The Adventure of the Cardboard Box

In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable

mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeav-

oured, as far as possible, to select those which presented the

minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his

talents. It is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to sepa-

rate the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in

the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are

essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the

problem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice,

has provided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my

notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terri-

ble, chain of events.

It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an

oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of

the house across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard to

believe that these were the same walls which loomed so gloomily

through the fogs of winter. Our blinds were half-drawn, and

Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter

which he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term

of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold,

and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning

paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was

out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or

the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me

to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the

country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He

loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with his

filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to

every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation

of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only

change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the

town to track down his brother of the country.

Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had

tossed aside the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell

into a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in

upon my thoughts:

"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a most

preposterous way of settling a dispute."

"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then suddenly realiz-

ing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in

my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.

"What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything

which I could have imagined."

He laughed heartily at my perplexity.

"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago when I

read you the passage in one of Poe's sketches in which a close

reasoner follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you

were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of the

author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of

doing the same thing you expressed incredulity."

"Oh, no!"

"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly

with your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper

and enter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the

oportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it,

as a proof that I had been in rapport with you."

But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you

read to me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the

actions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, he

stumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so

on. But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues

can I have given you?"

"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man

as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours

are faithful servants."

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

my features?"

"Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot

yourself recall how your reverie commenced?"

"No, I cannot."

"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which

was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a

minute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed them-

selves upon your newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I

saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been

started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across to

the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon

the top of your books. Then you glanced up at the wall, and of

course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the

portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and

correspond with Gordon's picture over there."

"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.

"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your

thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if

you were studying the character in his features. Then your eyes

ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your

face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Bee-

cher's career. I was well aware that you could not do this

without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of

the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember your

expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he

was received by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so

strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Beecher

without thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw your

eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind

had now turned to the Civil War, and when I observed that your

lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched I was

positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was

shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again,

your face grew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling

upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand

stole towards your own old wound and a smile quivered on your

lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of

settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind.

At this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous and was

glad to find that all my deductions had been correct."

"Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I

confess that I am as amazed as before."

"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I

should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not

shown some incredulity the other day. But I have in my hands

here a little problem which may prove to be more difficult of

solution than my small essay in thought reading. Have you

observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to the remark-

able contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss Cushing,

of Cross Street, Croydon?"

"No, I saw nothing."

"Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to

me. Here it is, under the financial column. Perhaps you would

be good enough to read it aloud."

I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and

read the paragraph indicated. It was headed "A Gruesome

Packet."

 

"Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon,

has been made the victim of what must be regarded as a

peculiarly revolting practical joke unless some more sinister

meaning should prove to be attached to the incident. At two

o'clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrapped in

brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard

box was inside, which was filled with coarse salt. On

emptying this, Miss Cushing was horrified to find two

human ears, apparently quite freshly severed. The box had

been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morning

before. There is no indication as to the sender, and the

matter is the more mysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a

maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retired life, and has so

few acquaintances or correspondents that it is a rare event

for her to receive anything through the post. Some years

ago, however, when she resided at Penge, she let apart-

ments in her house to three young medical students,

whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their

noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion that

this outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cush-

ing by these youths, who owed her a grudge and who

hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of the

dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the theory

by the fact that one of these students came from the

north of Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing's

belief, from Belfast. In the meantime, the matter is being

actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one of the very smart-

est of our detective officers, being in charge of the

case."

 

"So much for the Daily Chronicle," said Holmes as I finished

reading. "Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him

this morning, in which he says:

 

"I think that this case is very much in your line. We have

every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little

difficulty in getting anything to work upon. We have, of

course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but a large number

of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no

means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering

the sender. The box is a half-pound box of honeydew

tobacco and does not help us in any way. The medical

student theory still appears to me to be the most feasible,

but if you should have a few hours to spare I should be very

happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or

in the police-station all day.

 

What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and

run down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for

your annals?"

"I was longing for something to do."

"You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to

order a cab. I'll be back in a moment when I have changed my

dressing-gown and filled my cigar-case."

A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat

was far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had

sent on a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as

ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of

five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.

It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and

prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned

women gossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped

and tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl.

Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were

ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes,

and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A

worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured

silks stood upon a stool beside her.

"They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she as

Lestrade entered. "I wish that you would take them away

altogether."

"So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my

friend, Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your presence."

"Why in my presence, sir?"

"In case he wished to ask any questions."

"What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I

know nothing whatever about it?"

"Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I

have no doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough

already over this business."

"Indeed, I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired

life. It is something new for me to see my name in the papers

and to find the police in my house. I won't have those things in

here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the

outhouse."

It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the

house. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box,

with a piece of brown paper and some string. There was a bench

at the end of the path, and we all sat down while Holmes

examined, one by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to

him.

"The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding

it up to the light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of this

string, Lestrade?"

"It has been tarred."

"Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no

doubt, remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a

scissors, as can be seen by the double fray on each side. This is

of importance."

"I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade.

"The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and

that this knot is of a peculiar character."

"It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note to that

effect," said Lestrade complacently.

"So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now

for the box wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of

coffee. What, did you not observe it? I think there can be no

doubt of it. Address printed in rather straggling characters: 'Miss

S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointed

pen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The word 'Croydon'

has been originally spelled with an 'i,' which has been changed

to 'y.' The parcel was directed, then, by a man -- the printing is

distinctly masculine -- of limited education and unacquainted with

the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a yellow

half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two

thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt

of the quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarser

commercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singu-

lar enclosures."

He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board

across his knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and

I, bending forward on each side of him, glanced alternately at

these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our

companion. Finally he returned them to the box once more and

sat for a while in deep meditation.

"You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the

ears are not a pair."

"Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke

of some students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy

for them to send two odd ears as a pair."

"Precisely. But this is not a practical joke."

"You are sure of it?"

"The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-

rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no

signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a

blunt ihstrument, which would hardly happen if a student had

done it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preserva-

tives ivhich would suggest themselves to the medical mind,

certainly not rough salt. I repeat that there is no practical joke

here, but that we are investigating a serious crime."

A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's

words and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features.

This brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and

inexplicable horror in the background. Lestrade, however, shook

his head like a man who is only half convinced.

"There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he,

"but there are much stronger reasons against the other. We know

that this woman has led a most quiet and respectable life at

Penge and here for the last twenty years. She has hardly been

away from her home for a day during that time. Why on earth,

then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt,

especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she

understands quite as little of the matter as we do?"

"That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes

answered, "and for my part I shall set about it by presuming that

my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been

committed. One of these ears is a woman's, small, finely formed,

and pierced for an earring. The other is a man's, sun-burned,

discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. These two people

are presumably dead, or we should have heard their story before

now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursday

morning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday

or earlier. If the two people were murdered, who but their

murderer would have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing?

We may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we

want. But he must have some strong reason for sending Miss

Cushing this packet. What reason then? It must have been to tell

her that the deed was done! or to pain her, perhaps. But in that

case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she

knew, why should she call the police in? She might have buried

the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is what she

would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But if

she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There

is a tangle here which needs straightening out." He had been

talking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden

fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards

the house.

"I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he.

"In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I

have another small business on hand. I think that I have nothing

further to learn from Miss Cushing. You will find me at the

police-station."

"We shall look in on our way to the train," answered Holmes.

A moment later he and I were back in the front room, where the

impassive lady was still quietly working away at her antimacas-

sar. She put it down on her lap as we entered and looked at us

with her frank, searching blue eyes.

"I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mis-

take, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have

said this several times to the gentleman from Scotland Yard, but

he simply laughs at me. I have not an enemy in the world, as far

as I know, so why should anyone play me such a trick?"

"I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing," said

Holmes, taking a seat beside her. "I think that it is more than

probable " he paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round

to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady's

profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be

read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find

out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever. I

stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim cap, her

little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I could see nothing

which could account for my companion's evident excitement.

"There were one or two questions --"

"Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss Cushing impatiently.

"You have two sisters, I believe."

"How could you know that?"

"I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you

have a portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of

whom is undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceed-

ingly like you that there could be no doubt of the relationship."

"Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and

Mary."

"And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool,

of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to

be a steward by his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at

the time."

"You are very quick at observing."

"That is my trade."

"Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr.

Browner a few days afterwards. He was on the South American

line when that was taken, but he was so fond of her that he

couldn't abide to leave her for so long, and he got into the

Liverpool and London boats."

"Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?"

"No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to

see me once. That was before he broke the pledge; but after-

wards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a

little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad

day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped

me, then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has

stopped writing we don't know how things are going with them."

It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on

which she felt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely

life, she was shy at first, but ended by becoming extremely

communicative. She told us many details about her brother-in-law

the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former

lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their

delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals.

Holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing in a question

from time to time.

"About your second sister, Sarah," said he. "I wonder, since

you are both maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together."

"Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no

more. I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until

about two months ago, when we had to part. I don't want to say

a word against my own sister, but she was always meddlesome

and hard to please, was Sarah."

"You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations."

"Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she

went up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has

no word hard enough for Jim Browner. The last six months that

she was here she would speak of nothing but his drinking and his

ways. He had caught her meddling, I suspect, and given her a bit

of his mind, and that was the start of it."

"Thank you, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, rising and bow-

ing. "Your sister Sarah lives, I think you said, at New Street

Wallington? Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have

been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have

nothing whatever to do."

There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed

it.

"How far to Wallington?" he asked.

"Only about a mile, sir."

"Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron

is hot. Simple as the case is, there have been one or two very

instructive details in connection with it. Just pull up at a tele-

graph office as you pass, cabby."

Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay

back in the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun

from his face. Our driver pulled up at a house which was not

unlike the one which we had just quitted. My companion ordered

him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when the door

opened and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny

hat, appeared on the step.

"Is Miss Cushing at home?" asked Holmes.

"Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill," said he. "She has

been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great

severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the

responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I should recom-

mend you to call again in ten days." He drew on his gloves,

closed the door, and marched off down the street.

"Well, if we can't we can't," said Holmes, cheerfully.

"Perhaps she could not or would not have told you much."

"I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look

at her. However, I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us

to some decent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch,

and afterwards we shall drop down upon friend Lestrade at the

police-station."

We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes

would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exulta-

tion how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was

worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham

Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him to Paganini, and

we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me

anecdote after anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon

was far advanced and the hot glare had softened into a mellow

glow before we found ourselves at the police-station. Lestrade was

waiting for us at the door.

"A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes," said he.

"Ha! It is the answer!" He tore it open, glanced his eyes over

it, and crumpled it into his pocket. "That's all right," said he.

"Have you found out anything?"

"I have found out everything!"

"What!" Lestrade stared at him in amazement. "You are

joking."

"I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has

been committed, and I think I have now laid bare every detail of

it."

"And the criminal?"

Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his

visiting cards and threw it over to Lestrade.

"That is the name," he said. "You cannot effect an arrest

until to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do

not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I

choose to be only associated with those crimes which present

some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Watson." We strode

off together to the station, leaving Lestrade still staring with a

delighted face at the card which Holmes had thrown him.

 

"The case," said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over our

cigars that night in our rooms at Baker Street, "is one where, as

in the investigations which you have chronicled under the names

of 'A Study in Scarlet' and of 'The Sign of Four,' we have been

compelled to reason backward from effects to causes. I have

written to Lestrade asking him to supply us with the details

which are now wanting, and which he will only get after he has

secured his man. That he may be safely trusted to do, for

although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as

a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and,

indeed, it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at

Scotland Yard."

"Your case is not complete, then?" I asked.

"It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of

the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes

us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions."

"I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool

boat, is the man whom you suspect?"

"Oh! it is more than a suspicion."

"And yet I cannot see anything save very vague indications."

"On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear.

Let me run over the principal steps. We approached the case,

you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always

an advantage. We had formed no theories. We were simply there

to observe and to draw inferences from our observations. What

did we see first? A very placid and respectable lady, who seemed

quite innocent of any secret, and a portrait which showed me that

she had two younger sisters. It instantly flashed across my mind

that the box might have been meant for one of these. I set the

idea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at our

leisure. Then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we

saw the very singular contents of the little yellow box.

"The string was of the quality which is used by sailmakers

aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our

investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is

popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port,

and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so

much more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite

certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among

our seafaring classes.

"When I came to examine the address of the packet I ob-

served that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister

would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was

'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we

should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis

altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of

clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I

was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may

remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had

just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the

same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely.

"As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no

part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each

ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones.

In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short

monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore,

examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had

carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my sur-

prise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that

her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just

inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There

was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of

the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all

essentials it was the same ear.

"Of course I at once saw the enormous importance of the

observation. It was evident that the victim was a blood relation

and probably a very close one. I began to talk to her about her

family, and you remember that she at once gave us some exceed-

ingly valuable details

"In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her

address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite

obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet

was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third

sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with

Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near

the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This

quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months,

so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss

Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address.

"And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out won-

derfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an

impulsive man, of strong passions -- you remember that he threw

up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be

nearer to his wife -- subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drink-

ing. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered,

and that a man -- presumably a seafaring man -- had been mur-

dered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests

itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs

of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because

during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing

about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that

this line of boats calls at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that,

presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked

at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the

first place at which he could post his terrible packet.

"A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and

although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to

elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might

have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have

belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to

this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a tele-

gram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him

to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had

departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit

Miss Sarah.

"I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear

had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us

very important information, but I was not sanguine that she

would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since

all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have

understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been

willing to help justice she would probably have communicated

with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see

her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the

packet -- for her illness dated from that time -- had such an effect

upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that

she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we

should have to wait some time for any assistance from her.

"However, we were really independent of her help. Our

answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had

directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive.

Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days,

and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to

see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices

that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that

she is due in the Thames to-morrow night. When he arrives he

will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no

doubt that we shall have all our details filled in."

Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations.

Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a

short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which

covered several pages of foolscap.

"Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at

me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says.

 

"MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:

"In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in

order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Wat-

son, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday

at 6 P. M., and boarded the S. S. May Day, belonging to the

Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On

inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the

name of James Browner and that he had acted during

the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain

had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On de-

scending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with

his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro.

He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy --

something like Aldridge, who helped us in the bogus laun-

dry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I

had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police,

who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart

in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the

darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as

well, for we thought there might be something incriminat-

ing; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we

got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall

want no more evidence, for on being brought before the

inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement,

which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by

our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of

which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it

would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to

you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards,

"Yours very truly,

"G. LESTRADE

 

"Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one,"

remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light

when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner

has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before

Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has

the advantage of being verbatim."

 

* * *

 

" 'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to

make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave

me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not

shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will

again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but

most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other

before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind

o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be

surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked

anything but love upon her before.

" 'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken

man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's

not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink,

like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she

would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that

woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved

me -- that's the root of the business -- she loved me until all her

love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more

of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body

and soul.

" 'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a

good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel.

Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I mar-

ried. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up

house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman

than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the

week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she

was just one of ourselves.

" 'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little

money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God,

whoever would have thought that it could have come to this?

Whoever would have dreamed it?

" 'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and

sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a

whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my

sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick

and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint

from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was

there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for

God's mercy.

