing drawings are the most important?"
"Undoubtedly."
"I think, with your permission, I will now take a stroll round
me premises. I do not recall any other question which I desired
to ask."
He examined the lock of the safe, the door of the room, and
finally the iron shutters of the window. It was only when we
were on the lawn outside that his interest was strongly excited.
There was a laurel bush outside the window, and several of the
branches bore signs of having been twisted or snapped. He
examined them carefully with his lens, and then some dim and
vague marks upon the earth beneath. Finally he asked the chief
clerk to close the iron shutters, and he pointed out to me that
they hardly met in the centre, and that it would be possible for
anyone outside to see what was going on within the room.
"The indications are ruined by the three days' delay. They
may mean something or nothing. Well, Watson, I do not think
that Woolwich can help us further. It is a small crop which we
have gathered. Let us see if we can do better in London."
Yet we added one more sheaf to our harvest before we left
Woolwich Station. The clerk in the ticket office was able to say
with confidence that he saw Cadogan West -- whom he knew
well by sight -- upon the Monday night, and that he went to
London by the 8:15 to London Bridge. He was alone and took a
single third-class ticket. The clerk was struck at the time by his
excited and nervous manner. So shaky was he that he could
hardly pick up his change, and the clerk had helped him with it.
A reference to the timetable showed that the 8:15 was the first
train which it was possible for West to take after he had left the
lady about 7:30.
"Let us reconstruct, Watson," said Holmes after half an hour
of silence. "I am not aware that in all our joint researches we
have ever had a case which was more difficult to get at. Every
fresh advance which we make only reveals a fresh ridge beyond.
And yet we have surely made some appreciable progress.
"The effect of our inquiries at Woolwich has in the main been
against young Cadogan West; but the indications at the window
would lend themselves to a more favourable hypothesis. Let us
suppose, for example, that he had been approached by some
foreign agent. It might have been done under such pledges as
would have prevented him from speaking of it, and yet would
have affected his thoughts in the direction indicated by his
remarks to his fiancee. Very good. We will now suppose that as
he went to the theatre with the young lady he suddenly, in the
fog, caught a glimpse of this same agent going in the direction of
the office. He was an impetuous man, quick in his decisions.
Everything gave way to his duty. He followed the man, reached
the window, saw the abstraction of the documents, and pursued
the thief. In this way we get over the objection that no one would
take originals when he could make copies. This outsider had to
take originals. So far it holds together."
"What is the next step?"
"Then we come into difficulties. One would imagine that
under such circumstances the first act of young Cadogan West
would be to seize the villain and raise the alarm. Why did he not
do so? Could it have been an official superior who took the
papers? That would explain West's conduct. Or could the chief
have given West the slip in the fog, and West started at once to
London to head him off from his own rooms, presuming that he
knew where the rooms were? The call must have been very
pressing, since he left his girl standing in the fog and made no
effort to communicate with her. Our scent runs cold here, and
there is a vast gap between either hypothesis and the laying of
West's body, with seven papers in his pocket, on the roof of a
Metropolitan train. My instinct now is to work from the other
end. If Mycroft has given us the list of addresses we may be able
to pick our man and follow two tracks instead of one."
Surely enough, a note awaited us at Baker Street. A govern-
ment messenger had brought it post-haste. Holmes glanced at it
and threw it over to me.
There are numerous small fry, but few who would handle
so big an affair. The only men worth considering are Adolph
Meyer, of 13 Great George Street, Westminster; Louis La
Rothiere, of Campden Mansions, Notting Hill; and Hugo
Oberstein, 13 Caulfield Gardens, Kensington. The latter
was known to be in town on Monday and is now reported as
having left. Glad to hear you have seen some light. The
Cabinet awaits your final report with the utmost anxiety.
Urgent representations have arrived from the very highest
quarter. The whole force of the State is at your back if you
should need it.
MYCROFT.
"I'm afraid," said Holmes, smiling, "that all the queen's
horses and all the queen's men cannot avail in this matter." He
had spread out his big map of London and leaned eagerly over it.
