The Adventure of the Dancing Men

Holmes had been seated for some hours in silence with his

long, thin back curved over a chemical vessel in which he was

brewing a particularly malodorous product. His head was sunk

upon his breast, and he looked from my point of view like a

strange, lank bird, with dull gray plumage and a black top-knot.

"So, Watson," said he, suddenly, "you do not propose to

invest in South African securities?"

I gave a start of astonishment. Accustomed as I was to Holmes's

curious faculties, this sudden intrusion into my most intimate

thoughts was utterly inexplicable.

"How on earth do you know that?" I asked.

He wheeled round upon his stool, with a steaming test-tube in

his hand, and a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes.

"Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly taken aback," said

he.

"I am."

"I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect."

"Why?"

"Because in five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly

simple."

"I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind."

"You see, my dear Watson" -- he propped his test-tube in the

rack, and began to lecture with the air of a professor addressing

his class -- "it is not really difficult to construct a series of

inferences, each dependent upon its predecessor and each simple

in itself. If, after doing so, one simply knocks out all the central

inferences and presents one's audience with the starting-point

and the conclusion, one may produce a startling, though possi-

bly a meretricious, effect. Now, it was not really difficult, by an

inspection of the groove between your left forefinger and thumb,

to feel sure that you did not propose to invest your small capital

in the gold fields."

"I see no connection."

"Very likely not; but I can quickly show you a close connec-

tion. Here are the missing links of the very simple chain: 1. You

had chalk between your left finger and thumb when you returned

from the club last night. 2. You put chalk there when you play

billiards, to steady the cue. 3. You never play billiards except

with Thurston. 4. You told me, four weeks ago, that Thurston

had an option on some South African property which would

expire in a month, and which he desired you to share with him.

5. Your check book is locked in my drawer, and you have not

asked for the key. 6. You do not propose to invest your money

in this manner."

"How absurdly simple!" I cried.

"Quite so!" said he, a little nettled. "Every problem becomes

very childish when once it is explained to you. Here is an

unexplained one. See what you can make of that, friend Wat-

son." He tossed a sheet of paper upon the table, and turned once

more to his chemical analysis.

I looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon the

paper.

"Why, Holmes, it is a child's drawing," I cried.

"Oh, that's your idea!"

"What else should it be?"

"That is what Mr. Hilton Cubitt, of Riding Thorpe Manor,

Norfolk, is very anxious to know. This little conundrum came by

the first post, and he was to follow by the next train. There's a

ring at the bell, Watson. I should not be very much surprised if

this were he."

A heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and an instant later

there entered a tall, ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose clear

eyes and florid cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of

Baker Street. He seemed to bring a whiff of his strong, fresh,

bracing, east-coast air with him as he entered. Having shaken

hands with each of us, he was about to sit down, when his eye

rested upon the paper with the curious markings, which I had

just examined and left upon the table.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of these?" he cried.

"They told me that you were fond of queer mysteries, and I

don't think you can find a queerer one than that. I sent the paper

on ahead, so that you might have time to study it before I

came."

"It is certainly rather a curious production,'' said Holmes.

"At first sight it would appear to be some childish prank. It

consists of a number of absurd little figures dancing across the

paper upon which they are drawn. Why should you attribute any

importance to so grotesque an object?"

"I never should, Mr. Holmes. But my wife does. It is fright-

ening her to death. She says nothing, but I can see terror in her

eyes. That's why I want to sift the matter to the bottom."

Holmes held up the paper so that the sunlight shone full upon

it. It was a page torn from a notebook. The markings were done

in pencil, and ran in this way:

 

 

Holmes examined it for some time, and then, folding it carefully

up, he placed it in his pocketbook.

"This promises to be a most interesting and unusual case,"

said he. "You gave me a few particulars in your letter, Mr.

Hilton Cubitt, but I should be very much obliged if you would

kindly go over it all again for the benefit of my friend, Dr.

Watson."

"I'm not much of a story-teller," said our visitor, nervously

clasping and unclasping his great, strong hands. "You'll just ask

me anything that I don't make clear. I'll begin at the time of my

marriage last year, but I want to say first of all that, though I'm

not a rich man, my people have been at Riding Thorpe for a

matter of five centuries, and there is no better known family in

the County of Norfolk. Last year I came up to London for the

Jubilee, and I stopped at a boardinghouse in Russell Square,

because Parker, the vicar of our parish, was staying in it. There

was an American young lady there -- Patrick was the name --

Elsie Patrick. In some way we became friends, until before my

month was up I was as much in love as man could be. We were

quietly married at a registry office, and we returned to Norfolk a

wedded couple. You'll think it very mad, Mr. Holmes, that a

man of a good old family should marry a wife in this fashion,

knowing nothing of her past or of her people, but if you saw her

and knew her, it would help you to understand.

"She was very straight about it, was Elsie. I can't say that she

did not give me every chance of getting out of it if I wished to do

so. 'l have had some very disagreeable associations in my life,'

said she, 'I wish to forget all about them. I would rather never

allude to the past, for it is very painful to me. If you take me,

Hilton, you will take a woman who has nothing that she need be

personally ashamed of; but you will have to be content with my

word for it, and to allow me to be silent as to all that passed up

to the time when I became yours. If these conditions are too

hard, then go back to Norfolk, and leave me to the lonely life in

which you found me.' It was only the day before our wedding

that she said those very words to me. I told her that I was content

to take her on her own terms, and I have been as good as my

word.

"Well, we have been married now for a year, and very happy

we have been. But about a month ago, at the end of June, I saw

for the first time signs of trouble. One day my wife received a

letter from America. I saw the American stamp. She turned

deadly white, read the letter, and threw it into the fire. She made

no allusion to it afterwards, and I made none, for a promise is a

promise, but she has never known an easy hour from that

moment. There is always a look of fear upon her face -- a look as

if she were waiting and expecting. She would do better to trust

me. She would find that I was her best friend. But until she

speaks, I can say nothing. Mind you, she is a truthful woman,

Mr. Holmes, and whatever trouble there may have been in her

past life it has been no fault of hers. I am only a simple Norfolk

squire, but there is not a man in England who ranks his family

honour more highly than I do. She knows it well, and she knew

it well before she married me. She would never bring any stain

upon it -- of that I am sure.

"Well, now I come to the queer part of my story. About a

week ago -- it was the Tuesday of last week -- I found on one of

the window-sills a number of absurd little dancing figures like

these upon the paper. They were scrawled with chalk. I thought

that it was the stable-boy who had drawn them, but the lad swore

he knew nothing about it. Anyhow, they had come there during

the night. I had them washed out, and I only mentioned the

matter to my wife afterwards. To my surprise, she took it very

seriously, and begged me if any more came to let her see them.

None did come for a week, and then yesterday morning I found

this paper Iying on the sundial in the garden. I showed it to

Elsie, and down she dropped in a dead faint. Since then she has

looked like a woman in a dream, half dazed, and with terror

always lurking in her eyes. It was then that I wrote and sent the

paper to you, Mr. Holmes. It was not a thing that I could take to

the police, for they would have laughed at me, but you will tell

me what to do. I am not a rich man, but if there is any danger

threatening my little woman, I would spend my last copper to

shield her."

He was a fine creature, this man of the old English soil --

simple, straight, and gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes and

broad, comely face. His love for his wife and his trust in her

shone in his features. Holmes had listened to his story with the

utmost attention, and now he sat for some time in silent thought.

"Don't you think, Mr. Cubitt," said he, at last, "that your

best plan would be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to

ask her to share her secret with you?"

Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head.

"A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If Elsie wished to tell

me she would. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence.

But I am justified in taking my own line -- and I will."

"Then I will help you with all my heart. In the first place,

have you heard of any strangers being seen in your neighbour-

hood?"

"No."

"I presume that it is a very quiet place. Any fresh face would

cause comment?"

"In the immediate neighbourhood, yes. But we have several

small watering-places not very far away. And the farmers take in

lodgers."

"These hieroglyphics have evidently a meaning. If it is a

purely arbitrary one, it may be impossible for us to solve it. If,

on the other hand, it is systematic, I have no doubt that we shall

get to the bottom of it. But this particular sample is so short that

I can do nothing, and the facts which you have brought me are

so indefinite that we have no basis for an investigation. I would

suggest that you return to Norfolk, that you keep a keen lookout,

and that you take an exact copy of any fresh dancing men which

may appear. It is a thousand pities that we have not a reproduc-

tion of those which were done in chalk upon the window-sill.

Make a discreet inquiry also as to any strangers in the neigh-

bourhood. When you have collected some fresh evidence, come

to me again. That is the best advice which I can give you, Mr.

Hilton Cubitt. If there are any pressing fresh developments, I

shall be always ready to run down and see you in your Norfolk

home."

The interview left Sherlock Holmes very thoughtful, and sev-

eral times in the next few days I saw him take his slip of paper

from his notebook and look long and earnestly at the curious

figures inscribed upon it. He made no allusion to the affair,

however, until one afternoon a fortnight or so later. I was going

out when he called me back.

"You had better stay here, Watson."

"Why?"

"Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt this morning. You

remember Hilton Cubitt, of the dancing men? He was to reach

Liverpool Street at one-twenty. He may be here at any moment.

I gather from his wire that there have been some new incidents

of importance."

We had not long to wait, for our Norfolk squire came straight

from the station as fast as a hansom could bring him. He was

looking worried and depressed, with tired eyes and a lined

forehead.