" 'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone

with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never

thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened.

I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at

home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay

some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the

room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary,

Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be

contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all

right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a

kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they

burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I

read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me

either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by

my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted

me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind

o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room.

" 'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart

and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to

let her go on biding with us -- a besotted fool -- but I never said a

word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on

much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a

bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting

and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious,

wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing,

and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets,

and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and

more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was

fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary

were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and

scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was

such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time.

Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I

think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as

ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the

gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec

Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker.

" 'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon

it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he

made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering

chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could

talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny

it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man,

so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more

of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of

my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might

come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made

me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever.

" 'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour

unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of

welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded

again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That

was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose

step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him

then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a

madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light

in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve.

"Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In

the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man

Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says

she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are

not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it

either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn

shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a

keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she

never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house.

" 'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the

part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn

me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway,

she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors.

Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have

tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know,

but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door

Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly

skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I

found her in his company again, and I led her back with me,

sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There

was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she

hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to

drink, then she despised me as well.

" 'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in

Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her

sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at

home. And then came this last week and all the misery and ruin.

" 'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a

round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and

started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for

twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a

surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she

would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as

I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed

me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two

chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood

watching them from the footpath.

" 'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that

moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream

when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the

two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something

throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that

morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in

my ears.

" 'Well, I took to my heels, and l ran after the cab. I had a

heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the

first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see

them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway

station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I

got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for

New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them.

When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was

never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them

hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and

they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water.

" 'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There

was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few

hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them.

I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as

fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore

before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round

us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I

ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that

was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a

madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen

death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that

crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps,

for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying

out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay

stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted

blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have

joined them. I pulled out my knife, and -- well, there! I've said

enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how

Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her

meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat,

stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very

well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings

in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up,

got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a

suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet

for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast.

" 'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or

do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have

been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two

faces staring at me -- staring at me as they stared when my boat

broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing

me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or

dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir?

Por pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of

agony as you treat me now.'

"What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly

als he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle

of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or

else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But

what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which

human reason is as far from an answer as ever."

 

===============================

A Case of Identity

 

"My dear fellow." said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either

side of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitely

stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We

would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere

commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window

hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the

roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the

strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the won-

derful chains of events, working through generation, and leading

to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with its

conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprof-

itable. "

"And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered. "The cases

which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough,

and vulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed

to its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed,

neither fascinating nor artistic."

"A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing

a realistic effect," remarked Holmes. "This is wanting in the

police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the

platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an

observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend

upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace."

I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite understand your

thinking so." I said. "Of course, in your position of unofficial

adviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled,

throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all

that is strange and bizarre. But here" -- I picked up the morning

paper from the ground -- "let us put it to a practical test. Here is

the first heading upon which I come. 'A husband's cruelty to his

wife.' There is half a column of print, but I know without

reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is. of

course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the

bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers

could invent nothing more crude."

"Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argu-

ment," said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down

it. "This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was

engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it.

The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and

the conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit

of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and

hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action

likely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller.

Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have

scored over you in your example."

He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in

the centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his

homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting

upon it.

"Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not seen you for some

weeks. It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return

for my assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers."

"And the ring?" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant

which sparkled upon his finger.

"It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the

matter in which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot

confide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle

one or two of my little problems."

"And have you any on hand just now?" I asked with interest.

"Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of

interest. They are important, you understand, without being

interesting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportant

matters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quick

analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investi-

gation. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the

bigger the crime thc more obvious, as a rule, is the motive. In

these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been

referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents

any features of interest. It is possible, however, that I may have

something better before very many minutes are over, for this is

one of my clients, or I am much mistaken."

He had risen from his chair and was standing between the

parted blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London

street. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement

opposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round

her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat

which was tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion

over her ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a

nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body

oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with

her glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer

who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard

the sharp clang of the bell.

"I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwing

his cigarette into the fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement al-

ways means an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is

not sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication.

And yet even here we may discriminate. When a woman has

been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and

the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. Here we may take it

that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much

angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she comes in person to

resolve our doubts."

As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons.

entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady her-

self loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed

merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes wel-

comed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable,

and, having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he

looked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which

was peculiar to him.

"Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a

little trying to do so much typewriting?"

"I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where the

letters are without looking." Then, suddenly realizing the full

purport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with

fear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face.

"You've heard about me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how

could you know all that?"

"Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business to

know things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others

overlook. If not, why should you come to consult me?"

"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs.

Etherege, whose husband you found so easy when the police and

everyone had given him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish

you would do as much for me. I'm not rich, but still I have a

hundred a year in my own right, besides the little that I make by

the machine, and I would give it all to know what has become of

Mr. Hosmer Angel."

"Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?"

asked Sherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his

eyes to the ceiling.

Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of

Miss Mary Sutherland. "Yes, I did bang out of the house," she

said, "for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr.

Windibank -- that is, my father -- took it all. He would not go to

the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he

would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm

done, it made me mad, and I just on with my things and came

right away to you."

"Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since

the name is different."

"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds

funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than

myself. "

"And your mother is alive?"

"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr.

Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death,

and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself.

Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a

tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr.

Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her

sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in

wines. They got 4700 pounds for the goodwill and interest, which

wasn't near as much as father could have got if he had been

alive."

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this

rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary he

had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.

"Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the

business?"

"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle

Ned in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4 1/2 per

cent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I

can only touch the interest."

"You interest me extremely," said Holmes. "And since you

draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into

the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in

every way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely

upon an income of about 60 pounds."

"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you

understand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a

burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while

I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the time.

Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over

to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn at

typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do

from fifteen to twenty sheets in a-day."

"You have made your position very clear to me," said Holmes.

"This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as

freely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your

connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel."

A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked

nervously at the fringe of her jacket. "I met him first at the

gasfitters' ball," she said. "They used to send father tickets

when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and

sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He

never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I

wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I

was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to

prevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all

father's friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing

fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much

as taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do,

he went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we

went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our

foreman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel."

"I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr. Windibank came

back from France he was very annoyed at your having gone to

the ball."

"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remem-

ber, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use

denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way."

"I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a

gentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel."

"Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask

if we had got home all safe, and after that we met him -- that is to

say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father

came back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the

house any more."

"No?"

"Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. He

wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say

that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But

then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle

to begin with, and I had not got mine yet."

"But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt

to see you?"

"Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and

Hosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to

see each other until he had gone. We could write in the mean-

time, and he used to write every day. I took the letters in in the

morning, so there was no need for father to know."

"Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk

that we took. Hosmer -- Mr. Angel -- was a cashier in an office in

Leadenhall Street -- and --"

"What office?"

"That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don't know."

"Where did he live, then?"

"He slept on the premises."

"And you don't know his address?''

"No -- except that it was Leadenhall Street."

"Where did you address your letters, then?"

"To the Leadenhall Street Post-Office, to be left till called

for. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be

chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady,

so I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn't

have that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to

come from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt

that the machine had come between us. That will just show you

how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he

would think of."

"It was most suggestive," said Holmes. "It has long been an

axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most impor-

tant. Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer

Angel?"

"He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk

with me in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he

hated to be conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was.

Even his voice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen

glands when he was young, he told me, and it had left him with

a weak throat, and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech.

He was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes

were weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against

the glare."

"Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfa-

ther, returned to France?"

"Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed

that we should marry before father came back. He was in

dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the

Testament, that whatever happened I would always be true to

him. Mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that

it was a sign of his passion. Mother was all in his favour from

the first and was even fonder of him than I was. Then, when

they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about

father; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to

tell him afterwards, and mother said she would make it all right

with him. I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny

that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older than

me; but I didn't want to do anything on the sly, so l wrote to

father at Bordeaux, where the company has its French offices,

but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the

wedding."

"It missed him, then?"

"Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived."

"Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then,

for the Friday. Was it to be in church?"

"Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour's, near

King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the

St. Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there

were two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a

four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the

street. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler

drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and

when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was

no one there! The cabman said that he couid not imagine what

had become of him, for he had seen him get in with his own

eyes. That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen

or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what

became of him."

"It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated,"

said Holmes.

"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why,

all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I

was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen

occurred to separate us, I was always to remember that I was

pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or

later. It seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what

has happened since gives a meaning to it."

"Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some

unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?"

"Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he

would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw

happened."

"But you have no notion as to what it could have been?"

"None."

"One more question. How did your mother take the matter?"

"She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the

matter again."

"And your father? Did you tell him?"

"Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had

happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said,

what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of

the church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my

money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on

him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very indepen-

dent about money and never would look at a shilling of mine.

And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not

write? Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep

a wink at night." She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff

and began to sob heavily into it.

"I shall glance into the case for you," said Holmes, rising,

"and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result.

Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let

your mind dwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr.

Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from

your life."

"Then you don't think I'll see him again?"

"l fear not."

"Then what has happened to him?"

"You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an

accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can

spare."

"I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle," said she.

"Here is the slip and here are four letters from him."

"Thank you. And your address?"

"No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell."

"Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is

your father's place of business?"

"He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret im-

porters of Fenchurch Street."

"Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly.

You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I

have given you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do

not allow it to affect your life."

"You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall

be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes

back."

For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was

something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which com-

pelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the

table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever

she might be summoned.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his finger-

tips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him,

and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down

from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a

counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with

the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of

infinite languor in his face.

"Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I

found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the

way, is rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you

consult my index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of

the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however,

there were one or two details which were new to me. But the

maiden herself was most instructive."

"You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite

invisible to me," I remarked.

"Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know

where to look, and so you missed all that was important. I can

never bring you to realize the importance of sleeves, the sugges-

tiveness of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a

boot-lace. Now, what did you gather from that woman's appear-

ance? Describe it."

"Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat,

with a feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black

beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments.

Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a

little purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were

grayish and were worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots

I didn't observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings,

and a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfort-

able, easy-going way."

Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled.

" 'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully.

You have really done very well indeed. It is true that you have

missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the

method, and you have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to

general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon

details. My first glance is always at a woman's sleeve. In a man

it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you

observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most

useful material for showing traces. The double line a little above

the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table, was

beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves

a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side of it

farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broad-

est part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and, observing

the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I ventured a

remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to sur-

prise her."

"It surprised me."

"But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and

interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots

which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were

really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and

the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower

buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth.

Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed,

has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is

no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry."

"And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was,

by my friend's incisive reasoning.

"I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving

home but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right

glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see

that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had

written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have

been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the

finger. All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must

go back to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the

advertised description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?"

I held the little printed slip to the light.

 

"Missing [it said] on the morning of the fourteenth. a

gentleman named Hosmer Angel. About five feet seven

inches in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black

hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers

and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech.

Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with

silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and gray Harris

tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots.

Known to have been employed in an office in Leadenhall

Street. Anybody bringing --"

 

"That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letters," he contin-

ued, glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. Abso-

lutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac

once. There is one remarkable point, however, which will no

doubt strike you."

"They are typewritten," I remarked.

"Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the

neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you

see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is

rather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive -- in

fact, we may call it conclusive."

"Of what?"

"My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it

bears upon the case?"

"I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able

to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were

instituted."

"No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two

letters, which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the

City, the other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank,

asking him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock to-

morrow evening. It is just as well that we should do business

with the male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing

until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little

problem upon the shelf for the interim."

I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle

powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt

that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy

demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he

had been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to

fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler

photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of

'The Sign of Four', and the extraordinary circumstances con-

nected with 'A Study in Scarlet', I felt that it would be a strange

tangle indeed which he could not unravel.

I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the

conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would

find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up

to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary

Sutherland.

A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own

attention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the

bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six o'clock

that I found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom

and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too late to

assist at the denouement of the little mystery. I found Sherlock

Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form

curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of

bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydro-

chloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical

work which was so dear to him.

"Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered.

"Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta."

"No, no, the mystery!" I cried.

"Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.

There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said

yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback

is that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel."

"Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss

Sutherland?"

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had

not yet opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall

in the passage and a tap at the door.

"This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said

Holmes. "He has written to me to say that he would be here at

six. Come in!"

The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some

thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a

bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and

penetrating gray eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of

us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight

bow sidled down into the nearest chair.

"Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "I

think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made

an appointment with me for six o'clock?"

"Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite

my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has

troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far better not

to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite against my

wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl,

as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when

she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind

you so much, as you are not connected with the official police,

but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised

abroad. Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you

possibly find this Hosmer Angel?"

"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason

to believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel."

Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. "I

am delighted to hear it," he said.

"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter

has really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting.

Unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike.

Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on

one side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank,

that in every case there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and

a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.' There are fourteen other

characteristics, but those are the more obvious."

"We do all our correspondence with this machine at the

office, and no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor answered.

glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes.

"And now I will show you what is really a very interesting

study, Mr. Windibank," Holmes continued. "I think of writing

another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter

and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted

some little attention. I have here four letters which purport to

come from the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each

case, not only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you

will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the

fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as

well."

Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat.

"I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes,"

he said. "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know

when you have done it."

"Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key

in the door. "I let you know, then, that I have caught him!"

"What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his

lips and glancing about him like a rat in a trap.

"Oh, it won't do -- really it won't," said Holmes suavely.

"There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is

quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when

you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a

question. That's right! Sit down and let us talk it over."

Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a

glitter of moisture on his brow. "It -- it's not actionable," he

stammered.

"I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves,

Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a

petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the

course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong."

The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon

his breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet

up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his

hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it

seemed, than to us.

"The man married a woman very much older than himself for

her money," said he, "and he enjoyed the use of the money of

the daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a consider-

able sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would

have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to pre-

serve it. The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but

alfectionate and warm-hearted in her ways. so that it was evident

that with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she

would not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage

would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what

does her stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course

of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company

of people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not

answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and

finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain

ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an

idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the

connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself,

covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face

with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear

voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account

of the girl's short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and

keeps off other lovers by making love himself."

"It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "We never

thought that she would have been so carried away."

"Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was

very decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her

mind that her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treach-

ery never for an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by

the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the

loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel

began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed

as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There

were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure

the girl's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the

deception could not be kept up forever. These pretended jour-

neys to France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was

clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner

that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young

lady's mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor

for some time to come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted

upon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of

something happening on the very morning of the wedding. James

Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer

Angel, and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come,

at any rate, she would not listen to another man. As far as the

church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther,

he conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at

one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was

the chain of events, Mr. Windibank!"

Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while

Holmes had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a

cold sneer upon his pale face.

"It may be so, or it may not. Mr. Holmes," said he. "but if

you are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that

it is you who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done

nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that

door locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and

illegal constraint."

"The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes,

unlocking and throwing open the door, "yet there never was a

man who deserved punishment more. If the young lady has a

brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders.

By Jove!" he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter

sneer upon the man's face, "it is not part of my duties to my

client, but here's a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just

treat myself to --" He took two swift steps to the whip, but

before he could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the

stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we

could see Mr. James Windibank running at the top of his speed

down the road.