"Well, well," said he presently with an exclamation of satisfac-
tion, "things are turning a little in our direction at last. Why
Watson, I do honestly believe that we are going to pull it off,
after all." He slapped me on the shoulder with a sudden burst of
hilarity. "I am going out now. It is only a reconnaissance. I will
do nothing serious without my trusted comrade and biographer at
my elbow. Do you stay here, and the odds are that you will see
me again in an hour or two. If time hangs heavy get foolscap and
a pen, abd begin your narrative of how we saved the State."
I felt some reflection of his elation in my own mind, for I
knew well that he would not depart so far from his usual
austerity of demeanour unless there was good cause for exulta-
tion. All the long November evening I waited, filled with impa-
tience for his return. At last, shortly after nine o'clock, there
arrived a messenger with a note:
Am dining at Goldini's Restaurant, Gloucester Road,
Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring
with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver.
S. H.
It was a nice equipment for a respectable citizen to carry
through the dim, fog-draped streets. I stowed them all discreetly
away in my overcoat and drove straight to the address given.
There sat my friend at a little round table near the door of the
garish Italian restaurant.
"Have you had something to eat? Then join me in a coffee
and curacao. Try one of the proprietor's cigars. They are less
poisonous than one would expect. Have you the tools?"
"They are here, in my overcoat."
"Excellent. Let me give you a short sketch of what I have
done, with some indication of what we are about to do. Now it
must be evident to you, Watson, that this young man's body was
placed on the roof of the train. That was clear from the instant
that I determined the fact that it was from the roof, and not from
a carriage, that he had fallen."
"Could it not have been dropped from a bridge?"
"I should say it was impossible. If you examine the roofs you
will find that they are slightly rounded, and there is no railing
round them. Therefore, we can say for certain that young Cadogan
West was placed on it."
"How could he be placed there?"
"That was the question which we had to answer. There is only
one possible way. You are aware that the Underground runs
clear of tunnels at some points in the West End. I had a vague
memory that as I have travelled by it I have occasionally seen
windows just above my head. Now, suppose that a train halted
under such a window, would there be any difficulty in laying a
body upon the roof?"
"It seems most improbable."
"We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other
contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must
be the truth. Here all other contingencies have failed. When I
found that the leading international agent, who had just left
London, lived in a row of houses which abutted upon the Under-
ground, I was so pleased that you were a little astonished at my
sudden frivolity."
"Oh, that was it, was it?"
"Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13 Caulfield
Gardens, had become my objective. I began my operations at
Gloucester Road Station, where a very helpful official walked
with me along the track and allowed me to satisfy myself not
only that the back-stair windows of Caulfield Gardens open on
the line but the even more essential fact that, owing to the
intersection of one of the larger railways, the Underground trains
are frequently held motionless for some minutes at that very
spot."
"Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!"
"So far -- so far, Watson. We advance, but the goal is afar.
Well, having seen the back of Caulfield Gardens, I visited the
front and satisfied myself that the bird was indeed flown. It is a
considerable house, unfurnished, so far as I could judge, in the
upper rooms. Oberstein lived there with a single valet, who was
probably a confederate entirely in his confidence. We must bear
in mind that Oberstein has gone to the Continent to dispose of
his booty, but not with any idea of flight; for he had no reason to
fear a warrant, and the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit
would certainly never occur to him. Yet that is precisely what we
are about to make."
"Could we not get a warrant and legalize it?"
"Hardly on the evidence."
"What can we hope to do?"
"We cannot tell what correspondence may be there."
"I don't like it, Holmes."
"My dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the street. I'll do
the criminal part. It's not a time to stick at trifles. Think of
Mycroft's note, of the Admiralty, the Cabinet, the exalted person
who waits for news. We are bound to go."
My answer was to rise from the table.
"You are right, Holmes. We are bound to go."
He sprang up and shook me by the hand.
"I knew you would not shrink at the last," said he, and for a
moment I saw something in his eyes which was nearer to tender-
ness than I had ever seen. The next instant he was his masterful,
practical self once more.
"It is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry. Let us walk,"
said he. "Don't drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as a
suspicious character would be a most unfortunate complication."
Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced, pillared,
and porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the
middle Victorian epoch in the West End of London. Next door
there appeared to be a children's party, for the merry buzz of
young voices and the clatter of a piano resounded through the
night. The fog still hung about and screened us with its friendly
shade. Holmes had lit his lantern and flashed it upon the massive
door.