"It's getting on my nerves, this business, Mr. Holmes," said

he, as he sank, like a wearied man, into an armchair. "It's bad

enough to feel that you are surrounded by unseen, unknown folk,

who have some kind of design upon you, but when, in addition

to that, you know that it is just killing your wife by inches, then

it becomes as much as flesh and blood can endure. She's wear-

ing away under it -- just wearing away before my eyes."

"Has she said anything yet?"

"No, Mr. Holmes, she has not. And yet there have been times

when the poor girl has wanted to speak, and yet could not quite

bring herself to take the plunge. I have tried to help her, but I

daresay I did it clumsily, and scared her from it. She has spoken

about my old family, and our reputation in the county, and our

pride in our unsullied honour, and I always felt it was leading to

the point, but somehow it turned off before we got there."

"But you have found out something for yourself?"

"A good deal, Mr. Holmes. I have several fresh dancing-men

pictures for you to examine, and, what is more important, I have

seen the fellow."

"What, the man who draws them?"

"Yes, I saw him at his work. But I will tell you everything in

order. When I got back after my visit to you, the very first thing

I saw next morning was a fresh crop of dancing men. They had

been drawn in chalk upon the black wooden door of the tool-

house, which stands beside the lawn in full view of the front

windows. I took an exact copy, and here it is." He unfolded a

paper and laid it upon the table. Here is a copy of the hiero-

glyphics:

 

 

"Excellent!" said Holmes. "Excellent! Pray continue."

"When I had taken the copy, I rubbed out the marks, but, two

mornings later, a fresh inscription had appeared. I have a copy of

it here":

 

 

Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with delight.

"Our material is rapidly accumulating," said he.

"Three days later a message was left scrawled upon paper,

and placed under a pebble upon the sundial. Here it is. The

characters are, as you see, exactly the same as the last one. After

that I determined to lie in wait, so I got out my revolver and I sat

up in my study, which overlooks the lawn and garden. About

two in the morning I was seated by the window, all being dark

save for the moonlight outside, when I heard steps behind me,

and there was my wife in her dressing-gown. She implored me to

come to bed. I told her frankly that I wished to see who it was

who played such absurd tricks upon us. She answered that it was

some senseless practical joke, and that I should not take any

notice of it.

" 'If it really annoys you, Hilton, we might go and travel, you

and I, and so avoid this nuisance.'

"'What, be driven out of our own house by a practical

joker?' said I. 'Why, we should have the whole county laughing

at us.'

" 'Well, come to bed.' said she, 'and we can discuss it in the

morning.'

"Suddenly, as she spoke, I saw her white face grow whiter

yet in the moonlight, and her hand tightened upon my shoulder.

Something was moving in the shadow of the tool-house. I saw a

dark, creeping figure which crawled round the corner and squat-

ted in front of the door. Seizing my pistol, I was rushing out,

when my wife threw her arms round me and held me with

convulsive strength. I tried to throw her off, but she clung to me

most desperately. At last I got clear, but by the time I had

opened the door and reached the house the creature was gone.

He had left a trace of his presence, however, for there on the

door was the very same arrangement of dancing men which had

already twice appeared, and which I have copied on that paper.

There was no other sign of the fellow anywhere, though I ran all

over the grounds. And yet the amazing thing is that he must have

been there all the time, for when I examined the door again in

the morning, he had scrawled some more of his pictures under

the line which I had already seen."

"Have you that fresh drawing?"

"Yes, it is very short, but I made a copy of it, and here it is."

Again he produced a paper. The new dance was in this form:

 

 

"Tell me," said Holmes -- and I could see by his eyes that he

was much excited -- "was this a mere addition to the first or did

it appear to be entirely separate?"

"It was on a different panel of the door."

"Excellent! This is far the most important of all for our

purpose. It fills me with hopes. Now, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, please

continue your most interesting statement."

"I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes, except that I was

angry with my wife that night for having held me back when I

might have caught the skulking rascal. She said that she feared

that I might come to harm. For an instant it had crossed my mind

that perhaps what she really feared was that he might come to

harm, for I could not doubt that she knew who this man was, and

what he meant by these strange signals. But there is a tone in my

wife's voice, Mr. Holmes, and a look in her eyes which forbid

doubt, and I am sure that it was indeed my own safety that was

in her mind. There's the whole case, and now I want your advice

as to what I ought to do. My own inclination is to put half a

dozen of my farm lads in the shrubbery, and when this fellow

comes again to give him such a hiding that he will leave us in

peace for the future."

"I fear it is too deep a case for such simple remedies," said

Holmes. "How long can you stay in London?"

"I must go back today. I would not leave my wife alone all

night for anything. She is very nervous, and begged me to come

back."

"I daresay you are right. But if you could have stopped. I

might possibly have been able to return with you in a day or two.

Meanwhile you will leave me these papers, and I think that it is

very likely that I shall be able to pay you a visit shortly and to

throw some light upon your case."

Sherlock Holmes preserved his calm professional manner until

our visitor had left us, although it was easy for me, who knew

him so well, to see that he was profoundly excited. The moment

that Hilton Cubitt's broad back had disappeared through the door

my comrade rushed to the table, laid out all the slips of paper

containing dancing men in front of him, and threw himself into

an intricate and elaborate calculation. For two hours I watched

him as he covered sheet after sheet of paper with figures and

letters, so completely absorbed in his task that he had evidently

forgotten my presence. Sometimes he was making progress and

whistled and sang at his work; sometimes he was puzzled, and

would sit for long spells with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye.

Finally he sprang from his chair with a cry of satisfaction, and

walked up and down the room rubbing his hands together. Then

he wrote a long telegram upon a cable form. "If my answer to

this is as I hope, you will have a very pretty case to add to your

collection, Watson," said he. "I expect that we shall be able to

go down to Norfolk tomorrow, and to take our friend some very

definite news as to the secret of his annoyance."

I confess that I was filled with curiosity, but I was aware that

Holmes liked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his

own way, so I waited until it should suit him to take me into his

confidence.

But there was a delay in that answering telegram, and two

days of impatience followed, during which Holmes pricked up

his ears at every ring of the bell. On the evening of the second

there came a letter from Hilton Cubitt. All was quiet with him,

save that a long inscription had appeared that morning upon the

pedestal of the sundial. He inclosed a copy of it, which is here

reproduced:

 

 

Holmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some minutes, and

then suddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise

and dismay. His face was haggard with anxiety.

"We have let this affair go far enough," said he. "Is there a

train to North Walsham to-night?"

I turned up the time-table. The last had just gone.

"Then we shall breakfast early and take the very first in the

morning," said Holmes. "Our presence is most urgently needed.

Ah! here is our expected cablegram. One moment, Mrs. Hudson,

there may be an answer. No, that is quite as I expected. This

message makes it even more essential that we should not lose an

hour in letting Hilton Cubitt know how matters stand, for it is a

singular and a dangerous web in which our simple Norfolk squire

is entangled."

So, indeed, it proved, and as I come to the dark conclusion of

a story which had seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre, I

experience once again the dismay and horror with which I was

filled. Would that I had some brighter ending to communicate to

my readers, but these are the chronicles of fact, and I must

follow to their dark crisis the strange chain of events which for

some days made Riding Thorpe Manor a household word through

the length and breadth of England.

We had hardly alighted at North Walsham, and mentioned the

name of our destination, when the stationmaster hurried towards

us. "I suppose that you are the detectives from London?" said

he.

A look of annoyance passed over Holmes's face.

"What makes you think such a thing?"

"Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has just passed

through. But maybe you are the surgeons. She's not dead -- or

wasn't by last accounts. You may be in time to save her yet --

though it be for the gallows."

Holmes's brow was dark with anxiety.

"We are going to Riding Thorpe Manor," said he, "but we

have heard nothing of what has passed there."

"It's a terrible business," said the stationmaster. "They are

shot, both Mr. Hilton Cubitt and his wife. She shot him and then

herself -- so the servants say. He's dead and her life is despaired

of. Dear, dear, one of the oldest families in the county of

Norfolk, and one of the most honoured."

Without a word Holmes hurried to a carriage, and during the

long seven miles' drive he never opened his mouth. Seldom have

I seen him so utterly despondent. He had been uneasy during all

our journey from town, and I had observed that he had turned

over the morning papers with anxious attention, but now this

sudden realization of his worst fears left him in a blank melan-

choly. He leaned back in his seat, lost in gloomy speculation.

Yet there was much around to interest us, for we were passing

through as singular a countryside as any in England, where a few

scattered cottages represented the populatlon of to-day, while on

every hand enormous square-towered churches bristled up from

the flat green landscape and told of the glory and prosperity of

old East Anglia. At last the violet rim of the German Ocean

appeared over the green edge of the Norfolk coast, and the driver

pointed with his whip to two old brick and timber gables which

projected from a grove of trees. "That's Riding Thorpe Manor,"

said he.

As we drove up to the porticoed front door, I observed in front

of it, beside the tennis lawn, the black tool-house and the

pedestalled sundial with which we had such strange associations.

A dapper little man, with a quick, alert manner and a waxed

moustache, had just descended from a high dog-cart. He intro-

duced himself as Inspector Martin, of the Norfolk Constabulary

and he was considerably astonished when he heard the name of

my companion.

"Why, Mr. Holmes, the crime was only committed at three

this morning. How could you hear of it in London and get to the

spot as soon as l?"

"I anticipated it. I came in the hope of preventing it."

"Then you must have important evidence, of which we are

ignorant, for they were said to be a most united couple."