"There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said Holmes, laughing,

as he threw himself down into his chair once more. "That fellow

will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad,

and ends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not

entirely devoid of interest."

"I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," I

remarked.

"Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr.

Hosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious

conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really

profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the step-

father. Then the fact that the two men were never together, but

that the one always appeared when the other was away, was

suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice,

which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My

suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewrit-

ing his signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting

was so familiar to her that she would recognize even the smallest

sample of it. You see all these isolated facts, together with many

minor ones, all pointed in the same direction."

"And how did you verify them?"

"Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corrobora-

tion. I knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken

the printed description. I eliminated everything from it which

could be the result of a disguise -- the whiskers, the glasses, the

voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a request that they would

inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their

travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the type-

writer, and I wrote to the man himself at his business address

asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his reply was

typewritten and revealed the same trivial but characteristic de-

fects. The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse &

Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the description tallied

in every respect with that of their employee, James Windibank.

Voila tout!"

"And Miss Sutherland?"

"If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the

old Persian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the tiger

cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a

woman.' There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as

much knowledge of the world."

 

================================

The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton

 

It is years since the incidents of which I speak took place, and

yet it is with diffidence that I allude to them. For a long time,

even with the utmost discretion and reticence, it would have

been impossible to make the facts public, but now the principal

person concerned is beyond the reach of human law, and with

due suppression the story may be told in such fashion as to injure

no one. It records an absolutely unique experience in the career

both of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and of myself. The reader will

excuse me if I conceal the date or any other fact by which he

might trace the actual occurrence.

We had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and

I, and had returned about six o'clock on a cold, frosty winter's

evening. As Holmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card

on the table. He glanced at it, and then, with an ejaculation of

disgust, threw it on the floor. I picked it up and read:

 

CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON,

Appledore Towers,

Hampstead.

Agent.

 

"Who is he?" I asked.

"The worst man in London," Holmes answered, as he sat

down and stretched his legs before the fire. "Is anything on the

back of the card?"

I turned it over.

"Will call at 6:30 -- C. A. M.," I read.

"Hum! He's about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking

sensation, Watson, when you stand before the serpents in the

Zoo, and see the slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with

their deadly eyes and wicked, flattened faces? Well, that's how

Milverton impresses me. I've had to do with fifty murderers in

my career, but the worst of them never gave me the repulsion

which I have for this fellow. And yet I can't get out of doing

business with him -- indeed, he is here at my invitation."

"But who is he?"

"I'll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers.

Heaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret

and reputation come into the power of Milverton! With a smiling

face and a heart of marble, he will squeeze and squeeze until he

has drained them dry. The fellow is a genius in his way, and

would have made his mark in some more savoury trade. His

method is as follows: He allows it to be known that he is

prepared to pay very high sums for letters which compromise

people of wealth and position. He receives these wares not only

from treacherous valets or maids, but frequently from genteel

ruffians, who have gained the confidence and affection of trust-

ing women. He deals with no niggard hand. I happen to know

that he paid seven hundred pounds to a footman for a note two

lines in length, and that the ruin of a noble family was the result.

Everything which is in the market goes to Milverton, and there

are hundreds in this great city who turn white at his name. No

one knows where his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far

too cunning to work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card

back for years in order to play it at the moment when the stake is

best worth winning. I have said that he is the worst man in

London, and I would ask you how could one compare the

ruffian, who in hot blood bludgeons his mate, with this man,

who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul and wrings

the nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?"

I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of

feeling.

"But surely," said I, "the fellow must be within the grasp of

the law?"

"Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would it

profit a woman, for example, to get him a few months' impris-

onment if her own ruin must immediately follow? His victims

dare not hit back. If ever he blackmailed an innocent person,

then indeed we should have him, but he is as cunning as the Evil

One. No, no, we must find other ways to fight him."

"And why is he here?"

"Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in

my hands. It is the Lady Eva Blackwell, the most beautiful

debutante of last season. She is to be married in a fortnight to the

Earl of Dovercourt. This fiend has several imprudent letters --

imprudent, Watson, nothing worse -- which were written to an

impecunious young squire in the country. They would suffice to

break off the match. Milverton will send the letters to the Earl

unless a large sum of money is paid him. I have been commis-

sioned to meet him, and -- to make the best terms I can."

At that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the street

below. Looking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, the

brilliant lamps gleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble

chestnuts. A footman opened the door, and a small, stout man in

a shaggy astrakhan overcoat descended. A minute later he was in

the room.

Charles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large,

intellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetual

frozen smile, and two keen gray eyes, which gleamed brightly

from behind broad, gold-rimmed glasses. There was something

of Mr. Pickwick's benevolence in his appearance, marred only

by the insincerity of the fixed smile and by the hard glitter of

those restless and penetrating eyes. His voice was as smooth and

suave as his countenance, as he advanced with a plump little

hand extended, murmuring his regret for having missed us at his

first visit. Holmes disregarded the outstretched hand and looked

at him with a face of granite. Milverton's smile broadened, he

shrugged his shoulders, removed his overcoat, folded it with

great deliberation over the back of a chair, and then took a seat.

"This gentleman?" said he, with a wave in my direction. "Is

it discreet? Is it right?"

"Dr. Watson is my friend and partner."

"Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client's interests

that I protested. The matter is so very delicate --"

"Dr. Watson has already heard of it."

"Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are

acting for Lady Eva. Has she empowered you to accept my

terms?"

"What are your terms?"

"Seven thousand pounds."

"And the alternative?"

"My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it, but if the

money is not paid on the 14th, there certainly will be no mar-

riage on the 18th." His insufferable smile was more complacent

than ever.

Holmes thought for a little.

"You appear to me," he said, at last, "to be taking matters

too much for granted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents

of these letters. My client will certainly do what I may advise. I

shall counsel her to tell her future husband the whole story and to

trust to his generosity."

Milverton chuckled.

"You evidently do not know the Earl," said he.

From the baffled look upon Holmes's face, I could see clearly

that he did.

"What harm is there in the letters?" he asked.

"They are sprightly -- very sprightly," Milverton answered.

"The lady was a charming correspondent. But I can assure you

that the Earl of Dovercourt would fail to appreciate them. How-

ever, since you think otherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is

purely a matter of business. If you think that it is in the best

interests of your client that these letters should be placed in the

hands of the Earl, then you would indeed be foolish to pay so

large a sum of money to regain them." He rose and seized his

astrakhan coat.

Holmes was gray with anger and mortification.

"Wait a little," he said. "You go too fast. We should cer-

tainly make every effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter."

Milverton relapsed into his chair.

"I was sure that you would see it in that light," he purred.

"At the same time," Holmes continued, "Lady Eva is not a

wealthy woman. I assure you that two thousand pounds would be

a drain upon her resources, and that the sum you name is utterly

beyond her power. I beg, therefore, that you will moderate your

demands, and that you will return the letters at the price I

indicate, which is, I assure you, the highest that you can get."

Milverton's smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously.

"I am aware that what you say is true about the lady's

resources," said he. "At the same time you must admit that the

occasion of a lady's marriage is a very suitable time for her

friends and relatives to make some little effort upon her behalf.

They may hesitate as to an acceptable wedding present. Let me

assure them that this little bundle of letters would give more joy

than all the candelabra and butter-dishes in London."

"It is impossible," said Holmes.

"Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!" cried Milverton, tak-

ing out a bulky pocketbook. "I cannot help thinking that ladies

are ill-advised in not making an effort. Look at this!" He held up

a little note with a coat-of-arms upon the envelope. "That be-

longs to well, perhaps it is hardly fair to tell the name until

to-morrow morning. But at that time it will be in the hands of the

lady's husband. And all because she will not find a beggarly sum

which she could get by turning her diamonds into paste. It is

such a pity! Now, you remember the sudden end of the engage-

ment between the Honourable Miss Miles and Colonel Dorking?

Only two days before the wedding, there was a paragraph in the

Morning Post to say that it was all off. And why? It is almost

incredible, but the absurd sum of twelve hundred pounds would

have settled the whole question. Is it not pitiful? And here I find

you, a man of sense, boggling about terms, when your client's

future and honour are at stake. You surprise me, Mr. Holmes."

"What I say is true," Holmes answered. "The money cannot

be found. Surely it is better for you to take the substantial sum

which I offer than to ruin this woman's career, which can profit

you in no way?"

"There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would

profit me indirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or ten

similar cases maturing. If it was circulated among them that I

had made a severe example of the Lady Eva, I should find all of

them much more open to reason. You see my point?"

Holmes sprang from his chair.

"Get behind him, Watson! Don't let him out! Now, sir, let us

see the contents of that notebook."

Milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room

and stood with his back against the wall.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes," he said, turning the front of his

coat and exhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected

from the inside pocket. "I have been expecting you to do

something original. This has been done so often, and what good

has ever come from it? I assure you that I am armed to the teeth,

and I am perfectly prepared to use my weapons, knowing that

the law will support me. Besides, your supposition that I would

bring the letters here in a notebook is entirely mistaken. I would

do nothing so foolish. And now, gentlemen, I have one or two

little interviews this evening, and it is a long drive to Hamp-

stead." He stepped forward, took up his coat, laid his hand on

his revolver, and turned to the door. I picked up a chair, but

Holmes shook his head, and I laid it down again. With a bow, a

smile, and a twinkle, Milverton was out of the room, and a few

moments after we heard the slam of the carriage door and the

rattle of the wheels as he drove away.

Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his

trouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed

upon the glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent and

still. Then, with the gesture of a man who has taken his decision,

he sprang to his feet and passed into his bedroom. A little later a

rakish young workman, with a goatee beard and a swagger, lit

his clay pipe at the lamp before descending into the street. "I'll

be back some time, Watson," said he, and vanished into the

night. I understood that he had opened his campaign against

Charles Augustus Milverton, but I little dreamed the strange

shape which that campaign was destined to take.

For some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this

attire, but beyond a remark that his time was spent at Hamp-

stead, and that it was not wasted, I knew nothing of what he was

doing. At last, however, on a wild, tempestuous evening, when

the wind screamed and rattled against the windows, he returned

from his last expedition, and having removed his disguise he

sat before the fire and laughed heartily in his silent inward

fashion.

"You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?"

"No, indeed!"

"You'll be interested to hear that I'm engaged."

"My dear fellow! I congrat --"

"To Milverton's housemaid."

"Good heavens, Holmes!"

"I wanted information, Watson."

"Surely you have gone too far?"

"It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising

business, Escott, by name. I have walked out with her each

evening, and I have talked with her. Good heavens, those talks!

However, I have got all I wanted. I know Milverton's house as I

know the palm of my hand."

"But the girl, Holmes?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You can't help it, my dear Watson. You must play your

cards as best you can when such a stake is on the table. How-

ever. I rejoice to say that I have a hated rival, who will certainly

cut me out the instant that my back is turned. What a splendid

night it is!"

"You like this weather?"

"It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to burgle Milverton's

house to-night."

I had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at the

words, which were slowly uttered in a tone of concentrated

resolution. As a flash of lightning in the night shows up in an

instant every detail of a wild landscape, so at one glance I

seemed to see every possible result of such an action -- the

detection, the capture, the honoured career ending in irreparable

failure and disgrace, my friend himself lying at the mercy of the

odious Milverton.

"For heaven's sake, Holmes, think what you are doing," I

cried.

"My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I am

never precipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energetic

and, indeed, so dangerous a course, if any other were possible.

Let us look at the matter clearly and fairly. I suppose that you

will admit that the action is morally justifiable, though techni-

cally criminal. To burgle his house is no more than to forcibly

take his pocketbook -- an action in which you were prepared to

aid me."

I turned it over in my mind.

"Yes," I said, "it is morally justifiable so long as our object

is to take no articles save those which are used for an illegal

purpose."

"Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable, I have only to con-

sider the question of personal risk. Surely a gentleman should

not lay much stress upon this, when a lady is in most desperate

need of his help?"

"You will be in such a false position."

"Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible way

of regaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not the

money, and there are none of her people in whom she could

confide. To-morrow is the last day of grace, and unless we can

get the letters to-night, this villain will be as good as his word

and will bring about her ruin. I must, therefore, abandon my

client to her fate or I must play this last card. Between ourselves,

Watson, it's a sporting duel between this fellow Milverton and

me. He had, as you saw, the best of the first exchanges, but my

self-respect and my reputation are concerned to fight it to a

finish."

"Well, I don't like it, but I suppose it must be," said I.

"When do we start?"

"You are not coming."

"Then you are not going," said I. "I give you my word of

honour -- and I never broke'it in my life -- that I will take a cab

straight to the police-station and give you away, unless you let

me share this adventure with you."

"You can't help me."

"How do you know that? You can't tell what may happen.

Anyway, my resolution is taken. Other people besides you have

self-respect, and even reputations."

Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he

clapped me on the shoulder.

"Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared this

same room for some years, and it would be amusing if we ended

by sharing the same cell. You know, Watson, I don't mind

confessing to you that I have always had an idea that I would

have made a highly efficient criminal. This is the chance of my

lifetime in that direction. See here!" He took a neat little leather

case out of a drawer, and opening it he exhibited a number of

shining instruments. "This is a first-class, up-to-date burgling

kit, with nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped glass-cutter, adapt-

able keys, and every modern improvement which the march of

civilization demands. Here, too, is my dark lantern. Everything

is in order. Have you a pair of silent shoes?"

"I have rubber-soled tennis shoes."

"Excellent! And a mask?"

"I can make a couple out of black silk."

"I can see that you have a strong, natural turn for this sort of

thing. Very good, do you make the masks. We shall have some

cold supper before we start. It is now nine-thirty. At eleven we

shall drive as far as Church Row. It is a quarter of an hour's

walk from there to Appledore Towers. We shall be at work

before midnight. Milverton is a heavy sleeper, and retires punc-

tually at ten-thirty. With any luck we should be back here by

two, with the Lady Eva's letters in my pocket."

Holmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we might

appear to be two theatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford

Street we picked up a hansom and drove to an address in

Hampstead. Here we paid off our cab, and with our great coats

buttoned up, for it was bitterly cold, and the wind seemed to

blow through us, we walked along the edge of the heath.

"It's a business that needs delicate treatment," said Holmes.

"These documents are contained in a safe in the fellow's study,

and the study is the ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the other

hand, like all these stout, little men who do themselves well, he

is a plethoric sleeper. Agatha -- that's my fiancee -- says it is a

joke in the servants' hall that it's impossible to wake the master.

He has a secretary who is devoted to his interests, and never

budges from the study all day. That's why we are going at night.

Then he has a beast of a dog which roams the garden. I met

Agatha late the last two evenings, and she locks the brute up so

as to give me a clear run. This is the house, this big one in its

own grounds. Through the gate -- now to the right among the

laurels. We might put on our masks here, I think. You see, there

is not a glimmer of light in any of the windows, and everything

is working splendldly."

With our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two

of the most truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent,

gloomy house. A sort of tiled veranda extended along one side

of it, lined by several windows and two doors.

"That's his bedroom," Holmes whispered. "This door opens

straight into the study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted as

well as locked, and we should make too much noise getting in.

Come round here. There's a greenhouse which opens into the

drawing-room."