"This is a serious proposition," said he. "It is certainly
bolted as well as locked. We would do better in the area. There
is an excellent archway down yonder in case a too zealous
policeman should intrude. Give me a hand, Watson, and I'll do
the same for you."
A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we
reached the dark shadows before the step of the policeman was
heard in the fog above. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set
to work upon the lower door. I saw him stoop and strain until
with a sharp crash it flew open. We sprang through into the dark
passage, closing the area door behind us. Holmes led the way up
the curving, uncarpeted stair. His little fan of yellow light shone
upon a low window.
"Here we are, Watson -- this must be the one." He threw it
open, and as he did so there was a low, harsh murmur, growing
steadily into a loud roar as a train dashed past us in the darkness.
Holmes swept his light along the window-sill. It was thickly
coated with soot from the passing engines, but the black surface
was blurred and rubbed in places.
"You can see where they rested the body. Halloa, Watson!
what is this? There can be no doubt that it is a blood mark." He
was pointing to faint discolourations along the woodwork of the
window. "Here it is on the stone of the stair also. The demon-
stration is complete. Let us stay here until a train stops. "
We had not long to wait. The very next train roared from the
tunnel as before, but slowed in the open, and then, with a
creaking of brakes, pulled up immediately beneath us. It was not
four feet from the window-ledge to the roof of the carriages.
Holmes softly closed the window.
"So far we are justified," said he. "What do you think of it,
Watson?"
"A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height."
"I cannot agree with you there. From the moment that I
conceived the idea of the body being upon the roof, which surely
was not a very abstruse one, all the rest was inevitable. If it were
not for the grave interests involved the affair up to this point
would be insignificant. Our difficulties are still before us. But
perhaps we may find something here which may help us."
We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite of
rooms upon the first floor. One was a dining-room, severely
furnished and containing nothing of interest. A second was a
bedroom, which also drew blank. The remaining room appeared
more promising, and my companion settled down to a systematic
examination. It was littered with books and papers, and was
evidently used as a study. Swiftly and methodically Holmes turned
over the contents of drawer after drawer and cupboard after
cupboard, but no gleam of success came to brighten his austere
face. At the end of an hour he was no further than when he
started.
"The cunning dog has covered his tracks," said he. "He has
left nothing to incriminate him. His dangerous correspondence
has been destroyed or removed. This is our last chance."
It was a small tin cash-box which stood upon the writing-
desk. Holmes pried it open with his chisel. Several rolls of paper
were within, covered with figures and calculations, without any
note to show to what they referred. The recurring words "water
pressure" and "pressure to the square inch" suggested some
possible relation to a submarine. Holmes tossed them all impa-
tiently aside. There only remained an envelope with some
small newspaper slips inside it. He shook them out on the
table, and at once I saw by his eager face that his hopes had
been raised.
"What's this, Watson? Eh? What's this? Record of a series of
messages in the advertisements of a paper. Daily Telegraph
agony column by the print and paper. Right-hand top corner of a
page. No dates -- but messages arrange themselves. This must be
the first:
"Hoped to hear sooner. Terms agreed to. Write fully to
address given on card.
PIERROT.
"Next comes:
"Too complex for description. Must have full report.
Stuff awaits you when goods delivered.
PIERROT.
"Then comes:
"Matter presses. Must withdraw offer unless contract
completed. Make appointment by letter. Will confirm by
advertisement.
PIERROT.
"Finally:
"Monday night after nine. Two taps. Only ourselves. Do
not be so suspicious. Payment in hard cash when goods
delivered.
PIERROT.
"A fairly complete record, Watson! If we could only get at
the man at the other end!" He sat lost in thought, tapping his
fingers on the table. Finally he sprang to his feet.
"Well, perhaps it won't be so difficult, after all. There is
nothing more to be done here, Watson. I think we might drive
round to the offices of the Daily Telegraph, and so bring a good
day's work to a conclusion."
Mycroft Holmes and Lestrade had come round by appointment
after breakfast next day and Sherlock Holmes had recounted to
them our proceedings of the day before. The professional shook
his head over our confessed burglary.