"I have only the evidence of the dancing men," said Holmes.

"I will explain the matter to you later. Meanwhile, since it is too

late to prevent this tragedy, I am very anxious that I should use

the knowledge which I possess in order to insure that justice be

done. Will you associate me in your investigation, or will you

prefer that I should act independently?"

"I should be proud to feel that we were acting together, Mr.

Holmes," said the inspector, earnestly.

"In that case I should be glad to hear the evidence and to

examine the premises without an instant of unnecessary delay."

Inspector Martin had the good sense to allow my friend to do

things in his own fashion, and contented himself with carefully

noting the results. The local surgeon, an old, white-haired man,

had just come down from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt's room, and he

reported that her injuries were serious, but not necessarily fatal.

The bullet had passed through the front of her brain, and it

would probably be some time before she could regain conscious-

ness. On the question of whether she had been shot or had shot

herself, he would not venture to express any decided opinion.

Certainly the bullet had been discharged at very close quarters.

There was only the one pistol found in the room, two barrels of

which had been emptied. Mr. Hilton Cubitt had been shot through

the heart. It was equally conceivable that he had shot her and then

himself, or that she had been the criminal, for the revolver lay

upon the floor midway between them.

"Has he been moved?" asked Holmes.

"We have moved nothing except the lady. We could not leave

her lying wounded upon the floor."

"How long have you been here, Doctor?"

"Since four o'clock."

"Anyone else?"

"Yes, the constable here."

"And you have touched nothing?"

"Nothing."

"You have acted with great discretion. Who sent for you?"

"The housemaid, Saunders."

"Was it she who gave the alarm?"

"She and Mrs. King, the cook."

"Where are they now?"

"In the kitchen, I believe."

"Then I think we had better hear their story at once."

The old hall, oak-panelled and high-windowed, had been

turned into a court of investigation. Holmes sat in a great,

old-fashioned chair, his inexorable eyes gleaming out of his

haggard face. I could read in them a set purpose to devote his

life to this quest until the client whom he had failed to save

should at last be avenged. The trim Inspector Martin, the old,

gray-headed country doctor, myself, and a stolid village police-

man made up the rest of that strange company.

The two women told their story clearly enough. They had

been aroused from their sleep by the sound of an explosion,

which had been followed a minute later by a second one. They

slept in adjoining rooms, and Mrs. King had rushed in to Saunders.

Together they had descended the stairs. The door of the study

was open, and a candle was burning upon the table. Their master

lay upon his face in the centre of the room. He was quite dead.

Near the window his wife was crouching, her head leaning

against the wall. She was horribly wounded, and the side of her

face was red with blood. She breathed heavily, but was incapa-

ble of saying anything. The passage, as well as the room, was

full of smoke and the smell of powder. The window was cer-

tainly shut and fastened upon the inside. Both women were

positive upon the point. They had at once sent for the doctor and

for the constable. Then, with the aid of the groom and the

stable-boy, they had conveyed their injured mistress to her room.

Both she and her husband had occupied the bed. She was clad in

her dress -- he in his dressing-gown, over his night-clothes. Noth-

ing had been moved in the study. So far as they knew, there had

never been any quarrel between husband and wife. They had

always looked upon them as a very united couple.

These were the main points of the servants' evidence. In

answer to Inspector Martin, they were clear that every door was

fastened upon the inside, and that no one could have escaped

from the house. In answer to Holmes, they both remembered that

they were conscious of the smell of powder from the moment

that they ran out of their rooms upon the top floor. "I commend

that fact very carefully to your attention." said Holmes to his

professional colleague. "And now I think that we are in a

position to undertake a thorough examination of the room."

The study proved to be a small chamber, lined on three sides

with books, and with a writing-table facing an ordinary window,

which looked out upon the garden. Our first attention was given

to the body of the unfortunate squire, whose huge frame lay

stretched across the room. His disordered dress showed that he

had been hastily aroused from sleep. The bullet had been fired at

him from the front, and had remained in his body, after penetrat-

ing the heart. His death had certainly been instantaneous and

painless. There was no powder-marking either upon his dressing-

gown or on his hands. According to the country surgeon, the

lady had stains upon her face, but none upon her hand.

"The absence of the latter means nothing, though its presence

may mean everything," said Holmes. "Unless the powder from

a badly fitting cartridge happens to spurt backward, one may fire

many shots without leaving a sign. I would suggest that Mr.

Cubitt's body may now be removed. I suppose, Doctor, you

have not recovered the bullet which wounded the lady?"

"A serious operation will be necessary before that can be

done. But there are still four cartridges in the revolver. Two have

been fired and two wounds inflicted, so that each bullet can be

accounted for."

"So it would seem," said Holmes. "Perhaps you can account

also for the bullet which has so obviously struck the edge of the

window?"

He had turned suddenly, and his long, thin finger was pointing

to a hole which had been drilled right through the lower window-

sash. about an inch above the bottom.

"By George!" cried the inspector. "How ever did you see

that?"

"Because I looked for it."

"Wonderful!" said the counlry doctor. "You are certainly

right, sir. Then a third shot has been fired, and therefore a third

person must have been present. But who could that have been,

and how could he have got away?"

"That is the problem which we are now about to solve," said

Sherlock Holmes. "You remember, Inspector Martin, when the

servants said that on leaving their room they were at once

conscious of a smell of powder, I remarked that the point was an

extremely important one?"

"Yes, sir; but I confess I did not quite follow you."

"It suggested that at the time of the firing, the window as well

as the door of the room had been open. Otherwise the fumes of

powder could not have been blown so rapidly through the house.

A draught in the room was necessary for that. Both door and

window were only open for a very short time, however."

"How do you prove that?"

"Because the candle was not guttered."

"Capital!" cried the inspector. "Capital!"

"Feeling sure that the window had been open at the time of

the tragedy, I conceived that there might have been a third

person in the affair, who stood outside this opening and fired

through it. Any shot directed at this person might hit the sash. I

looked, and there, sure enough, was the bullet mark!"

"But how came the window to be shut and fastened?"

"The woman's first instinct would be to shut and fasten the

window. But, halloa! what is this?"

It was a lady's hand-bag which stood upon the study table -- a

trim little handbag of crocodile-skin and silver. Holmes opened it

and turned the contents out. There were twenty fifty-pound notes

of the Bank of England, held together by an india-rubber band --

nothing else.

"This must be preserved, for it will figure in the trial," said

Holmes, as he handed the bag with its contents to the inspector.

"It is now necessary that we should try to throw some light upon

this third bullet, which has clearly, from the splintering of the

wood, been fired from inside the room. I should like to see Mrs.

King, the cook, again. You said, Mrs. King, that you were

awakened by a loud explosion. When you said that, did you

mean that it seemed to you to be louder than the second one?"

"Well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep, so it is hard to

judge. But it did seem very loud."

"You don't think that it might have been two shots fired

almost at the same instant?"

"I am sure I couldn't say, sir."

"I believe that it was undoubtedly so. I rather think, Inspector

Mattin, that we have now exhausted all that this room can teach

us. If you will kindly step round with me, we shall see what

fresh evidence the garden has to offer."

A flower-bed extended up to the study window, and we all

broke into an exclamation as we approached it. The flowers were

trampled down, and the soft soil was imprinted all over with

footmarks. Large, masculine feet they were, with peculiarly

long, sharp toes. Holmes hunted about among the grass and

leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird. Then, with a cry of

satisfaction, he bent forward and picked up a little brazen cylinder.

"I thought so," said he; "the revolver had an ejector, and

here is the third cartridge. I really think, Inspector Martin, that

our case is almost complete."

The country inspector's face had shown his intense amazement

at the rapid and masterful progress of Holmes's investigation. At

first he had shown some disposition to assert his own position,

but now he was overcome with admiration, and ready to follow

without question wherever Holmes led.

"Whom do you suspect?" he asked.

"I'll go into that later. There are several points in this problem

which I have not been able to explain to you yet. Now that I

have got so far, I had best proceed on my own lines, and then

clear the whole matter up once and for all."

"Just as you wish, Mr. Holmes, so long as we get our man."

"I have no desire to make mysteries, but it is impossible at the

moment of action to enter into long and complex explanations. I

have the threads of this affair all in my hand. Even if this lady

should never recover consciousness, we can still reconstruct the

events of last night, and insure that justice be done. First of all, I

wish to know whether there is any inn in this neighbourhood

known as 'Elrige's'?"

The servants were cross-questioned, but none of them had

heard of such a place. The stable-boy threw a light upon the

matter by remembering that a farmer of that name lived some

miles off, in the direction of East Ruston.

"Is it a lonely farm?"

"Very lonely, sir."

"Perhaps they have not heard yet of all that happened here

during the night?"

"Maybe not, sir."

Holmes thought for a little, and then a curious smile played

over his face.

"Saddle a horse, my lad," said he. "I shall wish you to take a

note to Elrige's Farm."

He took from his pocket the various slips of the dancing men.

With these in front of him he worked for some time at the

study-table. Finally he handed a note to the boy, with directions

to put it into the hands of the person to whom it was addressed,

and especially to answer no questions of any sort which might be

put to him. I saw the outside of the note, addressed in straggling,

irregular characters, very unlike Holmes's usual precise hand. It

was consigned to Mr. Abe Slaney, Elrige's Farm, East Ruston,

Norfolk.