The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass

and turned the key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had

closed the door behind us, and we had become felons in the eyes

of the law. The thick, warm air of the conservatory and the rich,

choking fragrance of exotic plants took us by the throat. He

seized my hand in the darkness and led me swiftly past banks of

shrubs which brushed against our faces. Holmes had remarkable

powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in the dark. Still holding

my hand in one of his, he opened a door, and I was vaguely

conscious that we had entered a large room in which a cigar had

been smoked not long before. He felt his way among the furni-

ture, opened another door, and closed it behind us. Putting out

my hand I felt several coats hanging from the wall, and I

understood that I was in a passage. We passed along it, and

Holmes very gently opened a door upon the right-hand side.

Something rushed out at us and my heart sprang into my mouth,

but I could have laughed when I realized that it was the cat. A

fire was burning in this new room, and again the air was heavy

with tobacco smoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for me to

follow, and then very gently closed the door. We were in

Milverton's study, and a portiere at the farther side showed the

entrance to his bedroom.

It was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near

the door I saw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was

unnecessary, even if it had been safe, to turn it on. At one side

of the fireplace was a heavy curtain which covered the bay

window we had seen from outside. On the other side was the

door which communicated with the veranda. A desk stood in the

centre, with a turning-chair of shining red leather. Opposite was

a large bookcase, with a marble bust of Athene on the top. In the

corner, between the bookcase and the wall, there stood a tall,

green safe, the firelight flashing back from the polished brass

knobs upon its face. Holmes stole across and looked at it. Then

he crept to the door of the bedroom, and stood with slanting head

listening intently. No sound came from within. Meanwhile it had

struck me that it would be wise to secure our retreat through the

outer door, so I examined it. To my amazement, it was neither

locked nor bolted. I touched Holmes on the arm, and he turned

his masked face in that direction. I saw him start, and he was

evidently as surprised as I.

"I don't like it," he whispered, putting his lips to my very

ear. "I can't quite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time to

lose."

"Can I do anything?"

"Yes, stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt it on

the inside, and we can get away as we came. If they come the

other way, we can get through the door if our job is done,

or hide behind these window curtains if it is not. Do you

understand?"

I nodded, and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear had

passed away, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had

ever enjoyed when we were the defenders of the law instead of

its defiers. The high object of our mission, the consciousness

that it was unselfish and chivalrous, the villainous character of

our opponent, all added to the sporting interest of the adventure.

Far from feeling guilty, I rejoiced and exulted in our dangers.

With a glow of admiration I watched Holmes unrolling his case

of instruments and choosing his tool with the calm, scientific

accuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicate operation. I knew

that the opening of safes was a particular hobby with him, and I

understood the joy which it gave him to be confronted with this

green and gold monster, the dragon which held in its maw the

reputations of many fair ladies. Turning up the cuffs of his

dress-coat -- he had placed his overcoat on a chair -- Holmes laid

out two drills, a jemmy, and several skeleton keys. I stood at the

centre door with my eyes glancing at each of the others, ready

for any emergency, though, indeed, my plans were somewhat

vague as to what I should do if we were interrupted. For half an

hour, Holmes worked with concentrated energy, laying down

one tool, picking up another, handling each with the strength and

delicacy of the trained mechanic. Finally I heard a click, the

broad green door swung open, and inside I had a glimpse of a

number of paper packets, each tied, sealed, and inscribed. Holmes

picked one out, but it was hard to read by the flickering fire, and

he drew out his little dark lantern, for it was too dangerous, with

Milverton in the next room, to switch on the electric light.

Suddenly I saw him halt, listen intently, and then in an instant he

had swung the door of the safe to, picked up his coat, stuffed his

tools into the pockets, and darted behind the window curtain,

motioning me to do the same.

It was only when I had joined him there that I heard what had

alarmed his quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within

the house. A door slammed in the distance. Then a confused,

dull murmur broke itself into the measured thud of heavy

footsteps rapidly approaching. They were in the passage outside

the room. They paused at the door. The door opened. There was

a sharp snick as the electric light was turned on. The door closed

once more, and the pungent reek of a strong cigar was borne to

our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued backward and forward,

backward and forward, within a few yards of us. Finally there

was a creak from a chair, and the footsteps ceased. Then a key

clicked in a lock, and I heard the rustle of papers.

So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the

division of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From

the pressure of Holmes's shoulder against mine, I knew that he

was sharing my observations. Right in front of us, and almost

within our reach, was the broad, rounded back of Milverton. It

was evident that we had entirely miscalculated his movements,

that he had never been to his bedroom, but that he had been

sitting up in some smoking or billiard room in the farther wing of

the house, the windows of which we had not seen. His broad,

grizzled head, with its shining patch of baldness, was in the

immediate foreground of our vision. He was leaning far back in

the red leather chair. his legs outstretched, a long, black cigar

projecting at an angle from his mouth. He wore a semi-military

smoking jacket, claret-coloured. with a black velvet collar. In his

hand he held a long, legal document which he was reading in an

indolent fashion, blowing rings of tobacco smoke from his lips

as he did so. There was no promise of a speedy departure in his

composed bearing and his comfortable attitude.

I felt Holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring

shake, as if to say that the situation was within his powers, and

that he was easy in his mind. I was not sure whether he had seen

what was only too obvious from my position, that the door of the

safe was imperfectly closed, and that Milverton might at any

moment observe it. In my own mind I had determined that if I

were sure, from the rigidity of his gaze, that it had caught his

eye, I would at once spring out, throw my great coat over his

head, pinion him, and leave the rest to Holmes. But Milverton

never looked up. He was languidly interested by the papers in his

hand, and page after page was turned as he followed the argu-

ment of the lawyer. At least, I thought, when he has finished the

document and the cigar he will go to his room, but before he had

reached the end of either, there came a remarkable development

which turned our thoughts into quite another channel.

Several times I had observed that Milverton looked at his

watch, and once he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture

of impatience. The idea, however, that he might have an ap-

pointment at so strange an hour never occurred to me until a faint

sound reached my ears from the veranda outside. Milverton

dropped his papers and sat rigid in his chair. The sound was

repeated, and then there came a gentle tap at the door. Milverton

rose and opened it.

"Well," said he, curtly, "you are nearly half an hour late."

So this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the

nocturnal vigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of a

woman's dress. I had closed the slit between the curtains as

Milverton's face had turned in our direction, but now I ventured

very carefully to open it once more. He had resumed his seat,

the cigar still projecting at an insolent angle from the corner of

his mouth. In front of him, in the full glare of the electric light,

there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over her face, a

mantle drawn round her chin. Her breath came quick and fast,

and every inch of the lithe figure was quivering with strong

emotion.

"Well," said Milverton, "you made me lose a good night's

rest, my dear. I hope you'll prove worth it. You couldn't come

any other time -- eh?"

The woman shook her head.

"Well, if you couldn't you couldn't. If the Countess is a hard

mistress, you have your chance to get level with her now. Bless

the girl, what are you shivering about? That's right. Pull yourself

together. Now, let us get down to business." He took a note-

book from the drawer of his desk. "You say that you have five

letters which compromise the Countess d'Albert. You want to

sell them. I want to buy them. So far so good. It only remains to

fix a price. I should want to inspect the letters, of course. If they

are really good specimens -- Great heavens, is it you?"

The woman, without a word, had raised her veil and dropped

the mantle from her chin. It was a dark, handsome, clear-cut

face which confronted Milverton -- a face with a curved nose,

strong, dark eyebrows shading hard, glittering eyes, and a straight,

thin-lipped mouth set in a dangerous smile.

"It is I," she said, "the woman whose life you have ruined."

Milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. "You were

so very obstinate," said he. "Why did you drive me to such

extremities? I assure you I wouldn't hurt a fly of my own accord,

but every man has his business, and what was I to do? I put the

price well within your means. You would not pay."

"So you sent the letters to my husband, and he -- the noblest

gentleman that ever lived, a man whose boots I was never

worthy to lace -- he broke his gallant heart and died. You remem-

ber that last night, when I came through that door, I begged and

prayed you for mercy, and you laughed in my face as you are

trying to laugh now, only your coward heart cannot keep your

lips from twitching. Yes, you never thought to see me here

again, but it was that night which taught me how I could meet

you face to face, and alone. Well, Charles Milverton, what have

you to say?"

"Don't imagine that you can bully me," said he, rising to his

feet. "I have only to raise my voice, and I could call my

servants and have you arrested. But I will make allowance for

your natural anger. Leave the room at once as you came, and I

will say no more."

The woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the

same deadly smile on her thin lips.

"You will ruin no more lives as you have ruined mine. You

will wring no more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the

world of a poisonous thing. Take that, you hound -- and that!

-- and that! -- and that! -- and that!"

She had drawn a little gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel

after barrel into Milverton's body, the muzzle within two feet of

his shirt front. He shrank away and then fell forward upon the

table, coughing furiously and clawing among the papers. Then

he staggered to his feet, received another shot, and rolled upon

the floor. "You've done me," he cried, and lay still. The

woman looked at him intently, and ground her heel into his

upturned face. She looked again, but there was no sound or

movement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew into the

heated room, and the avenger was gone.

No interference upon our part could have saved the man from

his fate, but, as the woman poured bullet after bullet into

Milverton's shrinking body I was about to spring out, when I felt

Holmes's cold, strong grasp upon my wrist. I understood the

whole argument of that firm, restraining grip -- that it was no

affair of ours, that justice had overtaken a villain, that we had

our own duties and our own objects, which were not to be lost

sight of. But hardly had the woman rushed from the room when

Holmes, with swift, silent steps, was over at the other door. He

turned the key in the lock. At the same instant we heard voices

in the house and the sound of hurrying feet. The revolver shots

had roused the household. With perfect coolness Holmes slipped

across to the safe, filled his two arms with bundles of letters, and

poured them all into the fire. Again and again he did it, until the

safe was empty. Someone turned the handle and beat upon the

outside of the door. Holmes looked swiftly round. The letter

which had been the messenger of death for Milverton lay, all

mottled with his blood, upon the table. Holmes tossed it in

among the blazing papers. Then he drew the key from the outer

door, passed through after me, and locked it on the outside.

"This way, Watson," said he, "we can scale the garden wall in

this direction."

I could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so

swiftly. Looking back, the huge house was one blaze of light.

The front door was open, and figures were rushing down the

drive. The whole garden was alive with people, and one fellow

raised a view-halloa as we emerged from the veranda and fol-

lowed hard at our heels. Holmes seemed to know the grounds

perfectly, and he threaded his way swiftly among a plantation of

small trees, I close at his heels, and our foremost pursuer panting

behind us. It was a six-foot wall which barred our path, but he

sprang to the top and over. As I did the same I felt the hand of

the man behind me grab at my ankle, but I kicked myself free

and scrambled over a grass-strewn coping. I fell upon my face

among some bushes, but Holmes had me on my feet in an

instant, and together we dashed away across the huge expanse of

Hampstead Heath. We had run two miles, I suppose, before

Holmes at last halted and listened intently. All was absolute

silence behind us. We had shaken off our pursuers and were

safe.

 

We had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on

the day after the remarkable experience which I have recorded,

when Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, very solemn and impres-

sive, was ushered into our modest sitting-room.

"Good-morning, Mr. Holmes," said he; "good-morning. May

I ask if you are very busy just now?"

"Not too busy to listen to you."

"I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on

hand, you might care to assist us in a most remarkable case,

which occurred only last night at Hampstead."

"Dear me!" said Holmes. "What was that?"

"A murder -- a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know

how keen you are upon these things, and I would take it as a

great favour if you would step down to Appledore Towers, and

give us the benefit of your advice. It is no ordinary crime. We

have had our eyes upon this Mr. Milverton for some time, and,

between ourselves, he was a bit of a villain. He is known to have

held papers which he used for blackmailing purposes. These

papers have all been burned by the murderers. No article of

value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of

good position, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure."

"Criminals?" said Holmes. "Plural?"

"Yes, there were two of them. They were as nearly as possi-

ble captured red-handed. We have their footmarks, we have their

description, it's ten to one that we trace them. The first fellow

was a bit too active, but the second was caught by the under-

gardener, and only got away after a struggle. He was a middle-

sized, strongly built man -- square jaw, thick neck, moustache, a

mask over his eyes."

"That's rather vague," said Sherlock Holmes. "Why, it might

be a description of Watson!"

"It's true," said the inspector, with amusement. "It might be

a description of Watson."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, Lestrade," said Holmes.

"The fact is that I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered

him one of the most dangerous men in London, and that I think

there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which

therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge. No, it's no use

arguing. I have made up my mind. My sympathies are with the

criminals rather than with the victim, and I will not handle this

case."

 

Holmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which

we had witnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in

his most thoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from

his vacant eyes and his abstracted manner, of a man who is

striving to recall something to his memory. We were in the

middle of our lunch, when he suddenly sprang to his feet. "By

Jove, Watson, I've got it!" he cried. "Take your hat! Come

with me!" He hurried at his top speed down Baker Street and

along Oxford Street, until we had almost reached Regent Circus.

Here, on the left hand, there stands a shop window filled with

photographs of the celebrities and beauties of the day. Holmes's

eyes fixed themselves upon one of them, and following his gaze

I saw the picture of a regal and stately lady in Court dress, with a

high diamond tiara upon her noble head. I looked at that del-

icately curved nose, at the marked eyebrows, at the straight

mouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I caught my

breath as I read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman

and statesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met those of

Holmes, and he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from

the window.

 

=================================

The Adventure of the Copper Beeches

 

"To the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked Sher-

lock Holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily

Telegraph, "it is frequently in its least important and lowliest

manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is

pleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped

this truth that in these little records of our cases which you have

been good enough to draw up, and, I am bound to say, occasion-

ally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much to

the many causes celebres and sensational trials in which I have

figured but rather to those incidents which may have been trivial

in themselves, but which have given room for those faculties of

deduction and of logical synthesis which I have made my special

province."

"And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite hold myself

absolved from the charge of sensationalism which has been

urged against my records."

"You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing

cinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood

pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a

disputatious rather than a meditative mood --" you have erred

perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your

statements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing

upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is

really the only notable feature about the thing."

"It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the

matter," I remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by

the egotism which I had more than once observed to be a strong

factor in my friend's singular character.

"No, it is not selfishness or conceit," said he, answering, as

was his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. "If I claim full

justice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing -- a thing

beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it is

upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell.

You have degraded what should have been a course of lectures

into a series of tales."

It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after

breakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at Baker

Street. A thick fog rolled down between the lines of dun-coloured

houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark, shapeless

blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit and

shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for the

table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been silent

all the morning, dipping continuously into the advertisement

columns of a succession of papers until at last, having apparently

given up his search, he had emerged in no very sweet temper to

lecture me upon my literary shortcomings.

"At the same time," he remarked after a pause, during which

he had sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire,

"you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out

of these cases which you have been so kind as to interest

yourself in, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal

sense, at all. The small matter in which I endeavoured to help

the King of Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary

Sutherland, the problem connected with the man with the twisted

lip, and the incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters

which are outside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the

sensational, I fear that you may have bordered on the trivial."

"The end may have been so," I answered, "but the methods I

hold to have been novel and of interest."

"Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unob-

servant public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a

compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of

analysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial. I cannot

blame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or at

least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As to

my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an

agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to

young ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched

bottom at last, however. This note I had this morning marks my

zero-point, I fancy. Read it!" He tossed a crumpled letter across

to me.

It was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding eve-

ning, and ran thus:

 

DEAR MR. HOLMES:

I am very anxious to consult you as to whether I should

or should not accept a situation which has been offered to

me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I

do not inconvenience you.

Yours faithfully,

VIOLET HUNTER.

 

"Do you know the young lady?' I asked.

"Not I."

"It is half-past ten now."

"Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring."

"It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. You

remember that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared

to be a mere whim at first, developed into a serious investiga-

tion. It may be so in this case, also."

"Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will very soon be

solved, for here, unless I am much mistaken, is the person in

question."

As he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the

room. She was plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright. quick

face, freckled like a plover's egg, and with the brisk manner of a

woman who has had her own way to make in the world.

"You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure," said she, as

my companion rose to greet her, "but I have had a very strange

experience, and as I have no parents or relations of any sort from

whom I could ask advice, I thought that perhaps you would be

kind enough to tell me what I should do."

"Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do

anything that I can to serve you."

I could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the

manner and speech of his new client. He looked her over in his

searching fashion, and then composed himself, with his lids

drooping and his finger-tips together, to listen to her story.

"I have been a governess for five years," said she, "in the

family of Colonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colo-

nel received an appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took

his children over to America with him, so that I found myself

without a situation. I advertised, and I answered advertisements,

but without success. At last the little money which I had saved

began to run short, and I was at my wit's end as to what I should

do.

"There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West

End called Westaway's, and there I used to call about once a

week in order to see whether anything had turned up which

might suit me. Westaway was the name of the founder of the

business, but it is really managed by Miss Stoper. She sits in her

own little office, and the ladies who are seeking employment

wait in an anteroom, and are then shown in one by one, when

she consults her ledgers and sees whether she has anything which

would suit them.

"Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little

office as usual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A

prodigiously stout man with a very smiling face and a great

heavy chin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat

sat at her elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very

earnestly at the ladies who entered. As I came in he gave quite a

jump in his chair and turned quickly to Miss Stoper.

" 'That will do,' said he; 'I could not ask for anything better.

Capital! capital!' He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his

hands together in the most genial fashion. He was such a

comfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to look at

him.

" 'You are looking for a situation, miss?' he asked.

" 'Yes, sir.'

" 'As governess?'

" 'Yes, sir.'

" 'And what salary do you ask?'

" 'I had 4 pounds a month in my last place with Colonel Spence

Munro.'

" 'Oh, tut, tut! sweating -- rank sweating!' he cried, throwing

his fat hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling

passion. 'How could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with

such attractions and accomplishments?'

" 'My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,'

said I. 'A little French, a little German, music, and drawing --'

" 'Tut, tut!' he cried. 'This is all quite beside the question.

The point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deport-

ment of a lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are

not fined for the rearing of a child who may some day play a

considerable part in the history of the country. But if you have

why, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to

accept anything under the three figures? Your salary with me,

madam, would commence at 100 pounds a year.'

"You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I

was, such an offer seemed almost too good to be true. The

gentleman, however, seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon

my face, opened a pocket-book and took out a note.

" 'It is also my custom,' said he, smiling in the most pleasant

fashion until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid the

white creases of his face, 'to advance to my young ladies half

their salary beforehand, so that they may meet any little expenses

of their journey and their wardrobe.'

"It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so

thoughtful a man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the

advance was a great convenience, and yet there was something

unnatural about the whole transaction which made me wish to

know a little more before I quite committed myself.

" 'May I ask where you live, sir?' said I.

" 'Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches,

five miles on the far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely

country, my dear young lady, and the dearest old country-house.'

" 'And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they

would be.'

" 'One child -- one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if

you could see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack!

smack! smack! Three gone before you could wink!' He leaned

back in his chair and laughed his eyes into his head again.

"I was a little startled at the nature of the child's amusement,

but the father's laughter made me think that perhaps he was

joking.

" 'My sole duties, then,' I asked, 'are to take charge of a

single child?'

" 'No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,' he

cried. 'Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense would

suggest, to obey any little commands my wife might give,

provided always that they were such commands as a lady might

with propriety obey. You see no difficulty, heh?'

" 'I should be happy to make myself useful.'

" 'Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people,

you know -- faddy but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear

any dress which we might give you, you would not object to our

little whim. Heh?'

" 'No,' said I, considerably astonished at his words.

" 'Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to

you?'

" 'Oh, no.'

" 'Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?'

"I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr.

Holmes, my hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar

tint of chestnut. It has been considered artistic. I could not dream

of sacrificing it in this offhand fashion.

" 'I am afraid that that is quite impossible,' said I. He had

been watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see

a shadow pass over his face as I spoke.

" 'I am afraid that it is quite essential,' said he. 'It is a little

fancy of my wife's, and ladies' fancies, you know, madam,

ladies' fancies must be consulted. And so you wonn't cut your

hair?'

" 'No, sir, I really could not,' I answered firmly.

" 'Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a pity,

because in other respects you would really have done very

nicely. In that case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more

of your young ladies.'

"The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers

without a word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with

so much annoyance upon her face that I could not help suspect-

ing that she had lost a handsome commission through my refusal.

" 'Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?' she

asked.

" 'If you please, Miss Stoper.'

" 'Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the

most excellent offers in this fashion,' said she sharply. 'You can

hardly expect us to exert ourselves to find another such opening

for you. Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.' She struck a gong upon

the table, and I was shown out by the page.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and

found little enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon

the table. I began to ask myself whether I had not done a very

foolish thing. After all, if these people had strange fads and

expected obedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were

at least ready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few governesses

in England are getting 100 pounds a year. Besides, what use was my

hair to me? Many people are improved by wearing it short and

perhaps I should be among the number. Next day I was inciined

to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after I was

sure of it. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go back

to the agency and inquire whether the place was still open when I

received this letter from the gentleman himself. I have it here

and I will read it to you:

 

"The Copper Beeches, near Winchester.

 

"DEAR Mlss HUNTER:

"Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your address, and

I write from here to ask you whether you have reconsidered

your decision. My wife is very anxious that you should

come, for she has been much attracted by my description of

you. We are willing to give 30 pounds a quarter, or 120 pounds a year,

so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which

our fads may cause you. They are not very exacting, after

all. My wife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue

and would like you to wear such a dress indoors in the

morning. You need not, however, go to the expense of

purchasing one, as we have one belonging to my dear

daughter Alice (now in Philadelphia), which would, I should

think, fit you very well. Then, as to sitting here or there, or

amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that need cause

you no inconvenience. As regards your hair, it is no doubt a

pity, especially as I could not help remarking its beauty

during our short interview, but I am afraid that I must

remain firm upon this point, and l only hope that the

increased salary may recompense you for the loss. Your

duties, as far as the child is concerned, are very light. Now

do try to come, and I shall meet you with the dog-cart at

Winchester. Let me know your train.

"Yours faithfully,

"JEPHRO RUCASTLE.

 

"That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes,

and my mind is made up that I will accept it. I thought, how-

ever, that before taking the final step I should like to submit the

whole matter to your consideration."

"Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the

question," said Holmes, smiling.

"But you would not advise me to refuse?"

"I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to see

a sister of mine apply for."

"What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?"

"Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself

formed some opinion?"

"Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution.

Mr. Rucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it

not possible that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the

matter quiet for fear she should be taken to an asylum, and that

he humours her fancies in every way in order to prevent an

outbreak?"

"That is a possible solution -- in fact, as matters stand, it is the

most probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a nice

household for a young lady."

"But the money, Mr. Holmes the money!"

"Well, yes, of course the pay is good -- too good. That is what

makes me uneasy. Why should they give you 120 pounds a year, when

they could have their pick for 40 pounds? There must be some strong

reason behind."

"I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would

understand afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so

much stronger if I felt that you were at the back of me."

"Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you

that your little problem promises to be the most interesting which

has come my way for some months. There is something dis-

tinctly novel about some of the features. If you should find

yourself in doubt or in danger --"

"Danger! What danger do you foresee?"

Holmes shook his head gravely. "It would cease to be a

danger if we could define it," said he. "But at any time, day or

night, a telegram would bring me down to your help."

"That is enough." She rose briskly from her chair with the

anxiety all swept from her face. "I shall go down to Hampshire

quite easy in my mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at

once, sacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for Winchester

to-morrow." With a few grateful words to Holmes she bade us

both good-night and bustled off upon her way.

"At least," said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descend-

ing the stairs, "she seems to be a young lady who is very well

able to take care of herself."

"And she would need to be," said Holmes gravely. "I am

much mistaken if we do not hear from her before many days are

past."

It was not very long before my friend's prediction was ful-

filled. A fortnight went by, during which I frequently found my

thoughts turning in her direction and wondering what strange

side-alley of human experience this lonely woman had strayed

into. The unusual salary, the curious conditions, the light duties,

all pointed to something abnormal, though whether a fad or a

plot, or whether the man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was

quite beyond my powers to determine. As to Holmes, I observed

that he sat frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows

and an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave

of his hand when I mentioned it. "Data! data! data!" he cried

impatiently. "I can't make bricks without clay." And yet he

would always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should

ever have accepted such a situation.

The telegram which we eventually received came late one

night just as I was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling

down to one of those all-night chemical researches which he

frequently indulged in, when I would leave him stooping over a

retort and a test-tube at night and find him in the same position

when I came down to breakfast in the morning. He opened the

yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the message, threw it

across to me.

"Just look up the trains in Bradshaw," said he, and turned

back to his chemical studies.

The summons was a brief and urgent one.

 

Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at

midday to-morrow [it said]. Do come! I am at my wit's end.

HUNTER .

 

"Will you come with me?" asked Holmes, glancing up.

"I should wish to."

"Just look it up, then."

"There is a train at half-past nine," said I, glancing over my

Bradshaw. "It is due at Winchester at 11:30."

"That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone

my analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in

the morning."

 

By eleven o'clock the next day we were well upon our way to

the old English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning

papers all the way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire

border he threw them down and began to admire the scenery. It

was an ideal spring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little

fleecy white clouds drifting across from west to east. The sun

was shining very brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip

in the air, which set an edge to a man's energy. All over the

countryside, away to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little

red and gray roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid

the light green of the new foliage.

"Are they not fresh and beautiful?" I cried with all the

enthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street.

But Holmes shook his head gravely.

"Do you know, Watson," said he, "that it is one of the

curses of a mind with a turn like mine that I must look at

everything with reference to my own special subject. You look at

these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I

look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a

feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime

may be committed there."

"Good heavens!" I cried. "Who would associate crime with

these dear old homesteads?"

"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief,

Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest

alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin

than does the smiling and beautiful countryside."

"You horrify me!"

"But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public

opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish.

There is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the

thud of a drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indigna-

tion among the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of

justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going,

and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. But look

at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most

part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of

the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may

go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. Had

this lady who appeals to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I

should never have had a fear for her. It is the five miles of

country which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that she is not

personally threatened."

"No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get

away."

"Quite so. She has her freedom."

"What can be the matter, then? Can you suggest no expla-

nation?"

"I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which

would cover the facts as far as we know them. But which of

these is correct can only be determined by the fresh information

which we shall no doubt find waiting for us. Well, there is the

tower of the cathedral, and we shall soon learn all that Miss

Hunter has to tell."

The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no

distance from the station, and there we found the young lady

waiting for us. She had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch

awaited us upon the table.

"I am so delighted that you have come," she said earnestly.

"It is so very kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I

should do. Your advice will be altogether invaluable to me."

"Pray tell us what has happened to you."

"I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr.

Rucastle to be back before three. I got his leave to come into

town this morning, though he little knew for what purpose."

"Let us have everything in its due order." Holmes thrust his

long thin legs out towards the fire and composed himself to

listen.

"In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole,

with no actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is

only fair to them to say that. But I cannot understand them, and I

am not easy in my mind about them."

"What can you not understand?"

"Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just

as it occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here

and drove me in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he

said, beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in itself, for it is

a large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained and

streaked with damp and bad weather. There are grounds round it,

woods on three sides, and on the fourth a field which slopes

down to the Southampton highroad, which curves past about a

hundred yards from the front door. This ground in front belongs

to the house, but the woods all round are part of Lord Southerton's

preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in front of

the hall door has given its name to the place.

"I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as

ever, and was introduced by him that evening to his wife and the

child. There was no truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which

seemed to us to be probable in your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs.

Rucastle is not mad. I found her to be a silent, pale-faced

woman, much younger than her husband, not more than thirty, I

should think, while he can hardly be less than forty-five. From

their conversation I have gathered that they have been married

about seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child

by the first wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia.

Mr. Rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left

them was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her step-

mother. As the daughter could not have been less than twenty, I

can quite imagine-that her position must have been uncomfort-

able with her father's young wife.

"Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well

as in feature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the

reverse. She was a nonentity. It was easy to see that she was

passionately devoted both to her husband and to her little son.

Her light gray eyes wandered continually from one to the other,

noting every little want and forestalling it if possible. He was

kind to her also in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole

they seemed to be a happy couple. And yet she had some secret

sorrow, this woman. She would often be lost in deep thought,

with the saddest look upon her face. More than once I have

surprised her in tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the

disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for I have

never met so utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature.

He is small for his age, with a head which is quite dispro-

portionately large. His whole life appears to be spent in an

alternation between savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals

of sulking. Giving pain to any creature weaker than himself

seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he shows quite

remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little birds,

and insects. But I would rather not talk about the creature, Mr.

Holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with my story."

"I am glad of all details," remarked my friend, "whether

they seem to you to be relevant or not."

"I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one

unpleasant thing about the house, which struck me at once, was

the appearance and conduct of the servants. There are only two,

a man and his wife. Toller, for that is his name, is a rough,

uncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual

smell of drink. Twice since I have been with them he has been

quite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it.

His wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, as

silent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a most

unpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the

nursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one

corner of the building.

"For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life

was very quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after

breakfast and whispered something to her husband.

" 'Oh, yes,' said he, turning to me, 'we are very much

obliged to you, Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far

as to cut your hair. I assure you that it has not detracted in the

tiniest iota from your appearance. We shall now see how the

electric-blue dress will become you. You will find it laid out

upon the bed in your room, and if you would be so good as to

put it on we should both be extremely obliged.'

"The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar

shade of blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it

bore unmistakable signs of having been worn before. It could not

have been a better fit if I had been measured for it. Both Mr. and

Mrs. Rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it, which seemed

quite exaggerated in its vehemence. They were waiting for me in

the drawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching along

the entire front of the house, with three long windows reaching

down to the floor. A chair had been placed close to the central

window, with its back turned towards it. In this I was asked to

sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on the other

side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest stories

that I have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how comical he

was, and I laughed until I was quite weary. Mrs. Rucastle,

however, who has evidently no sense of humour, never so much

as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad, anxious

look upon her face. After an hour or so, Mr. Rucastle suddenly

remarked that it was time to commence the duties of the day, and

that I might change my dress and go to little Edward in the

nursery.