"We can't do these things in the force, Mr. Holmes," said
he. "No wonder you get results that are beyond us. But some of
these days you'll go too far, and you'll find yourself and your
friend in trouble."
"For England, home and beauty -- eh, Watson? Martyrs on the
altar of our country. But what do you think of it, Mycroft?"
"Excellent, Sherlock! Admirable! But what use will you make
of it?"
Holmes picked up the Daily Telegroph which lay upon the
table.
"Have you seen Pierrot's advertisement to-day?"
"What? Another one?"
"Yes, here it is:
"To-night. Same hour. Same place. Two taps. Most
vitally important. Your own safety at stake.
PIERROT.
"By George!" cried Lestrade. "If he answers that we've got
him!"
"That was my idea when I put it in. I think if you could both
make it convenient to come with us about eight o'clock to
Caulfield Gardens we might possibly get a little nearer to a
solution."
One of the most remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmes
was his power of throwing his brain out of action and switching
all his thoughts on to lighter things whenever he had convinced
himself that he could no longer work to advantage. I remember
that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a
monograph which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Mo-
tets of Lassus. For my own part I had none of this power of
detachment, and the day, in consequence, appeared to be inter-
minable. The great national importance of the issue, the suspense
in high quarters, the direct nature of the experiment which we
were trying -- all combined to work upon my nerve. It was a
relief to me when at last, after a light dinner, we set out upon our
expedition. Lestrade and Mycroft met us by appointment at the
outside of Gloucester Road Station. The area door of Oberstein's
house had been left open the night before, and it was necessary
for me, as Mycroft Holmes absolutely and indignantly declined
to climb the railings, to pass in and open the hall door. By nine
o'clock we were all seated in the study, waiting patiently for our
man.
An hour passed and yet another. When eleven struck, the
measured beat of the great church clock seemed to sound the
dirge of our hopes. Lestrade and Mycroft were fidgeting in their
seats and looking twice a minute at their watches. Holmes sat
silent and composed, his eyelids half shut, but every sense on the
alert. He raised his head with a sudden jerk.
"He is coming," said he.
There had been a furtive step past the door. Now it returned.
We heard a shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps
with the knocker. Holmes rose, motioning to us to remain seated.
The gas in the hall was a mere point of light. He opened the
outer door, and then as a dark figure slipped past him he closed
and fastened it. "This way!" we heard him say, and a moment
later our man stood before us. Holmes had followed him closely,
and as the man turned with a cry of surprise and alarm he caught
him by the collar and threw him back into the room. Before our
prisoner had recovered his balance the door was shut and Holmes
standing with his back against it. The man glared round him,
staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor. With the shock, his
broad-brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped down
from his lips, and there were the long light beard and the soft,
handsome delicate features of Colonel Valentine Walter.
Holmes gave a whistle of surprise.
"You can write me down an ass this time, Watson," said he.
"This was not the bird that I was looking for."
"Who is he?" asked Mycroft eagerly.
"The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head
of the Submarine Department. Yes, yes; I see the fall of the
cards. He is coming to. I think that you had best leave his
examination to me."
We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa. Now our
prisoner sat up, looked round him with a horror-stricken face,
and passed his hand over his forehead, like one who cannot
believe his own senses.
"What is this?" he asked. "I came here to visit Mr. Oberstein."
"Everything is known, Colonel Walter," said Holmes. "How
an English gentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond
my comprehension. But your whole correspondence and rela-
tions with Oberstein are within our knowledge. So also are the
circumstances connected with the death of young Cadogan West.
Let me advise you to gain at least the small credit for repentance
and confession, since there are still some details which we can
only learn from your lips."
The man groaned and sank his face in his hands. We waited,
but he was silent.
"I can assure you," said Holmes, "that every essential is
already known. We know that you were pressed for money; that
you took an impress of the keys which your brother held; and
that you entered into a correspondence with Oberstein, who
answered your letters through the advertisement columns of the
Daily Telegraph. We are aware that you went down to the office
in the fog on Monday night, but that you were seen and followed
by young Cadogan West, who had probably some previous
reason to suspect you. He saw your theft, but could not give the
alarm, as it was just possible that you were taking the papers to
your brother in London. Leaving all his private concerns, like
the good citizen that he was, he followed you closely in the fog
and kept at your heels until you reached this very house. There
he intervened, and then it was, Colonel Walter, that to treason
you added the more terrible crime of murder."