"I think, Inspector," Holmes remarked, "that you would do

well to telegraph for an escort, as, if my calculations prove to be

correct, you may have a particularly dangerous prisoner to con-

vey to the county jail. The boy who takes this note could no

doubt forward your telegram. If there is an afternoon train to

town, Watson, I think we should do well to take it, as I have a

chemical analysis of some interest to finish, and this investiga-

tion draws rapidly to a close."

When the youth had been dispatched with the note, Sherlock

Holmes gave his instructions to the servants. If any visitor were

to call asking for Mrs. Hilton Cubitt, no information should be

given as to her condition, but he was to be shown at once into

the drawing-room. He impressed these points upon them with the

utmost earnestness. Finally he led the way into the drawing-room,

with the remark that the business was now out of our hands, and

that we must while away the time as best we might until we

could see what was in store for us. The doctor had departed to

his patients and only the inspector and myself remained.

"I think that I can help you to pass an hour in an interesting

and profitable manner," said Holmes, drawing his chair up to

the table, and spreading out in front of him the various papers

upon which were recorded the antics of the dancing men. "As to

you, friend Watson, I owe you every atonement for having

allowed your natural curiosity to remain so long unsatisfied. To

you, Inspector, the whole incident may appeal as a remarkable

professional study. I must tell you, first of all, the interesting

circumstances connected with the previous consultations which

Mr. Hilton Cubitt has had with me in Baker Street." He then

shortly recapitulated the facts which have already been recorded.

"I have here in front of me these singular productions, at which

one might smile, had they not proved themselves to be the

forerunners of so terrible a tragedy. I am fairly familiar with all

forms of secret writings, and am myself the author of a trifling

monograph upon the subject, in which I analyze one hundred and

sixty separate ciphers, but I confess that this is entirely new to

me. The object of those who invented the system has apparently

been to conceal that these characters convey a message, and to

give the idea that they are the mere random sketches of children.

"Having once recognized, however, that the symbols stood

for letters, and having applied the rules which guide us in all

forms of secret writings, the solution was easy enough. The first

message submitted to me was so short that it was impossible for

me to do more than to say, with some confidence, that the

symbol ~ stood for E. As you are aware, E is the most common

letter in the English alphabet, and it predominates to so marked

an extent that even in a short sentence one would expect to find

it most often. Out of fifteen symbols in the first message, four

were the same, so it was reasonable to set this down as E. It is

true that in some cases the figure was bearing a flag, and in some

cases not, but it was probable, from the way in which the flags

were distributed, that they were used to break the sentence up

into words. I accepted this as a hypothesis, and noted that E was

represented by ~.

"But now came the real difficulty of the inquiry. The order of

the English letters after E is by no means well marked, and any

preponderance which may be shown in an average of a printed

sheet may be reversed in a single short sentence. Speaking

roughly, T, A, 0, I, N, S, H, R, D, and L are the numerical

order in which letters occur; but T, A, 0, and I are very nearly

abreast of each other, and it would be an endless task to try each

combination until a meaning was arrived at. I therefore waited

for fresh material. In my second interview with Mr. Hilton

Cubitt he was able to give me two other short sentences and one

message, which appeared -- since there was no flag -- to be a

single word. Here are the symbols. Now, in the single word I

have already got the two E's coming second and fourth in a word

of five letters. It might be 'sever.' or 'lever,' or 'never.' There

can be no question that the latter as a reply to an appeal is far the

most probable, and the circumstances pointed to its being a reply

written by the lady. Accepting it as correct, we are now able to say

that the symbols ~~~ stand respectively for N, V, and R.

"Even now I was in considerable difficulty, but a happy

thought put me in possession of several other letters. It occurred

to me that if these appeals came, as I expected, from someone

who had been intimate with the lady in her early life, a combina-

tion which contained two E's with three letters between might

very well stand for the name 'ELSIE.' On examination I found

that such a combination formed the termination of the message

which was three times repeated. It was certainly some appeal to

'Elsie.' In this way I had got my L, S, and I. But what appeal

could it be? There were only four letters in the word which

preceded 'Elsie,' and it ended in E. Surely the word must be

'COME.' I tried all other four letters ending in E, but could find

none to fit the case. So now I was in possession of C. 0, and

M, and I was in a position to attack the first message once more,

dividing it into words and putting dots for each symbol which

was still unknown. So treated, it worked out in this fashion:

 

. M . ERE . . E SL . NE.

 

"Now the first letter can only be A, which is a most useful

discovery, since it occurs no fewer than three times in this short

sentence, and the H is also apparent in the second word. Now it

becomes:

 

AM HERE A . E SLANE.

 

Or, filling in the obvious vacancies in the name:

 

AM HERE ABE SLANEY.

 

I had so many letters now that I could proceed with considerable

confidence to the second message, which worked out in this

fashion:

 

A . ELRI . ES

 

Here I could only make sense by putting T and G for the missing

letters, and supposing that the name was that of some house or

inn at which the writer was staying."

Inspector Martin and I had listened with the utmost interest to

the full and clear account of how my friend had produced results

which had led to so complete a command over our difficulties.

"What did you do then, sir?" asked the inspector.

"I had every reason to suppose that this Abe Slaney was an

American, since Abe is an American contraction, and since a

letter from America had been the starting-point of all the trouble.

I had also every cause to think that there was some criminal

secret in the matter. The lady's allusions to her past, and her

refusal to take her husband into her confidence, both pointed in

that direction. I therefore cabled to my friend, Wilson Hargreave,

of the New York Police Bureau, who has more than once made

use of my knowledge of London crime. I asked him whether the

name of Abe Slaney was known to him. Here is his reply: 'The

most dangerous crook in Chicago.' On the very evening upon

which I had his answer, Hilton Cubitt sent me the last message

from Slaney. Working with known letters, it took this form:

 

ELSIE . RE . ARE TO MEET THY GO.

 

The addition of a P and a D completed a message which showed

me that the rascal was proceeding from persuasion to threats, and

my knowledge of the crooks of Chicago prepared me to find that

he might very rapidly put his words into action. I at once came

to Norfolk with my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, but,

unhappily, only in time to find that the worst had already

occurred."

"It is a privilege to be associated with you in the handling of a

case," said the inspector, warmly. "You will excuse me, how-

ever, if I speak frankly to you. You are only answerable to

yourself, but I have to answer to my superiors. If this Abe

Slaney, living at Elrige's, is indeed the murderer, and if he has

made his escape while I am seated here, I should certainly get

into serious trouble."

"You need not be uneasy. He will not try to escape."

"How do you know?"

"To fly would be a confession of guilt."

"Then let us go to arrest him."

"I expect him here every instant."

"But why should he come?"

"Because I have written and asked him."

"But this is incredible, Mr. Holmes! Why should he come

because you have asked him? Would not such a request rather

rouse his suspicions and cause him to fly?"

"I think I have known how to frame the letter," said Sherlock

Holmes. "In fact, if I am not very much mistaken, here is the

gentleman himself coming up the dnve."

A man was striding up the path which led to the door. He was

a tall, handsome, swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of gray flannel,

with a Panama hat, a bristling black beard, and a great, aggres-

sive hooked nose, and flourishing a cane as he walked. He

swaggered up the path as if the place belonged to him, and we

heard his loud, confident peal at the bell.

"I think, gentlemen," said Holmes, quietly, "that we had

best take up our position behind the door. Every precaution is

necessary when dealing with such a fellow. You will need your

handcuffs, Inspector. You can leave the talking to me."

We waited in silence for a minute -- one of those minutes

which one can never forget. Then the door opened and the man

stepped in. In an instant Holmes clapped a pistol to his head, and

Martin slipped the handcuffs over his wrists. It was all done so

swiftly and deftly that the fellow was helpless before he knew

that he was attacked. He glared from one to the other of us with

a pair of blazing black eyes. Then he burst into a bitter laugh.

"Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this time. I seem

to have knocked up against something hard. But I came here in

answer to a letter from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt. Don't tell me that she

is in this? Don't tell me that she helped to set a trap for me?"

"Mrs. HiLton Cubitt was seriously injured, and is at death's

door."

The man gave a hoarse cry of grief, which rang through the

house.

"You're crazy!" he cried, fiercely. "It was he that was hurt,

not she. Who would have hurt little Elsie? I may have threatened

her -- God forgive me! -- but I would not have touched a hair of

her pretty head. Take it back -- you! Say that she is not hurt!"

"She was found, badly wounded, by the side of her dead

husband."

He sank with a deep groan on to the settee, and buried his face

in his manacled hands. For five minutes he was silent. Then he

raised his face once more, and spoke with the cold composure of

despair.

"I have nothing to hide from you, gentlemen," said he. "If I

shot the man he had his shot at me, and there's no murder in

that. But if you think I could have hurt that woman, then you

don't know either me or her. I tell you, there was never a man in

this world loved a woman more than I loved her. I had a right to

her. She was pledged to me years ago. Who was this Englishman

that he should come between us? I tell you that I had the first

right to her, and that I was only claiming my own."

"She broke away from your influence when she found the

man that you are," said Holmes, sternly. "She fled from Amer-

ica to avoid you, and she married an honourable gentleman in

England. You dogged her and followed her and made her life a

misery to her, in order to induce her to abandon the husband

whom she loved and respected in order to fly with you, whom

she feared and hated. You have ended by bringing about the

death of a noble man and driving his wife to suicide. That is

your record in this business, Mr. Abe Slaney, and you will

answer for it to the law.