"Two days later this same performance was gone through

under exactly similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress,

again I sat in the window, and again I laughed very heartily at

the funny stories of which my employer had an immense reper-

toire, and which he told inimitably. Then he handed me a yellow-

backed novel, and moving my chair a little sideways, that my

own shadow might not fall upon the page. he begged me to read

aloud to him. I read for about ten minutes, beginning in the heart

of a chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he

ordered me to cease and to change my dress.

"You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became

as to what the meaning of this extraordinary performance could

possibly be. They were always very careful, I observed, to turn

my face away from the window, so that I became consumed with

the desire to see what was going on behind my back. At first it

seemed to be impossible, but I soon devised a means. My

hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought seized me, and

I concealed a piece of the glass in my handkerchief. On the next

occasion, in the midst of my laughter, I put my handkerchief up

to my eyes, and was able with a little management to see all that

there was behind me. I confess that I was disappointed. There

was nothing. At least that was my first impression. At the second

glance, however, I perceived that there was a man standing in

the Southampton Road, a small bearded man in a gray suit, who

seemed to be looking in my direction. The road is an important

highway, and there are usually people there. This man, however,

was leaning against the railings which bordered our field and was

looking earnestly up. I lowered my handkerchief and glanced at

Mrs. Rucastle to find her eyes fixed upon me with a most

searching gaze. She said nothing, but I am convinced that she

had divined that I had a mirror in my hand and had seen what

was behind me. She rose at once.

" 'Jephro,' said she, 'there is an impertinent fellow upon the

road there who stares up at Miss Hunter.'

" 'No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?' he asked.

" 'No, I know no one in these parts.'

" 'Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and

motion to him to go away.'

" 'Surely it would be better to take no notice.'

" 'No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly

turn round and wave him away like that.'

"I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle

drew down the blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I

have not sat again in the window, nor have I worn the blue

dress, nor seen the man in the road."

"Pray continue," said Holmes. "Your narrative promises to

be a most interesting one."

"You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may

prove to be little relation between the different incidents of

which I speak. On the very first day that I was at the Copper

Beeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a small outhouse which stands

near the kitchen door. As we approached it I heard the sharp

rattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving

about.

" 'Look in here!' said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit be-

tween two planks. 'Is he not a beauty?'

"I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes,

and of a vague figure huddled up in the darkness.

" 'Don't be frightened,' said my employer, laughing at the

start which I had given. 'It's only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him

mine, but really old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can

do anything with him. We feed him once a day, and not too

much then, so that he is always as keen as mustard. Toller lets

him loose every night, and God help the trespasser whom he

lays his fangs upon. For goodness' sake don't you ever on any

pretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for it's as much

as your life is worth.'

"The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened

to look out of my bedroom window about two o'clock in the

morning. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in

front of the house was silvered over and almost as bright as day.

I was standing, rapt in the peaceful beauty of the scene, when I

was aware that something was moving under the shadow of the

copper beeches. As it emerged into the moonshine I saw what it

was. It was a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with

hanging jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. It walked

slowly across the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the

other side. That dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which I

do not think that any burglar could have done.

"And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had,

as you know, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a

great coil at the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the child

was in bed, I began to amuse myself by examining the furniture

of my room and by rearranging my own little things. There was

an old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper ones empty

and open, the lower one locked. I had filled the first two with

my linen. and as I had still much to pack away I was naturally

annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer. It struck me

that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight, so I took

out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. The very first key

fitted to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There was only

one thing in it, but I am sure that you would never guess what it

was. It was my coil of hair.

"I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint,

and the same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing

obtruded itself upon me. How could my hair have been locked in

the drawer? With trembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out

the contents, and drew from the bonom my own hair. I laid the

two tresses together, and I assure you that they were identical.

Was it not extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, I could make

nothing at all of what it meant. I returned the strange hair to the

drawer, and I said nothing of the matter to the Rucastles as I felt

that I had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which

they had locked.

"I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr.

Holmes, and I soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in

my head. There was one wing, however, which appeared not to

be inhabited at all. A door which faced that which led into the

quarters of the Tollers opened into this suite, but it was invaria-

bly locked. One day, however, as I ascended the stair, I met Mr.

Rucastle coming out through this door, his keys in his hand, and

a look on his face which made him a very different person to the

round, jovial man to whom I was accustomed. His cheeks were

red, his brow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins stood

out at his temples with passion. He locked the door and hurried

past me without a word or a look.

"This aroused my curiosity, so when I went out for a walk in

the grounds with my charge, I strolled round to the side from

which I could see the windows of this part of the house. There

were four of them in a row, three of which were simply dirty,

while the fourth was shuttered up. They were evidently all

deserted. As I strolled up and down, glancing at them occasion-

ally, Mr. Rucastle came out to me, looking as merry and jovial

as ever.

" 'Ah!' said he, 'you must not think me rude if I passed you

without a word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with

business matters.'

"I assured him that I was not offended. 'By the way,' said

I, 'you seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and

one of them has the shutters up.'

"He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled

at my remark.

" 'Photography is one of my hobbies,' said he. 'I have made

my dark room up there. But, dear me! what an observant young

lady we have come upon. Who would have believed it? Who

would have ever believed it?' He spoke in a jesting tone, but

there was no jest in his eyes as he looked at me. I read suspicion

there and annoyance, but no jest.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that

there was something about that suite of rooms which I was not to

know, I was all on fire to go over them. It was not mere

curiosity, though I have my share of that. It was more a feeling

of duty -- a feeling that some good might come from my penetrat-

ing to this place. They talk of woman's instinct; perhaps it was

woman's instinct which gave me that feeling. At any rate, it was

there, and I was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass the

forbidden door.

"It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you

that, besides Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find some-

thing to do in these deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying

a large black linen bag with him through the door. Recently he

has been drinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very

drunk; and when I came upstairs there was the key in the door. I

have no doubt at all that he had left it there. Mr. and Mrs.

Rucastle were both downstairs, and the child was with them, so

that I had an admirable opportunity. I turned the key gently in

the lock, opened the door, and slipped through.

"There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and

uncarpeted, which turned at a right angle at the farther end.

Round this corner were three doors in a line, the first and third of

which were open. They each led into an empty room, dusty and

cheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, so

thick with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly through

them. The centre door was closed, and across the outside of it

had been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked

at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the other with

stout cord. The door itself was locked as well, and the key was

not there. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with the

shuttered window outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer

from beneath it that the room was not in darkness. Evidently

there was a skylight which let in light from above. As I stood in

the passage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret

it might veil, I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room

and saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little

slit of dim light which shone out from under the door. A mad,

unreasoning terror rose up in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My

overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I turned and ran -- ran

as though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the

skirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage, through the door,

and straight into the arms of Mr. Rucastle, who was waiting

outside.

" 'So,' said he, smiling, 'it was you, then. I thought that it

must be when I saw the door open.'

" 'Oh, I am so frightened!' I panted.

" 'My dear young lady! my dear young lady!' -- you cannot

think how caressing and soothing his manner was -- 'and what

has frightened you, my dear young lady?'

"But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I

was keenly on my guard against him.

" 'I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,' I an-

swered. 'But it is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was

frightened and ran out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still in

there!'

" 'Only that?' said he, looking at me keenly.

" 'Why, what did you think?' I asked.

" 'Why do you think that I lock this door?'

" 'I am sure that I do not know.'

" 'It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do

you see?' He was still smiling in the most amiable manner.

" 'I am sure if I had known

" 'Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot

over that threshold again' -- here in an instant the smile hardened

into a grin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a

demon -- 'I'll throw you to the mastiff.'

"I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose

that I must have rushed past him into my room. I remember

nothing until I found myself lying on my bed trembling all over.

Then I thought of you, Mr. Holmes. I could not live there longer

without some advice. I was frightened of the house, of the man

of the woman, of the servants, even of the child. They were ali

horrible to me. If I could only bring you down all would be well.

Of course I might have fled from the house, but my curiosity

was almost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon made up. I

would send you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down to

the office, which is about half a mile from the house, and then

returned, feeling very much easier. A horrible doubt came into my

mind as I approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but I

remembered that Toller had drunk himself into a state of insensi-

bility that evening, and I knew that he was the only one in the

household who had any influence with the savage creature, or

who would venture to set him free. I slipped in in safety and lay

awake half the night in my joy at the thought of seeing you. I

had no difficulty in getting leave to come into Winchester this

morning, but I must be back before three o'clock, for Mr. and

Mrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the

evening, so that I must look after the child. Now I have told you

all my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should be very glad if you

could tell me what it all means, and, above all, what I should

do."

Holmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary

story. My friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his

hands in his pockets, and an expression of the most profound

gravity upon his face.

"Is Toller still drunk?" he asked.

"Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do

nothing with him."

"That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?"

"Yes."

"Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?"

"Yes, the wine-cellar."

"You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a

very brave and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you

could perform one more feat? I should not ask it of you if I did

not think you a quite exceptional woman."

"I will try. What is it?"

"We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o'clock, my

friend and I. The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller

will, we hope, be incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller,

who might give the alarm. If you could send her into the cellar

on some errand, and then turn the key upon her, you would

facilitate matters immensely."

"I will do it."

"Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of

course there is only one feasible explanation. You have been

brought there to personate someone, and the real person is

imprisoned in this chamber. That is obvious. As to who this

prisoner is, I have no doubt that it is the daughter, Miss Alice

Rucastle, if I remember right, who was said to have gone to

America. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in

height, figure, and the colour of your hair. Hers had been cut

off, very possibly in some illness through which she has passed,

and so, of course, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious

chance you came upon her tresses. The man in the road was

undoubtedly some friend of hers -- possibly her fiance -- and no

doubt, as you wore the girl's dress and were so like her, he was

convinced from your laughter, whenever he saw you, and after-

wards from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy,

and that she no longer desired his attentions. The dog is let loose

at night to prevent him from endeavouring to communicate with

her. So much is fairly clear. The most serious point in the case is

the disposition of the child."

"What on earth has that to do with it?" I ejaculated.

"My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually

gaining light as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the

parents. Don't you see that the converse is equally valid. I have

frequently gained my first real insight into the character of

parents by studying their children. This child's disposition is

abnormally cruel, merely for cruelty's sake, and whether he

derives this from his smiling father, as I should suspect, or from

his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in their

power."

"I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes," cried our client.

"A thousand things come back to me which make me certain

that you have hit it. Oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing

help to this poor creature."

"We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very

cunning man. We can do nothing until seven o'clock. At that

hour we shall be with you, and it will not be long before we solve

the mystery."

We were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we

reached the Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside

public-house. The group of trees, with their dark leaves shining

like burnished metal in the light of the setting sun, were suffi-

cient to mark the house even had Miss Hunter not been standing

smiling on the door-step.

"Have you managed it?" asked Holmes.

A loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs.

"That is Mrs. Toller in the cellar," said she. "Her husband lies

snoring on the kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the

duplicates of Mr. Rucastle's."

"You have done well indeed!" cried Holmes with enthusi-

asm. "Now lead the way, and we shall soon see the end of this

black business."

We passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down

a passage, and found ourselves in front of the barricade which

Miss Hunter had described. Holmes cut the cord and removed

the transverse bar. Then he tried the various keys in the lock, but

without success. No sound came from within, and at the silence

Holmes's face clouded over.

"I trust that we are not too late," said he. "I think, Miss

Hunter, that we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put

your shoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make

our way in."

It was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united

strength. Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There

was no furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a

basketful of linen. The skylight above was open, and the pris-

oner gone.

"There has been some villainy here," said Holmes; "this

beauty has guessed Miss Hunter's intentions and has carried his

victim off."

"But how?"

"Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed

it." He swung himself up onto the roof. "Ah, yes," he cried,

"here's the end of a long light ladder against the eaves. That is

how he did it."

"But it is impossible," said Miss Hunter; "the ladder was not

there when the Rucastles went away."

"He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever

and dangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this

were he whose step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson,

that it would be as well for you to have your pistol ready."

The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man ap-

peared at the door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a

heavy stick in his hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk

against the wall at the sight of him, but Sherlock Holmes sprang

forward and confronted him.

"You villain!" said he, "where's your daughter?"

The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open

skylight.

"It is for me to ask you that," he shrieked, "you thieves!

Spies and thieves! I have caught you, have l? You are in my

power. I'll serve you!" He turned and clattered down the stairs

as hard as he could go.

"He's gone for the dog!" cried Miss Hunter.

"I have my revolver," said I.

"Better close the front door," cried Holmes, and we all

rushed down the stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall

when we heard the baying of a hound, and then a scream of

agony, with a horrible worrying sound which it was dreadful to

listen to. An elderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came

staggering out at a side door.

"My God!" he cried. "Someone has loosed the dog. It's not

been fed for two days. Quick, quick, or it'll be too late!"

Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house,

with Toller hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished

brute, its black muzzle buried in Rucastle's throat, while he

writhed and screamed upon the ground. Running up, I blew its

brains out, and it fell over with its keen white teeth still meeting

in the great creases of his neck. With much labour we separated

them and carried him, living but horribly mangled, into the

house. We laid him upon the drawing-room sofa, and having

dispatched the sobered Toller to bear the news to his wife, I did

what I could to relieve his pain. We were all assembled round

him when the door opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the

room.

"Mrs. Toller!" cried Miss Hunter.

"Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back

before he went up to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn't let me

know what you were planning, for I would have told you that

your pains were wasted."

"Ha!" said Holmes, looking keenly at her. "It is clear that

Mrs. Toller knows more about this matter than anyone else."

"Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know."

"Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several

points on which I must confess that I am still in the dark."

"I will soon make it clear to you," said she; "and I'd have

done so before now if I could ha' got out from the cellar. If

there's police-court business over this, you'll remember that I

was the one that stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice's

friend too.

"She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn't, from the

time that her father married again. She was slighted like and had

no say in anything, but it never really became bad for her until

after she met Mr. Fowler at a friend's house. As well as I could

learn, Miss Alice had rights of her own by will, but she was so

quiet and patient, she was, that she never said a word about them

but just left everything in Mr. Rucastle's hands. He knew he was

safe with her; but when there was a chance of a husband coming

forward, who would ask for all that the law would give him,

then her father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her

to sign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use

her money. When she wouldn't do it, he kept on worrying her

until she got brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death's door.

Then she got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her

beautiful hair cut off; but that didn't make no change in her

young man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be."

"Ah," said Holmes, "I think that what you have been good

enough to tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can

deduce all that remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to

this system of imprisonment?"

"Yes, sir."

"And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get

rid of the disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler."

"That was it, sir."

"But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman

should be, blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded

by certain arguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you

that your interests were the same as his."

"Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentle-

man," said Mrs. Toller serenely.

"And in this way he managed that your good man should have

no want of drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the

moment when your master had gone out."

"You have it, sir, just as it happened."

"I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller," said

Holmes, "for you have certainly cleared up everything which

puzzled us. And here comes the country surgeon and Mrs.

Rucastle, so I think. Watson, that we had best escort Miss

Hunter back to Winchester, as it seems to me that our locus

standi now is rather a questionable one."