"I did not! I did not! Before God I swear that I did not!" cried
our wretched prisoner.
"Tell us, then, how Cadogan West met his end before you
laid him upon the roof of a railway carriage."
"I will. I swear to you that I will. I did the rest. I confess it. It
was just as you say. A Stock Exchange debt had to be paid. I
needed the money badly. Oberstein offered me five thousand. It
was to save myself from ruin. But as to murder, I am as innocent
as you."
"What happened, then?"
"He had his suspicions before, and he followed me as you
describe. I never knew it until I was at the very door. It was
thick fog, and one could not see three yards. I had given two
taps and Oberstein had come to the door. The young man rushed
up and demanded to know what we were about to do with the
papers. Oberstein had a short life-preserver. He always carried it
with him. As West forced his way after us into the house
Oberstein struck him on the head. The blow was a fatal one. He
was dead within five minutes. There he lay in the hall, and we
were at our wit's end what to do. Then Oberstein had this idea
about the trains which halted under his back window. But first he
examined the papers which I had brought. He said that three of
them were essential, and that he must keep them. 'You cannot
keep them,' said I. 'There will be a dreadful row at Woolwich if
they are not returned.' 'I must keep them,' said he, 'for they are
so technical that it is impossible in the time to make copies.'
'Then they must all go back together tonight,' said I. He thought
for a little, and then he cried out that he had it. 'Three I will
keep,' said he. 'The others we will stuff into the pocket of this
young man. When he is found the whole business will assuredly
be put to his account. I could see no other way out of it, so we
did as he suggested. We waited half an hour at the window
before a train stopped. It was so thick that nothing could be seen,
and we had no difficulty in lowering West's body on to the train.
That was the end of the matter so far as I was concerned."
"And your brother?"
"He said nothing, but he had caught me once with his keys,
and I think that he suspected. I read in his eyes that he sus-
pected. As you know, he never held up his head again."
There was silence in the room. It was broken by Mycroft
Holmes.
"Can you not make reparation? It would ease your con-
science, and possibly your punishment."
"What reparation can I make?"
"Where is Oberstein with the papers?"
"I do not know."
"Did he give you no address?"
"He said that letters to the Hotel du Louvre, Paris, would
eventually reach him."
"Then reparation is still within your power," said Sherlock
Holmes.
"I will do anything I can. I owe this fellow no particular
good-will. He has been my ruin and my downfall."
"Here are paper and pen. Sit at this desk and write to my
dictation. Direct the envelope to the address given. That is right.
Now the letter:
"DEAR SIR:
"With regard to our transaction, you will no doubt have
observed by now that one essential detail is missing. I have
a tracing which will make it complete. This has involved
me in extra trouble, however, and I must ask you for a
further advance of five hundred pounds. I will not trust it to
the post, nor will I take anything but gold or notes. I would
come to you abroad, but it would excite remark if I left the
country at present. Therefore I shall expect to meet you in
the smoking-room of the Charing Cross Hotel at noon on
Saturday. Remember that only English notes, or gold, will
be taken.
That will do very well. I shall be very much surprised if it does
not fetch our man."
And it did! It is a matter of history -- that secret history of a
nation which is often so much more intimate and interesting than
its public chronicles -- that Oberstein, eager to complete the coup
of his lifetime, came to the lure and was safely engulfed for
fifteen years in a British prison. In his trunk were found the
invaluable Bruce-Partington plans, which he had put up for
auction in all the naval centres of Europe.
Colonel Walter died in prison towards the end of the second
year of his sentence. As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his
monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has
since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts
to be the last word upon the subject. Some weeks afterwards I
learned incidentally that my friend spent a day at Windsor,
whence he returned with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin.
When I asked him if he had bought it, he answered that it was a
present from a certain gracious lady in whose interests he had
once been fortunate enough to carry out a small commission. He
said no more, but I fancy that I could guess at that lady's august
name, and I have little doubt that the emerald pin will forever
recall to my friend's memory the adventure of the Bruce-Partington
plans.
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