"If Elsie dies, I care nothing what becomes of me," said the

American. He opened one of his hands, and looked at a note

crumpled up in his palm. "See here, mister," he cried, with a

gleam of suspicion in his eyes, "you're not trying to scare me

over this, are you? If the lady is hurt as bad as you say, who was

it that wrote this note?" He tossed it forward on to the table.

"I wrote it, to bring you here."

"You wrote it? There was no one on earth outside the Joint

who knew the secret of the dancing men. How came you to write

it?"

"What one man can invent another can discover," said Holmes.

"There is a cab coming to convey you to Norwich, Mr. Slaney.

But, meanwhile, you have time to make some small reparation

for the injury you have wrought. Are you aware that Mrs. Hilton

Cubitt has herself lain under grave suspicion of the murder of her

husband, and that it was only my presence here, and the knowl-

edge which I happened to possess, which has saved her from the

accusation? The least that you owe her is to make it clear to the

whole world that she was in no way, directly or indirectly,

responsible for his tragic end."

"I ask nothing better," said the American. "I guess the very

best case I can make for myself is the absolute naked truth."

"It is my duty to warn you that it will be used against you,"

cried the inspector, with the magnificent fair play of the British

criminal law.

Slaney shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll chance that," said he. "First of all, I want you gentle-

men to understand that I have known this lady since she was a

child. There were seven of us in a gang in Chicago, and Elsie's

father was the boss of the Joint. He was a clever man, was old

Patrick. It was he who invented that writing, which would pass

as a child's scrawl unless you just happened to have the key to it.

Well Elsie learned some of our ways. but she couldn't stand

the business, and she had a bit of honest money of her own. so

she gave us all the slip and got away to London. She had been

engaged to me, and she would have married me, I believe, if I

had taken over another profession, but she would have nothing to

do with anything on the cross. It was only after her marriage to

this Englishman that I was able to find out where she was. I

wrote to her, but got no answer. After that I came over, and, as

letters were no use, I put my messages where she could read

them.

"Well, I have been here a month now. I lived in that farm,

where I had a room down below, and could get in and out every

night, and no one the wiser. I tried all I could to coax Elsie

away. I knew that she read the messages, for once she wrote an

answer under one of them. Then my temper got the better of me,

and I began to threaten her. She sent me a letter then, imploring

me to go away, and saying that it would break her heart if any

scandal should come upon her husband. She said that she would

come down when her husband was asleep at three in the morn-

ing, and speak with me through the end window, if I would go

away afterwards and leave her in peace. She came down and

brought money with her, trying to bribe me to go. This made

me mad and I caught her arm and tried to pull her through

the window. At that moment in rushed the husband with his

revolver in his hand. Elsie had sunk down upon the floor,

and we were face to face. I was heeled also, and I held up my

gun to scare him off and let me get away. He fired and missed

me. I pulled off almost at the same instant, and down he

dropped. I made away across the garden, and as I went I heard

the window shut behind me. That's God's truth, gentlemen,

every word of it: and I heard no more about it until that lad came

riding up with a note which made me walk in here, like a jay,

and give myself into your hands."

A cab had driven up whilst the American had been talking.

Two uniformed policemen sat inside. Inspector Martin rose and

touched his prisoner on the shoulder.

"It is time for us to go."

"Can I see her first?"

"No, she is not conscious. Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I only hope

that, if ever again I have an important case, I shall have the

good fortune to have you by my side."

We stood at the window and watched the cab drive away. As I

turned back, my eye caught the pellet of paper which the pris-

oner had tossed upon the table. It was the note with which

Holmes had decoyed him.

"See if you can read it, Watson," said he, with a smile.

It contained no word, but this little line of dancing men:

 

 

"If you use the code which I have explained," said Holmes,

"you will find that it simply means 'Come here at once.' I was

convinced that it was an invitation which he would not refuse,

since he could never imagine that it could come from anyone but

the lady. And so, my dear Watson, we have ended by turning the

dancing men to good when they have so often been the agents of

evil, and I think that I have fulfilled my promise of giving you

something unusual for your notebook. Three-forty is our train,

and I fancy we should be back in Baker Street for dinner."

Only one word of epilogue. The American, Abe Slaney, was

condemned to death at the winter assizes at Norwich, but his

penalty was changed to penal servitude in consideration of miti-

gating circumstances, and the certainty that Hilton Cubitt had

fired the first shot. Of Mrs. Hilton Cubitt I only know that I have

heard she recovered entirely, and that she still remains a widow,

devoting her whole life to the care of the poor and to the

administration of her husband's estate.

 

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

The Adventure of the Devil's Foot

 

In recordinc from time to time some of the curious experiences and

interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate

friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continually been faced by

difficulties caused by his own aversion to publicity. To his sombre and

cynical spirit all popular applause was always abhorrent, and nothing

amused him more at the end of a successful case than to hand over the actual

exposure to some orthodox official, and to listen with a mocking smile

to the general chorus of misplaced congratulation. It was indeed this

attitude upon the part of my friend and certainly not any lack of

interesting material which has caused me of late years to lay very few of

my records before the public. My participation in some of his adventures was

always a privilege which entailed discretion and reticence upon me.

It was, then, with considerable surprise that I received a telegram from

Holmes last Tuesday -- he has never been known to write where a telegram

would serve -- in the following terms:

 

Why not tell them of the Cornish horror -- strangest case

I have handled.

 

I have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought the matter

fresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desire that I should

recount it; but I hasten, before another cancelling telegram may arrive, to

hunt out the notes which give me the exact details of the case and to lay the

narrative before my readers.

It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that Holmes's iron constitution

showed some symptoms of giving way in the face of constant hard work of a

most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, by occasional indiscretions of his

own. In March of that year Dr. Moore Agar, of Harley Street, whose dramatic

introduction to Holmes I may some day recount, gave positive injunctions

that the famous private agent lay aside all his cases and surrender himself to

complete rest if he wished to avert an absolute breakdown. The state of his

health was not a matter in which he himself took the faintest interest, for

his mental detachment was absolute, but he was induced at last, on the threat

of being permanently disqualified from work, to give himself a complete change

of scene and air. Thus it was that in the early spring of that year we found

ourselves together in a small cottage near Poldhu Bay, at the further

extremity of the Cornish peninsula.

It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to the grim humour of

my patient. From the windows of our little whitewashed house, which stood

high upon a grassy headland, we looked down upon the whole sinister

semicircle of Mounts Bay, that old death trap of sailing vessels, with its

fringe of black cliffs and surge-swept reefs on which innumerable seamen

have met their end. With a northerly breeze it lies placid and sheltered,

inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it for rest and protection.

Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blustering gale from

the south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, and the last battle in the

creaming breakers. The wise mariner stands far out from that evil place.

On the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea. It was a

country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-coloured, with an occasional church

tower to mark the site of some oldworld village. In every direction upon

these moors there were traces of some vanished race which had passed

utterly away, and left as its sole record strange monuments of stone,

irregular mounds which contained the burned ashes of the dead, and curious

earthworks which hinted at prehistoric strife. The glamour and mystery of

the place, with its sinister atmosphere of forgotten nations, appealed to the

imagination of my friend, and he spent much of his time in long walks and

solitary meditations upon the moor. The ancient Cornish language had also

arrested his attention, and he had, I remember, conceived the idea that it

was akin to the Chaldean, and had been largely derived from the Phoenician

traders in tin. He had received a consignment of books upon philology and

was settling down to develop this thesis when suddenly, to my sorrow and to

his unfeigned delight, we found ourselves, even in that land of dreams,

plunged into a problem at our very doors which was more intense, more

engrossing, and infinitely more mysterious than any of those which had

driven us from London. Our simple life and peaceful, healthy routine were

violently interrupted, and we were precipitated into the midst of a series of

events which caused the utmost excitement not only in Cornwall but

throughout the whole west of England. Many of my readers may retain some

recollection of what was called at the time "The Cornish Horror," though a

most imperfect account of the matter reached the London press. Now, after

thirteen years, I will give the true details of this inconceivable affair to

the public.

I have said that scattered towers marked the villages which dotted this part

of Cornwall. The nearest of these was the hamlet of Tredannick Wollas, where

the cottages of a couple of hundred inhabitants clustered round an ancient,

moss-grown church. The vicar of the parish, Mr. Roundhay, was something of

an archeologist, and as such Holmes had made his acquaintance. He was

a middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a considerable fund of local lore.

At his invitation we had taken tea at the vicarage and had come to know, also,

Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, an independent gentleman, who increased the

clergyman's scanty resources by taking rooms in his large, straggling house.

The vicar, being a bachelor, was glad to come to such an arrangement, though

he had little in common with his lodger, who was a thin, dark, spectacled man,

with a stoop which gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. I

remember that during our short visit we found the vicar garrulous, but his

lodger strangely reticent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting with

averted eyes, brooding apparently upon his own affairs.

These were the two men who entered abruptly into our little sitting-room

on Tuesday, March the 16th, shortly after our breakfast hour, as we were

smoking together, preparatory to our daily excursion upon the moors.

"Mr. Holmes," said the vicar in an agitated voice, "the most extraordinary

and tragic affair has occurred during the night. It is the most unheard-of

business. We can only regard it as a special Providence that you should

chance to be here at the time, for in all England you are the one man we need."

I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; but Holmes took

his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair like an old hound who hears the

view-halloa. He waved his hand to the sofa, and our palpitating visitor with

his agitated companion sat side by side upon it. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis was

more selfcontained than the clergyman, but the twitching of his thin hands

and the brightness of his dark eyes showed that they shared a common

emotion.