And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the

copper beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but

was always a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of

his devoted wife. They still live with their old servants, who

probably know so mUch of Rucastle's past life that he finds it

difficult to part from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were

married, by special license, in Southampton the day after their

flight, and he is now the holder of a government appointment in

the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, my friend

Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further

interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one

of his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at

Walsall, where I believe that she has met with considerable

success.

 

==============================

The Crooked Man

 

One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was

seated by my own hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a

novel, for my day's work had been an exhausting one. My wife

had already gone upstairs, and the sound of the locking of the

hall door some time before told me that the servants had also

retired. I had risen from my seat and was knocking out the ashes

of my pipe when I suddenly heard the clang of the bell.

I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This could

not be a visitor at so late an hour. A patient evidently, and

possibly an all-night sitting. With a wry face I went out into the

hall and opened the door. To my astonishment it was Sherlock

Holmes who stood upon my step.

"Ah, Watson," said he, "I hoped that I might not be too late

to catch you."

"My dear fellow, pray come in."

"You look surprised, and no wonder! Relieved, too, I fancy!

Hum! You still smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor

days, then! There's no mistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat.

It's easy to tell that you have been accustomed to wear a

uniform, Watson. You'll never pass as a pure-bred civilian as

long as you keep that habit of carrying your handkerchief in your

sleeve. Could you put me up to-night?"

"With pleasure."

"You told me that you had bachelor quarters for one, and I

see that you have no gentleman visitor at present. Your hat-stand

proclaims as much."

"I shall be delighted if you will stay."

"Thank you. I'll fill the vacant peg then. Sorry to see that

you've had the British workman in the house. He's a token of

evil. Not the drains, I hope?"

"No, the gas."

"Ah! He has left two nail-marks from his boot upon your

linoleum just where the light strikes it. No, thank you, I had

some supper at Waterloo, but I'll smoke a pipe with you with

pleasure."

I handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite to me

and smoked for some time.in silence. I was well aware that

nothing but business of importance would have brought him to

me at such an hour, so I waited patiently until he should come

round to it.

"I see that you are professionally rather busy just now," said

he, glancing very keenly across at me.

"Yes, I've had a busy day," I answered. "It may seem very

foolish in your eyes," I added, "but really I don't know how

you deduced it."

Holmes chuckled to himself.

"I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Wat-

son," said he. "When your round is a short one you walk, and

when it is a long one you use a hansom. As I perceive that your

boots, although used, are by no means dirty, I cannot doubt that

you are at present busy enough to justify the hansom."

"Excellent!" I cried.

"Elementary," said he. "It is one of those instances where

the reasoner can produce an effect which seems remarkable to

his neighbour, because the latter has missed the one little point

which is the basis of the deduction. The same may be said, my

dear fellow, for the effect of some of these little sketches of

yours, which is entirely meretricious, depending as it does upon

your retaining in your own hands some factors in the problem

which are never imparted to the reader. Now, at present I am in

the position of these same readers, for I hold in this hand several

threads of one of the strangest cases which ever perplexed a

man's brain, and yet I lack the one or two which are needful to

complete my theory. But I'll have them, Watson, I'll have

them!" His eyes kindled and a slight flush sprang into his thin

cheeks. For an instant the veil had lifted upon his keen, intense

nature, but for an instant only. When I glanced again his face

had resumed that red-Indian composure which had made so

many regard him as a machine rather than a man.

"The problem presents features of interest," said he. "I may

even say exceptional features of interest. I have already looked

into the matter, and have come, as I think, within sight of my

solution. If you could accompany me in that last step you might

be of considerable service to me."

"I should be delighted."

"Could you go as far as Aldershot to-morrow?"

"I have no doubt Jackson would take my practice."

"Very good. I want to start by the 11:10 from Waterloo."

"That would give me time."

"Then, if you are not too sleepy, I will give you a sketch of

what has happened, and of what remains to be done."

"I was sleepy before you came. I am quite wakeful now."

"I will compress the story as far as may be done without

omitting anything vital to the case. It is conceivable that you

may even have read some account of the matter. It is the

supposed murder of Colonel Barclay, of the Royal Munsters, at

Aldershot, which I am investigating."

"I have heard nothing of it."

"It has not excited much attention yet, except locally. The

facts are only two days old. Briefly they are these:

"The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of the most

famous Irish regiments in the British Army. It did wonders both

in the Crimea and the Mutiny, and has since that time distin-

guished itself upon every possible occasion. It was commanded

up to Monday night by James Barclay, a gallant veteran, who

started as a full private, was raised to commissioned rank for his

bravery at the time of the Mutiny, and so lived to command the

regiment in which he had once carried a musket.

"Colonel Barclay had married at the time when he was a

sergeant, and his wife, whose maiden name was Miss Nancy

Devoy, was the daughter of a former colour-sergeant in the same

corps. There was, therefore, as can be imagined, some little

social friction when the young couple (for they were still young)

found themselves in their new surroundings. They appear, how-

ever, to have quickly adapted themselves, and Mrs. Barclay has

always, I understand, been as popular with the ladies of the

regiment as her husband was with his brother officers. I may add

that she was a woman of great beauty, and that even now, when

she has been married for upward of thirty years, she is still of a

striking and queenly appearance.

"Colonel Barclay's family life appears to have been a uni-

formly happy one. Major Murphy, to whom I owe most of my

facts, assures me that he has never heard of any misunderstand-

ing between the pair. On the whole, he thinks that Barclay's

devotion to his wife was greater than his wife's to Barclay. He

was acutely uneasy if he were absent from her for a day. She, on

the other hand, though devoted and faithful, was less obtrusively

affectionate. But they were regarded in the regiment as the very

model of a middle-aged couple. There was absolutely nothing in

their mutual relations to prepare people for the tragedy which

was to follow.

"Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had some singular

traits in his character. He was a dashing, jovial old soldier in his

usual mood, but there were occasions on which he seemed to

show himself capable of considerable violence and vindictiveness.

This side of his nature, however, appears never to have been

turned towards his wife. Another fact which had struck Major

Murphy and three out of five of the other officers with whom I

conversed was the singular sort of depression which came upon

him at times. As the major expressed it, the smile has often been

struck from his mouth, as if by some invisible hand, when he has

been joining in the gaieties and chaff of the mess-table. For days

on end, when the mood was on him, he has been sunk in the

deepest gloom. This and a certain tinge of superstition were the

only unusual traits in his character which his brother officers had

observed. The latter peculiarity took the form of a dislike to

being left alone, especially after dark. This puerile feature in a

nature which was conspicuously manly had often given rise to

comment and conjecture.

"The first battalion of the Royal Munsters (which is the old

One Hundred and Seventeenth) has been stationed at Aldershot

for some years. The married officers live out of barracks, and the

colonel has during all this time occupied a villa called 'Lachine,'

about half a mile from the north camp. The house stands in its

own grounds, but the west side of it is not more than thirty yards

from the highroad. A coachman and two maids form the staff of

servants. These with their master and mistress were the sole

occupants of Lachine, for the Barclays had no children, nor was

it usual for them to have resident visitors.

"Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on the

evening of last Monday.

"Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman

Catholic Church and had interested herself very much in the

establishment of the Guild of St. George, which was formed in

connection with the Watt Street Chapel for the purpose of sup-

plying the poor with cast-off clothing. A meeting of the Guild

had been held that evening at eight, and Mrs. Barclay had

hurried over her dinner in order to be present at it. When leaving

the house she was heard by the coachman to make some com-

monplace remark to her husband, and to assure him that she

would be back before very long. She then called for Miss

Morrison, a young lady who lives in the next villa and the two

went off together to their meeting. It lasted forty minutes, and at

a quarter-past nine Mrs. Barclay returned home, having left Miss

Morrison at her door as she passed.

"There is a room which is used as a morning-room at Lachine.

This faces the road and opens by a large glass folding-door on to

the lawn. The lawn is thirty yards across and is only divided

from the highway by a low wall with an iron rail above it. It was

into this room that Mrs. Barclay went upon her return. The

blinds were not down, for the room was seldom used in the

evening, but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and then rang the

bell, asking Jane Stewart, the housemaid, to bring her a cup of

tea, which was quite contrary to her usual habits. The colonel

had been sitting in the dining-room, but, hearing that his wife

had returned, he joined her in the morning-room. The coachman

saw him cross the hall and enter it. He was never seen again

alive.

"The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the end

of ten minutes; but the maid, as she approached the door, was

surprised to hear the voices of her master and mistress in furious

altercation. She knocked without receiving any answer, and even

turned the handle, but only to find that the door was locked upon

the inside. Naturally enough she ran down to tell the cook, and

the two women with the coachman came up into the hall and

listened to the dispute which was still raging. They all agreed

that only two voices were to be heard, those of Barclay and of

his wife. Barclay's remarks were subdued and abrupt so that

none of them were audible to the listeners. The lady's, on the

other hand, were most bitter, and when she raised her voice

could be plainly heard. 'You coward!' she repeated over and

over again. 'What can be done now? What can be done now?

Give me back my life. I will never so much as breathe the same

air with you again! You coward! You coward!' Those were

scraps of her conversation, ending in a sudden dreadful cry in the

man's voice, with a crash, and a piercing scream from the

woman. Convinced that some tragedy had occurred, the coach-

man rushed to the door and strove to force it, while scream after

scream issued from within. He was unable, however, to make

his way in, and the maids were too distracted with fear to be of

any assistance to him. A sudden thought struck him, however,

and he ran through the hall door and round to the lawn upon

which the long French windows open. One side of the window

was open, which I understand was quite usual in the summer-

time, and he passed without difficulty into the room. His mis-

tress had ceased to scream and was stretched insensible upon a

couch, while with his feet tilted over the side of an armchair, and

his head upon the ground near the corner of the fender, was Iying

the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of his own blood.

"Naturally, the coachman's first thought, on finding that he

could do nothing for his master, was to open the door. But here

an unexpected and singular difficulty presented itself. The key

was not in the inner side of the door, nor could he find it

anywhere in the room. He went out again, therefore, through the

window, and, having obtained the help of a policeman and of a

medical man, he returned. The lady, against whom naturally the

strongest suspicion rested, was removed to her room, still in a

state of insensibility. The colonel's body was then placed upon

the sofa and a careful examination made of the scene of the

tragedy.

"The injury from which the unfortunate veteran was suffering

was found to be a jagged cut some two inches long at the back

part of his head, which had evidently been caused by a violent

blow from a blunt weapon. Nor was it difficult to guess what

that weapon may have been. Upon the floor, close to the body,

was lying a singular club of hard carved wood with a bone

handle. The colonel possessed a varied collection of weapons

brought from the different countries in which he had fought, and

it is conjectured by the police that this club was among his

trophies. The servants deny having seen it before, but among the

numerous curiosities in the house it is possible that it may have

been overlooked. Nothing else of importance was discovered in

the room by the police, save the inexplicable fact that neither

upon Mrs. Barclay's person nor upon that of the victim nor in

any part of the room was the missing key to be found. The door

had eventually to be opened by a locksmith from Aldershot.

"That was the state of things, Watson, when upon the Tues-

day morning I, at the request of Major Murphy, went down to

Aldershot to supplement the efforts of the police. I think that you

will acknowledge that the problem was already one of interest,

but my observations soon made me realize that it was in truth

much more extraordinary than would at first sight appear.

"Before examining the room I cross-questioned the servants,

but only succeeded in eliciting the facts which I have already

stated. One other detail of interest was remembered by Jane

Stewart, the housemaid. You will remember that on hearing the

sound of the quarrel she descended and returned with the other

servants. On that first occasion, when she was alone, she says

that the voices of her master and mistress were sunk so low that

she could hardly hear anything, and judged by their tones rather

than their words that they had fallen out. On my pressing her,

however, she remembered that she heard the word David uttered

twice by the lady. The point is of the utmost importance as

guiding us towards the reason of the sudden quarrel. The colo-

nel's name, you remember, was James.

"There was one thing in the case which had made the deepest

impression both upon the servants and the police. This was the

contortion of the colonel's face. It had set, according to their

account, into the most dreadful expression of fear and horror

which a human countenance is capable of assuming. More than

one person fainted at the mere sight of him, so terrible was the

effect. It was quite certain that he had foreseen his fate, and that

it had caused him the utmost horror. This, of course, fitted in

well enough with the police theory, if the colonel could have

seen his wife making a murderous attack upon him. Nor was the

fact of the wound being on the back of his head a fatal objection

to this, as he might have turned to avoid the blow. No informa-

tion could be got from the lady herself, who was temporarily

insane from an acute attack of brain-fever.

"From the police I learned that Miss Morrison, who you

remember went out that evening with Mrs. Barclay, denied

having any knowledge of what it was which had caused the

ill-humour in which her companion had returned.

"Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoked several pipes

over them, trying to separate those which were crucial from

others which were merely incidental. There could be no question

that the most distinctive and suggestive point in the case was the

singular disappearance of the door-key. A most careful search

had failed to discover it in the room. Therefore it must have been

taken from it. But neither the colonel nor the colonel's wife

could have taken it. That was perfectly clear. Therefore a third

person must have entered the room. And that third person could

only have come in through the window. It seemed to me that a

careful examination of the room and the lawn might possibly

reveal some traces of this mysterious individual. You know my

methods, Watson. There was not one of them which I did not

apply to the inquiry. And it ended by my discovering traces, but

very different ones from those which I had expected. There had

been a man in the room, and he had crossed the lawn coming

from the road. I was able to obtain five very clear impressions of

his footmarks: one in the roadway itself, at the point where he

had climbed the low wall, two on the lawn, and two very faint

ones upon the stained boards near the window where he had

entered. He had apparently rushed across the lawn, for his

toe-marks were much deeper than his heels. But it was not the

man who surprised me. It was his companion."

"His companion!"

Holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper out of his pocket

and carefully unfolded it upon his knee.

"What do you make of that?" he asked.

The paper was covered with the tracings of the footmarks of

some small animal. It had five well-marked footpads, an indica-

tion of long nails, and the whole print might be nearly as large as

a dessert-spoon.

"It's a dog," said I.

"Did you ever hear of a dog running up a curtain? I found

distinct traces that this creature had done so."

"A monkey, then?"

"But it is not the print of a monkey."

"What can it be, then?"

"Neither dog nor cat nor monkey nor any creature that we are

familiar with. I have tried to reconstruct it from the measure-

ments. Here are four prints where the beast has been standing

motionless. You see that it is no less than fifteen inches from

fore-foot to hind. Add to that the length of neck and head, and

you get a creature not much less than two feet long -- probably

more if there is any tail. But now observe this other measure-

ment. The animal has been moving, and we have the length of

its stride. In each case it is only about three inches. You have an

indication, you see, of a long body with very short legs attached

to it. It has not been considerate enough to leave any of its hair

behind it. But its general shape must be what I have indicated,

and it can run up a curtain. and it is carnivorous."

"How do you deduce that?"

"Because it ran up the curtain. A canary's cage was hanging

in the window, and its aim seems to have been to get at the

bird."

"Then what was the beast?"

"Ah, if I could give it a name it might go a long way towards

solving the case. On the whole, it was probably some creature of

the weasel and stoat tribe -- and yet it is larger than any of these

that I have seen."