"Shall I speak or you?" he asked of the vicar.

"Well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it may be, and the

vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you had better do the speaking,"

said Holmes.

I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formally dressed lodger

seated beside him, and was amused at the surprise which Holmes's simple

deduction had brought to their faces.

"Perhaps I had best say a few words first," said the vicar, "and then you

can judge if you will listen to the details from Mr. Tregennis, or whether we

should not hasten at once to the scene of this mysterious affair. I may

explain, then, that our friend here spent last evening in the company of his

two brothers, Owen and George, and of his sister Brenda, at their house of

Tredannick Wartha, which is near the old stone cross upon the moor. He left

them shortly after ten o'clock, playing cards round the dining-room table, in

excellent health and spirits. This morning, being an early riser, he walked in

that direction before breakfast and was overtaken by the carriage of Dr.

Richards, who explained that he had just been sent for on a most urgent call

to Tredannick Wartha. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis naturally went with him.

When he arrived at Tredannick Wartha he found an extraordinary state of

things. His two brothers and his sister were seated round the table exactly

as he had left them, the cards still spread in front of them and the candles

burned down to their sockets. The sister lay back stone-dead in her chair,

while the two brothers sat on each side of her laughing, shouting, and

singing, the senses stricken clean out of them. All three of them, the dead

woman and the two demented men, retained upon their faces an expression

of the utmost horror -- a convulsion of terror which was dreadful to look

upon. There was no sign of the presence of anyone in the house, except Mrs.

Porter, the old cook and housekeeper, who declared that she had slept

deeply and heard no sound during the night. Nothing had been stolen or

disarranged, and there is absolutely no explanation of what the horror can

be which has frightened a woman to death and two strong men out of their

senses. There is the situation, Mr. Holmes, in a nutshell, and if you can help

us to clear it up you will have done a great work."

I had hoped that in some way I could coax my companion back into the

quiet which had been the object of our journey; but one glance at his intense

face and contracted eyebrows told me how vain was now the expectation.

He sat for some little time in silence, absorbed in the strange drama which

had broken in upon our peace.

"I will look into this matter," he said at last. "On the face of it, it

would appear to be a case of a very exceptional nature. Have you been there

yourself, Mr. Roundhay?"

"No, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tregennis brought back the account to the vicarage,

and I at once hurried over with him to consult you."

"How far is it to the house where this singular tragedy occurred?"

"About a mile inland."

"Then we shall walk over together. But before we start I must ask you a few

questions, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis."

The other had been silent all this time, but I had observed that his more

controlled excitement was even greater than the obtrusive emotion of the

clergyman. He sat with a pale, drawn face, his anxious gaze fixed opon Holmes,

and his thin hands clasped convulsively together. His pale lips quivered as he

listened to the dreadful experience which had befallen his family, and his

dark eyes seemed to reflect something of the horror of the scene.

"Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes," said he eagerly. "It is a bad thing to

speak of, but I will answer you the truth."

"Tell me about last night."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I supped there, as the vicar has said, and my elder

brother George proposed a game of whist afterwards. We sat down about nine

o'clock. It was a quarter-past ten when I moved to go. I left thern all

round the table, as merry as could be."

"Who let you out?"

"Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself out. I shut the hall door

behind me. The window of the room in which they sat was closed, but the blind

was not drawn down. There was no change in door or window this morning, nor

any reason to think that any stranger had been to the house. Yet there they

sat, driven clean mad with terror, and Brenda lying dead of fright, with her

head hanging over the arm of the chair. I'll never get the sight of that room

out of my mind so long as I live."

"The facts, as you state them, are certainly most remarkable," said Holmes.

"I take it that you have no theory yourself which can in any way account for

them?"

"It's devilish, Mr. Holmes, devilish!" cried Mortimer Tregennis. "It is not

of this world. Something has come into that room which has dashed the light of

reason from their minds. What human contrivance could do that?"

"I fear," said Holmes~, "that if the matter is beyond humanity it is

certainly beyond me. Yet we must exhaust all natural explanations before we

fall back upon such a theory as this. As to yourself, Mr. Tregenrlis, I take

it you were divided in some way from your family, since they lived together

and you had rooms apart?"

"That is so, Mr. Holmes, though the matter is past and done with. We were a

family of tin-miners at Redruth, but we sold out our venture to a company,

and so retired with enough to keep us. I won't deny that there was some

feeling about the division of the money and it stood between us for a time,

but it was all forgiven and forgotten, and we were the best of friends

together."

"Looking back at the evening which you spent together, does anything

stand out in your memory as throwing any possible light upon the tragedy?

Think carefully, Mr. Tregennis, for any clue which can help me."

"There is nothing at all, sir."

"Your people were in their usual spirits?"

"Never better."

"Were they nervous people? Did they ever show any apprehension of

coming danger?"

"Nothing of the kind."

"You have nothing to add then, which could assist me?"

Mortimer Tregennis considered earnestly for a moment.

"There is one thing occurs to me," said he at last. "As we sat at the table

my back was to the window, and my brother George, he being my partner at

cards, was facing it. I saw him once look hard over my shoulder, so I turned

round and looked also. The blind was up and the window shut, but I could

just make out the bushes on the lawn, and it seemed to me for a moment

that I saw something moving among them. I couldn't even say if it was man

or animal, but I just thought there was something there. When I asked him

what he was looking at, he told me that he had the same feeling. That is all

that I can say."

"Did you not investigate?"

"No; the matter passed as unimportant."

"You left them, then, without any premonition of evil?"

"None at all."

"I am not clear how you came to hear the news so early this morning."

"I am an early riser and generally take a walk before breakfast. This

morning I had hardly started when the doctor in his carriage overtook me.

He told me that old Mrs. Porter had sent a boy down with an urgent

message. I sprang in beside him and we drove on. When we got there we

looked into that dreadful room. The candles and the fire must have burned

out hours before, and they had been sitting there in the dark until dawn

had broken. The doctor said Brenda must have been dead at least six hours.

There were no signs of violence. She just lay across the arm of the chair

with that look on her face. George and Owen were singing snatches of songs

and gibbering like two great apes. Oh, it was awful to see! I couldn't stand

it, and the doctor was as white as a sheet. Indeed, he fell into a chair in

a sort of faint, and we nearly had him on our hands as well."

"Remarkable -- most remarkable!" said Holmes, rising and taking his hat. "I

think, perhaps, we had better go down to Tredannick Wartha without

further delay. I confess that I have seldom known a case which at first sight

presented a more singular problem."

 

Our proceedings of that first morning did little to advance the

investigation. It was marked, however, at the outset by an incident which

left the most sinister impression upon my mind. The approach to the spot at

which the tragedy occurred is down a narrow, winding, country lane. While we

made our way along it we heard the raffle of a carriage coming towards us and

stood aside to let it pass. As it drove by us I caught a glimpse through the

closed window of a horribly contorted, grinning face glaring out at us. Those

staring eyes and gnashing teeth flashed past us like a dreadful vision.

"My brothers!" cried Mortimer Tregennis, white to his lips. "They are taking

them to Helston."

We looked with horror after the black carriage, lumbering upon its way.

Then we turned our steps towards this ill-omened house in which they had

met their strange fate.

It was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa than a cottage, with a

considerable garden which was already, in that Cornish air, well filled with

spring flowers. Towards this garden the window of the sitting-room fronted,

and from it, according to Mortimer Tregennis, must have come that thing of

evil which had by sheer horror in a single instant blasted their minds.

Holmes walked slowly and thoughtfully among the flower-plots and along

the path before we entered the porch. So absorbed was he in his thoughts, I

remember, that he stumbled over the watering-pot, upset its contents, and

deluged both our feet and the garden path. Inside the house we were met

by the e1derly Cornish housekeeper, Mrs. Porter, who, with the aid of a

young girl, looked after the wants of the family. She readily answered all

Holmes's questions. She had heard nothing in the night. Her employers had

all been in excellent spirits lately, and she had never known them more

cheerful and prosperous. She had fainted with horror upon entering the

room in the morning and seeing that dreadful company round the table. She

had, when she recovered, thrown open the window to let the morning air in and

had run down to the lane, whence she sent a farm-lad for the doctor. The lady

was on her bed upstairs if we cared to see her. It took four strong men to

get the brothers into the asylum carriage. She would not herself stay in the

house another day and was starting that very afternoon to rejoin her family

at St. Ives.

We ascended the stairs and viewed the body. Miss Brenda Tregennis had

been a very beautiful girl, though now verging upon middle age. Her dark,

clear-cut face was handsome, even in death, but there still lingered upon it

something of that convulsion of horror which had been her last human

emotion. From her bedroom we descended to the sitting-room, where this

strange tragedy had actually occurred. The charred ashes of the overnight fire

lay in the grate. On the table were the four guttered and burned-out candles,

with the cards scattered over its surface. The chairs had been moved back

against the walls, but all else was as it had been the night before. Holmes

paced with light, swift steps about the room; he sat in the various chairs,

drawing them up and reconstructing their positions. He tested how much of

the garden was visible; he examined the floor, the ceiling, and the fireplace;

but never once did I see that sudden brightening of his eyes and tightening of

his lips which would have told me that he saw some gleam of light in this

utter darkness.

"Why a fire?" he asked once. "Had they always a fire in this small room on a

spring evening?"

Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp. For that

reason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. "What are you going to do now,

Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. "I think, Watson, that I

shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so often and so

justly condemned," said he. "With your permission, gentlemen, we will now

return to our cottage, for I am not aware that any new factor is likely to

come to our notice here. I will turn the facts over in my mind, Mr. Tregennis,

and should anything occur to me I will certainly communicate with you and

the vicar. In the meantime I wish you both good-morning."

It was not until long after we were back in Poldhu Cottage that Holmes broke

his complete and absorbed silence. He sat coiled in his armchair, his haggard

and ascetic face hardly visible amid the blue swirl of his tobacco smoke, his

black brows drawn down, his forehead contracted, his eyes vacant and far

away. Finally he laid down his pipe and sprang to his feet.

"It won't do, Watson!" said he with a laugh. "Let us walk along the cliffs

together and search for flint arrows. We are more likely to find them than

clues to this problem. To let the brain work without sufficient material is

like racing an engine. It racks itself to pieces. The sea air, sunshine, and

patience, Watson -- all else will come.

"Now, let us calmly define our position, Watson," he continued as we skirted

the cliffs together. "Let us get a firm grip of the very little which we do

know, so that when fresh facts arise we may be ready to fit them into their

places. I take it, in the first place, that neither of us is prepared to admit

diabolical intrusions into the affairs of men. Let us begin by ruling that

entirely out of our minds. Very good. There remain three persons who have

been grievously stricken by some conscious or unconscious human agency.

That is firm ground. Now, when did this occur? Evidently, assuming his

narrative to be true, it was immediately after Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had

left the room. That is a very important point. The presumption is that it was

within a few minutes afterwards. The cards still lay upon the table. It was

already past their usual hour for bed. Yet they had not changed their position

or pushed back their chairs. I repeat then, that the occurrence was

immediately after his departure, and not later than eleven o'clock last night.

"Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, the movements of

Mortimer Tregennis after he left the room. In this there is no difficulty, and

they seem to be above suspicion. Knowing my methods as you do, you were,

of course, conscious of the somewhat clumsy water-pot expedient by which I

obtained a clearer impress of his foot than might otherwise have been

possible. The wet, sandy path took it admirably. Last night was also wet, you

will remember, and it was not difficult -- having obtained a sample print --

to pick out his track among others and to follow his movements. He appears to

have walked away swiftly in the direction of the vicarage.

"If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yet some

outside person affected the cardplayers, how can we reconstruct that person,

and how was such an impression of horror conveyed? Mrs. Porter may be

eliminated. She is evidently harmless. Is there any evidence that someone

crept up to the garden window and in some manner produced so terrific an

effect that he drove those who saw it out of their senses? The only

suggestion in this direction comes from Mortimer Tregennis himself, who

says that his brother spoke about some movement in the garden. That is

certainly remarkable, as the night was rainy, cloudy, and dark. Anyone who

had the design to alarm these people would be compelled to place his very

face against the glass before he could be seen. There is a three-foot

flowerborder outside this window, but no indication of a footmark. It is

difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could have made so terrible an

impression upon the company, nor have we found any possible motive for

so strange and elaborate an attempt. You perceive our difficulties, Watson?"

"They are only too clear," I answered with conviction.

"And yet, with a little more material, we may prove that they are not

insurmountable," said Holrnes. "I fancy that among your extensive archives,

Watson, you may find some which were nearly as obscure. Meanwhile, we

shall put the case aside until more accurate data are available, and devote

the rest of our morning to the pursuit of neolithic man."

I may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment, but

never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in

Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon Celts, arrowheads, and

shards, as lightly as if no sinister mystery were waiting for his solution. It

was not until we had returned in the afternoon to our cottlge that we found

a visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our minds back to the matter in

hand. Neither of us needed to be told who that visitor was. The huge body,

the craggy and deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-like nose,

the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottage ceiling, the beard --

golden at the fringes and white near the lips, save for the nicotin stain

from his perpetual cigar -- all these were as well known in London as in

Africa, and could only be associated with the tremendous personality of Dr.

Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer.

We had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twice caught

sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. He made no advances to us,

however, nor would we have dreamed of doing so to him, as it was well

known that it was his love of seclusion which caused him to spend the

greater part of the intervals between his journeys in a small bungalow

buried in the lonely wood of Beauchamp Arriance. Here, amid his books

and his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, attending to his own

simple wants and paying little apparent heed to the affairs of his

neighbours. It was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear him asking Holmes in

an eager voice whether he had made any advance in his reconstruction of

this mysterious episode. "The county police are utterly at fault," said he,

"but perhaps your wider experience has suggested some conceivable

explanation. My only claim to being taken into your confidence is that

during my many residences here I have come to know this family of

Tregennis very well -- indeed, upon my Cornish mother's side I could call

them cousins -- and their strange fate has naturally been a great shock to me.

I may tell you that I had got as far as Plymouth upon my way to Africa, but

the news reached me this morning, and I came straight back again to help

in the inquiry."

Holmes raised his eyebrows.

"Did you lose your boat through it?"

"I will take the next."

"Dear me! that is friendship indeed."

"I tell you they were relatives."

"Quite so -- cousins of your mother. Was your baggage aboard the ship?"

"Some of it, but the main part at the hotel."

"I see. But surely this event could not have found its way into the Plymouth

morning papers."

"No, sir; I had a telegram."

"Might I ask from whom?"

A shadow passed over the gaunt face of the explorer.

"You are very inquisitive, Mr. Holmes."

"It is my business."

With an effort Dr. Sterndale recovered his ruffled composure.

"I have no objection to telling you," he said. "It was Mr. Roundhay, the

vicar, who sent me the telegram which recalled me."

"Thank you," said Holmes. "I may say in answer to your original question

that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject of this case, but

that I have every hope of reaching some conclusion. It would be premature

to say more."

"Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions point in any

particular direction?"

"No, I can hardly answer that."

"Then I have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit." The famous

doctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill-humour, and within five

minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him no more until the evening, when he

returned with a slow step and haggard face which assured me that he had made

no great progress with his investigation. He glanced at a telegram which

awaited him and threw it into the grate.

"From the Plymouth hotel, Watson," he said. "I learned the name of it

from the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. Leon Stemdale's

account was true. It appears that he did indeed spend last night there, and

that he has actually allowed some of his baggage to go on to Africa, while

he returned to be present at this investigation. What do you make of that,

Watson?"

"He is deeply interested."

"Deeply interested -- yes. There is a thread here which we have not yet

grasped and which might lead us through the tangle. Cheer up, Watson, for

I am very sure that our material has not yet all come to hand. When it

does we may soon leave our difficulties behind us."

Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would be realized, or how

strange and sinister would be that new development which opened up an

entirely fresh line of investigation. I was shaving at my window in the

morning when I heard the rattle of hoofs and, looking up, saw a dog-cart

coming at a gallop down the road. It pulled up at our door, and our friend,

the vicar, sprang from it and rushed up our garden path. Holmes was

already dressed, and we hastened down to meet him.

Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but at last in

gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him.

"We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devilridden!" he cried.

"Satan himself is loose in it! We are given over into his hands!" He danced

about in his agitation, a ludicrous object if it were not for his ashy face

and startled eyes. Finally he shot out his terrible news.

"Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactly the same

symptoms as the rest of his family."

Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant.

"Can you fit us both into your dog-cart?"

"Yes, I can."

"Then, Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr. Roundhay, we are

entirely at your disposal. Hurry -- hurry, before things get disarranged. "

The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in an angle by

themselves, the one above the other. Below was a large sitting-room;

above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquet lawn which came up to the

windows. We had arrived before the doctor or the police, so that everything

was absolutely undisturbed. Let me describe exactly the scene as we saw it

upon that misty March morning. It has left an impression which can never be

effaced from my mind.

The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressing stuffiness.

The servant who had first entered had thrown up the window, or it would

have been even more intolerable. This might partly be due to the fact that a

lamp stood flaring and smoking on the centre table. Beside it sat the dead

man, leaning back in his chair, his thin beard projecting, his spectacles

pushed up on to his forehead, and his lean dark face turned towards the

window and twisted into the same distortion of terror which had marked the

features of his dead sister. His limbs were convulsed and his fingers

contorted as though he had died in a very paroxysm of fear. He was fully

clothed, though there were signs that his dressing had been done in a hurry.

We had already learned that his bed had been slept in, and that the tragic

end had come to him in the early morning.

One realized the red-hot energy which underlay Holmes's phlegmatic exterior

when one saw the sudden change which came over him from the moment

that he entered the fatal apartment. In an instant he was tense and alert, his

eyes shining, his face set, his limbs quivering with eager activity. He was

out on the lawn, in through the window, round the room, and up into the

bedroom, for all the world like a dashing foxhound drawing a cover. In the

bedroom he made a rapid cast around and ended by throwing open the

window, which appeared to give him some fresh cause for excitement, for he

leaned out of it with loud ejaculations of interest and delight. Then he

rushed down the stair, out through the open window, threw himself upon his

face on the lawn, sprang up and into the room once more, all with the energy

of the hunter who is at the very heels of his quarry. The lamp, which was an

ordinaly standard, he examined with minute care, making certain

measurements upon its bowl. He carefully scrutinized with his lens the tale

shield which covered the top of the chimney and scraped off some ashes

which adhered to its upper surface, putting some of them into an envelope,

which he placed in his pocketbook. Finally, just as the doctor and the

official police put in an appearance, he beckoned to the vicar and we all

three went out upon the lawn.