"But what had it to do with the crime?"

"That, also, is still obscure. But we have learned a good deal,

you perceive. We know that a man stood in the road looking at

the quarrcl between the Barclays -- the blinds were up and the

room lighted. We know, also, that he ran across the lawn,

entered the room, accompanied by a strange animal, and that he

either struck the colonel or, as is equally possible, that the

colonel fell down from sheer fright at the sight of him, and cut

his head on the corner of the fender. Finally we have the curious

fact that the intruder carried away the key with him when he

left."

"Your discoveries seem to have left the business more ob-

scure than it was before," said I.

"Quite so. They undoubtedly showed that the affair was much

deeper than was at first conjectured. I thought the matter over,

and I came to the conclusion that I must approach the case from

another aspect. But really, Watson, I am keeping you up, and I

might just as well tell you all this on our way to Aldershot

to-morrow."

"Thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop."

"It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay left the house at

half-past seven she was on good terms with her husband. She

was never, as I think I have said, ostentatiously affectionate, but

she was heard by the coachman chatting with the colonel in a

friendly fashion. Now, it was equally certain that, immediately

on her return, she had gone to the room in which she was least

likely to see her husband, had flown to tea as an agitated woman

will, and finally, on his coming in to her, had broken into

violent recriminations. Therefore something had occurred be-

tween seven-thirty and nine o'clock which had completely al-

tered her feelings towards him. But Miss Morrison had been with

her during the whole of that hour and a half. It was absolutely

certain, therefore, in spite of her denial, that she must know

something of the matter.

"My first conjecture was that possibly there had been some

passages between this young lady and the old soldier, which the

former had now confessed to the wife. That would account for

the angry return, and also for the girl's denial that anything had

occurred. Nor would it be entirely incompatible with most of the

words overheard. But there was the reference to David, and therc

was the known affection of the colonel for his wife to weigh

against it, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion of this other man,

which might, of course, be entirely disconnected with what had

gone before. It was not easy to pick one's steps, but, on the

whole, I was inclined to dismiss the idea that there had been

anything between the colonel and Miss Morrison, but more than

ever convinced that the young lady held the clue as to what it

was which had turned Mrs. Barclay to hatred of her husband. I

took the obvious course, therefore, of calling upon Miss M., of

explaining to her that I was perfectly certain that she held the

facts in her possession, and of assuring her that her friend, Mrs.

Barclay, might find herself in the dock upon a capital charge

unless the matter were cleared up.

"Miss Morrison is a little ethereal slip of a girl, with timid

eyes and blond hair, but I found her by no means wanting in

shrewdness and common sense. She sat thinking for some time

after I had spoken, and then, turning to me with a brisk air of

resolution, she broke into a remarkable statement which I will

condense for your benefit.

" 'I promised my friend that I would say nothing of the

matter, and a promise is a promise,' said she; 'but if I can really

help her when so serious a charge is laid against her, and when

her own mouth, poor darling, is closed by illness, then I think I

am absolved from my promise. I will tell you exactly what

happened upon Monday evening.

" 'We were returning from the Watt Street Mission about a

quarter to nine o'clock. On our way we had to pass through

Hudson Street, which is a very quiet thoroughfare. There is only

one lamp in it, upon the left-hand side, and as we approached

this lamp I saw a man coming towards us with his back very

bent, and something like a box slung over one of his shoulders.

He appeared to be deformed, for he carried his head low and

walked with his knees bent. We were passing him when he

raised his face to look at us in the circle of light thrown by the

lamp, and as he did so he stopped and screamed out in a dreadful

voice, "My God, it's Nancy!" Mrs. Barclay turned as white as

death and would have fallen down had the dreadful-looking

creature not caught hold of her. I was going to call for the

police, but she, to my surprise, spoke quite civilly to the fellow.

" ' "I thought you had been dead this thirty years, Henry,"

said she in a shaking voice.

" ' "So I have," said he, and it was awful to hear the tones

that he said it in. He had a very dark, fearsome face, and a

gleam in his eyes that comes back to me in my dreams. His hair

and whiskers were shot with gray, and his face was all crinkled

and puckered like a withered apple.

" ' "Just walk on a little way, dear," said Mrs. Barclay; "I

want to have a word with this man. There is nothing to be afraid

of." She tried to speak boldly, but she was still deadly pale and

could hardly get her words out for the trembling of her lips.

" 'I did as she asked me, and they talked together for a few

minutes. Then she came down the street with her eyes blazing,

and I saw the crippled wretch standing by the lamp-post and

shaking his clenched fists in the air as if he were mad with rage.

She never said a word until we were at the door here, when she

took me by the hand and begged me to tell no one what had

happened.

" ' "It's an old acquaintance of mine who has come down in

the world," said she. When I promised her I would say nothing

she kissed me, and I have never seen her since. I have told you

now the whole truth, and if I withheld it from the police it is

because I did not realize then the danger in which my dear friend

stood. I know that it can only be to her advantage that everything

should be known.'

"There was her statement, Watson, and to me, as you can

imagine, it was like a light on a dark night. Everything which

had been disconnected before began at once to assume its true

place, and I had a shadowy presentiment of the whole sequence

of events. My next step obviously was to find the man who had

produced such a remarkable impression upon Mrs. Barclay. If he

were still in Aldershot it should not be a very difficult matter.

There are not such a very great number of civilians, and a

deformed man was sure to have attracted attention. I spent a day

in the search, and by evening -- this very evening, Watson -- I

had run him down. The man's name is Henry Wood, and he

lives in lodgings in this same street in which the ladies met him.

He has only been five days in the place. In the character of a

registration-agent I had a most interesting gossip with his land-

lady. The man is by trade a conjurer and performer, going round

the canteens after nightfall, and giving a little entertainment at

each. He carries some creature about with him in that box, about

which the landlady seemed to be in considerable trepidation, for

she had never seen an animal like it. He uses it in some of his

tricks according to her account. So much the woman was able to

tell me, and also that it was a wonder the man lived, seeing how

twisted he was, and that he spoke in a strange tongue sometimes,

and that for the last two nights she had heard him groaning and

weeping in his bedroom. He was all right, as far as money went,

but in his deposit he had given her what looked like a bad florin.

She showed it to me, Watson, and it was an Indian rupee.

"So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand and

why it is I want you. It is perfectly plain that after the ladies

parted from this man he followed them at a distance, that he saw

the quarrel between husband and wife through the window, that

he rushed in, and that the creature which he carried in his box

got loose. That is all very certain. But he is the only person in

this world who can tell us exactly what happened in that room."

"And you intend to ask him?"

"Most certainly -- but in the presence of a witness."

"And I am the witness?"

"If you will be so good. If he can clear the matter up, well

and good. If he refuses, we have no alternative but to apply for a

warrant."

"But how do you know he'll be there when we return?"

"You may be sure that I took some precautions. I have one of

my Baker Street boys mounting guard over him who would stick

to him like a burr, go where he might. We shall find him in

Hudson Street to-morrow, Watson, and meanwhile I should be

the criminal myself if I kept you out of bed any longer."

It was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of the

tragedy, and, under my companion's guidance, we made our

way at once to Hudson Street. In spite of his capacity for

concealing his emotions, I could easily see that Holmes was in a

state of suppressed excitement, while I was myself tingling with

that half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which I invariably

experienced when I associated myself with him in his invest-

igations.

"This is the street," said he as we turned into a short thor-

oughfare lined with plain two-storied brick houses. "Ah, here is

Simpson to report."

"He's in all right, Mr. Holmes," cried a small street Arab,

running up to us.

"Good, Simpson!" said Holmes, patting him on the head.

"Come along, Watson. This is the house." He sent in his card

with a message that he had come on important business, and a

moment later we were face to face with the man whom we had

come to see. In spite of the warm weather he was crouching over

a fire, and the little room was like an oven. The man sat all

twisted and huddled in his chair in a way which gave an inde-

scribable impression of deformity; but the face which he turned

towards us, though worn and swarthy, must at some time have

been remarkable for its beauty. He looked suspiciously at us now

out of yellow-shot, bilious eyes, and, without speaking or rising,

he waved towards two chairs.

"Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe," said Holmes

affably. "I've come over this little matter of Colonel Barclay's

death."

"What should I know about that?"

"That's what I want to ascertain. You know, I suppose, that

unless the matter is cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is an old

friend of yours, will in all probability be tried for murder."

The man gave a violent start.

"I don't know who you are," he cried, "nor how you come

to know what you do know, but will you swear that this is true

that you tell me?"

"Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her senses to

arrest her."

"My God! Are you in the police yourself?"

"No."

"What business is it of yours, then?"

"It's every man's business to see justice done."

"You can take my word that she is innocent."

"Then you are guilty."

"No, I am not."

"Who killed Colonel James Barclay, then?"

"It was a just Providence that killed him. But, mind you this,

that if I had knocked his brains out, as it was in my heart to do,

he would have had no more than his due from my hands. If his

own guilty conscience had not struck him down it is likely

enough that I might have had his blood upon my soul. You want

me to tell the story. Well, I don't know why I shouldn't, for

there's no cause for me to be ashamed of it.

"It was in this way, sir. You see me now with my back like a

camel and my ribs all awry, but there was a time when Corporal

Henry Wood was the smartest man in the One Hundred and

Seventeenth foot. We were in India, then, in cantonments, at a

place we'll call Bhurtee. Barclay, who died the other day, was

sergeant in the same company as myself, and the belle of the

regiment, ay, and the finest girl that ever had the breath of life

between her lips, was Nancy Devoy, the daughter of the colour-

sergeant. There were two men that loved her, and one that she

loved, and you'll smile when you look at this poor thing huddled

before the fire and hear me say that it was for my good looks that

she loved me.

"Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon her

marrying Barclay. I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he

had had an education and was already marked for the sword-belt.

But the girl held true to me, and it seemed that I would have had

her when the Mutiny broke out, and all hell was loose in the

country.

"We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment of us with half a

battery of artillery, a company of Sikhs, and a lot of civilians

and women-folk. There were ten thousand rebels round us, and

they were as keen as a set of terriers round a rat-cage. About the

second week of it our water gave out, and it was a question

whether we could communicate with General Neill's column,

which was moving up-country. It was our only chance, for we

could not hope to fight our way out with all the women and

children, so I volunteered to go out and to warn General Neill of

our danger. My offer was accepted, and I talked it over with

Sergeant Barclay, who was supposed to know the ground better

than any other man, and who drew up a route by which I might

get through the rebel lines. At ten o'clock the same night I

started off upon my journey. There were a thousand lives to

save, but it was of only one that I was thinking when I dropped

over the wall that night.

"My way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we hoped

would screen me from the enemy's sentries; but as I crept round

the corner of it I walked right into six of them, who were

crouching down in the dark waiting for me. In an instant I was

stunned with a blow and bound hand and foot. But the real blow

was to my heart and not to my head, for as I came to and

listened to as much as I could understand of their talk, I heard

enough to tell me that my comrade, the very man who had

arranged the way I was to take, had betrayed me by means of a

native servant into the hands of the enemy.

"Well, there's no need for me to dwell on that part of it. You

know now what James Barclay was capable of. Bhurtee was

relieved by Neill next day, but the rebels took me away with

them in their retreat, and it was many a long year before ever I

saw a white face again. I was tortured and tried to get away, and

was captured and tortured again. You can see for yourselves the

state in which I was left. Some of them that fled into Nepal took

me with them, and then afterwards I was up past Darjeeling. The

hill-folk up there murdered the rebels who had me, and I became

their slave for a time until I escaped; but instead of going south I

had to go north, until I found myself among the Afghans. There

I wandered about for many a year, and at last came back to the

Punjab, where I lived mostly among the natives and picked up a

living by the conjuring tricks that I had learned. What use was it

for me, a wretched cripple, to go back to England or to make

myself known to my old comrades? Even my wish for revenge

would not make me do that. I had rather that Nancy and my old

pals should think of Harry Wood as having died with a straight

back, than see him living and crawling with a stick like a

chimpanzee. They never doubted that I was dead, and I meant

that they never should. I heard that Barclay had married Nancy,

and that he was rising rapidly in the regiment, but even that did

not make me speak.

"But when one gets old one has a longing for home. For years

I've been dreaming of the bright green fields and the hedges of

England. At last I determined to see them before I died. I saved

enough to bring me across, and then I came here where the

soldiers are, for I know their ways and how to amuse them and

so earn enough to keep me."

"Your narrative is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes.

"I have already heard of your meeting with Mrs. Barclay, and

your mutual recognition. You then, as I understand, followed her

home and saw through the window an altercation between her

husband and her, in which she doubtless cast his conduct to you

in his teeth. Your own feelings overcame you, and you ran

across the lawn and broke in upon them."

"I did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as I have never

seen a man look before, and over he went with his head on the

fender. But he was dead before he fell. I read death on his face

as plain as I can read that text over the fire. The bare sight of me

was like a bullet through his guilty heart."

"And then?"

"Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the key of the door

from her hand, intending to unlock it and get help. But as I was

doing it it seemed to me better to leave it alone and get away, for

the thing might look black against me, and anyway my secret

would be out if I were taken. In my haste I thrust the key into

my pocket, and dropped my stick while I was chasing Teddy,

who had run up the curtain. When I got him into his box, from

which he had slipped, I was off as fast as I could run."

"Who's Teddy?" asked Holmes.

The man leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind of hutch

in the corner. In an instant out there slipped a beautiful reddish-

brown creature, thin and lithe, with the legs of a stoat, a long,

thin nose, and a pair of the finest red eyes that ever I saw in an

animal's head.

"It's a mongoose," I cried.

"Well, some call them that, and some call them ichneumon,"

said the man. "Snake-catcher is what I call them, and Teddy is

amazing quick on cobras. I have one here without the fangs, and

Teddy catches it every night to please the folk in the canteen.

"Any other point, sir?"

"Well, we may have to apply to you again if Mrs. Barclay

should prove to be in serious trouble."

"In that case, of course, I'd come forward."

"But if not, there is no object in raking up this scandal against

a dead man, foully as he has acted. You have at least the

satisfaction of knowing that for thirty years of his life his con-

science bitterly reproached him for his wicked deed. Ah, there

goes Major Murphy on the other side of the street. Good-bye,

Wood. I want to learn if anything has happened since yesterday."

We were in time to overtake the major before he reached the

corner.

"Ah, Holmes," he said, "I suppose you have heard that all

this fuss has come to nothing?"

"What then?"

"The }nquest is just over. The medical evidence showed

conclusively that death was due to apoplexy. You see it was

quite a simple case. after all."

"Oh, remarkably superficial," said Holmes, smiling. "Come,

Watson, I don't think we shall be wanted in Aldershot any

more."

"There's one thing," said I as we walked down to the station.

"If the husband's name was James, and the other was Henry,

what was this talk about David?"

"That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me the

whole story had I been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond

of depicting. It was evidently a term of reproach."

"Of reproach?''

"Yes; David strayed a little occasionally, you know, and on

one occasion in the same direction as Sergeant James Barclay.

You remember the small affair of Uriah and Bathsheba? My

Biblical knowledge is a trifle rusty, I fear, but you will find the

story in the first or second of Samuel."