"I am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirely barren," he

remarked. "I cannot remain to discuss the matter with the police, but I

should be exceedingly obliged, Mr. Roundhay, if you would give the inspector

my compliments and direct his attention to the bedroom window and to the

sittingroom lamp. Each is suggestive, and together they are almost conclusive.

If the police would desire further information I shall be happy to see any of

them at the conage. And now, Watson, I think that, perhaps, we shall be

better employed elsewhere."

It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur, or that they

imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line of investigation; but it is

certain that we heard nothing from them for the next two days. During this

time Holmes spent some of his time smoking and dreaming in the cottage; but

a greater portion in country walks which he undertook alone, returning after

many hours without remark as to where he had been. One experiment

served to show me the line of his investigation. He had bought a lamp which

was the duplicate of the one which had burned in the room of Mortimer

Tregennis on the morning of the tragedy. This he filled with the same oil as

that used at the vicarage, and he carefully timed the period which it would

take to be exhausted. Another experiment which he made was of a more

unpleasant nature, and one which I am not likely ever to forget.

"You will remember, Watson," he remarked one afternoon, "that there is a

single common point of resemblance in the varying reports which have

reached us. This concerns the effect of the atmosphere of the room in each

case upon those who had first entered it. You will recollect that Mortimer

Tregennis, in describing the episode of his last visit to his brother's house,

remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into a chair? You had

forgotten? Well, I can answer for it that it was so. Now, you will remember

also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told us that she herself fainted upon

entering the room and had afterwards opened the window. In the second

case -- that of Mortimer Tregennis himself -- you cannot have forgotten the

horrible stuffiness of the room when we arrived. though the servant had

thrown open the window. That servant, I found upon inquiry, was so ill that

she had gone to her bed. You will admit, Watson, that these facts are very

suggestive. In each case there is evidence of a poisonous atmosphere. In each

case, also, there is combustion going on in the room -- in the one case a

fire, in the other a lamp. The fire was needed, but the lamp was lit -- as a

comparison of the oil consumed will show -- long after it was broad daylight.

Why? Surely because there is some connection between three things -- the

burning, the stuffy atmosphere, and, finally, the madness or death of those

unfortunate people. That is clear, is it not?"

"It would appear so."

"At least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. We will suppose, then,

that something was burned in each case which produced an atmosphere

causing strange toxic effects. Very good. In the first instance -- that of the

Tregennis family -- this substance was placed in the fire. Now the window was

shut, but the fire would naturally carry fumes to some extent up the chimney.

Hence one would expect the effects of the poison to be less than in the second

case, where there was less escape for the vapour. The result seems to indicate

that it was so, since in the first case only the woman, who had presumably the

more sensitive organism, was killed, the others exhibiting that temporary or

permanent lunacy which is evidently the first effect of the drug. In the

second case the result was complete. The facts, therefore, seem to bear out

the theory of a poison which worked by combustion.

"With this train of reasoning in my head I naturally looked about in

Mortimer Tregennis's room to find some remains of this substance. The obvious

place to look was the talc shield or smoke-guard of the lamp. There, sure

enough, I perceived a number of flaky ashes, and round the edges a fringe of

brownish powder, which had not yet been consumed. Half of this I took, as you

saw, and I placed it in an envelope."

"Why half, Holmes?"

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official

police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still

remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will

light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to

avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will

seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible

man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it

out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite

yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face.

The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other

and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming.

Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder -- or what remains of it --

from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let

us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardlv settled in my chair before I was

conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first

whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black

cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen

as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that

was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the

universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a

menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable

dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing

horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes

were protruding, that my mouth wag opened, and my tongue like leather. The

turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to

scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but

distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of

escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's

face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror -- the very look which I had seen

upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of

sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes,

and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had

thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side,

conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through

the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our

souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned,

and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking

with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific

experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe

you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even

for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I had never seen so much of

Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was

his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive

us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would celtainly

declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an

experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so

sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with

the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of

brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson,

that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were

produced?"

"None whatever."

"But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into the arbour here and

let us discuss it together. That villainous stuff seems still to linger round

my throat. I think we must admit that all the evidence points to this man,

Mortimer Tregennis, having been the criminal in the first tragedy, though he

was the victim in the second one. We must remember, in the first place, that

there is some story of a family quarrel, followed by a reconciliation. How

bitter that quarrel may have been, or how hollow the reconciliation we

cannot tell. When I think of Mortimer Tregennis, with the foxy face and the

small shrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, he is not a man whom I

should judge to be of a particularly forgiving disposition. Well, in the next

place, you will remember that this idea of someone moving in the garden,

which took our attention for a moment from the real cause of the tragedy,

emanated from him. He had a motive in misleading us. Finally, if he did not

throw this substance into the fire at the moment of leaving the room, who

did do so? The affair happened immediately after his departure. Had anyone

else come in, the family would certainly have risen from the table. Besides,

in peaceful Cornwall, visitors do not arrive after ten o'clock at night. We

may take it, then, that all the evidence points to Mortimer Tregennis as the

culprit."

"Then his own death was suicide!"

"Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not impossible supposition. The man

who had the guilt upon his soul of having brought such a fate upon his

own family might well be driven by remorse to inflict it upon himself.

There are, however, some cogent reasons against it. Forturlately, there is one

man in England who knows all about it, and I have made arrangements by which

we shall hear the facts this afternoon from his own lips. Ah! he is a little

before his time. Perhaps you would kindly step this way, Dr. Leon Sterndale.

We have been conducting a chemical experiment indoors which has left our

little room hardly fit for the reception of so distinguished a visitor."

I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majestic figure of the

great African explorer appeared upon the path. He turned in some surprise

towards the rustic arbour in which we sat.

"You sent for me, Mr. Holmes. I had your note about an hour ago, and I have

come, though I really do not know why I should obey your summons."

"Perhaps we can clear the point up before we separate," said Holmes.

"Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence. You

will excuse this informal reception in the open air, but my friend Watson and

I have nearly furnished an additional chapter to what the papers call the

Cornish Horror, and we prefer a clear atmosphere for the present. Perhaps,

since the matters which we have to discuss will affect you personally in a

very intimate fashion, it is as well that we should talk where there can be no

eavesdropping."

The explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed sternly at my companlon.

"I am at a loss to know, sir," he said, "what you can have to speak about

which affects me personally in a very intimate fashion."

"The killing of Mortimer Tregennis," said Holmes.

For a moment I wished that I were armed. Stemdale's fierce face turned to a

dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins started out in

his forehead, while he sprang forward with clenched hands towards my

companion. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort he resumed a cold,

rigid calmness, which was, perhaps, more suggestive of danger than his hot-

headed outburst.

"I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law," said he, "that I

have got into the way of being a law to myself. You would do well, Mr.

Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desire to do you an injury."

"Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, Dr. Sterndale. Surely the

clearest proof of it is that, knowing what I know, I have sent for you and

not for the police."

Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the first time in

his adventurous life. There was a calm assurance of power in Holmes's

manner which could not be withstood. Our visitor stammered for a

moment, his great hands opening and shutting in his agitation.

"What do you mean?" he asked at last. "If this is bluff upon your part, Mr.

Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for your experiment. Let us have no

more beating about the bush. What do you mean?"

"I will tell you," said Holmes, "and the reason why I tell you is that I

hope frankness may beget frankness. What my next step may be will depend

entirely upon the nature of your own defence."

"My defence?"

"Yes, sir."

"My defence against what?"

"Against the charge of killing Mortimer Tregennis."

Sterndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Upon my word, you

are getting on," said he. "Do all your successes depend upon this prodigious

power of bluff?"

"The bluff," said Holmes sternly, "is upon your side, Dr. Leon Sterndale,

and not upon mine. As a proof I will tell you some of the facts upon which my

conclusions are based. Of your return from Plymouth, allowing much of

your property to go on to Africa, I will say nothing save that it first

informed me that you were one of the factors which had to be taken into

account in reconstructing this drama --"

"I came back --"

"I have heard your reasons and regard them as unconvincing and

inadequate. We will pass that. You came down here to ask me whom I

suspected. I refused to answer you. You then went to the vicarage, waited

outside it for some time, and finally returned to your cottage."

"How do you know that?"

"I followed you."

"I saw no one."

"That is what you may expect to see when I follow you. You spent a

restless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans, which in the

early morning you proceeded to put into execution. Leaving your door just

as day was breaking, you filled your pocket with some reddish gravel that

was lying heaped beside your gate."

Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at Holmes in amazement.

"You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from the

vicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair of ribbed tennis

shoes which are at the present moment upon your feet. At the vicarage

you passed through the orchard and the side hedge, coming out under the

window of the lodger Tregennis. It was now daylight, but the household was

not yet stirring. You drew some of the gravel from your pocket, and you

threw it up at the window above you."

Sterndale sprang to his feet.

"I believe that you are the devil himself!" he cried.

Holmes smiled at the compliment. "It took two, or possibly three, handfuls

before the lodger came to the window. You beckoned him to come down. He

dressed hurriedly and descended to his sitting-room. You entered by the

window. There was an interview -- a short one -- during which you walked up

and down the room. Then you passed out and closed the window, standing

on the lawn outside smoking a cigar and watching what occurred. Finally,

after the death of Tregennis, you withdrew as you had come. Now, Dr.

Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct, and what were the motives for

your actions? If you prevaricate or trifle with me, I give you my assurance

that the matter will pass out ol my hands forever."

Our visitor's face had turned ashen gray as he listened to the words of his

accuser. Now he sat for some time in thought with his face sunk in his

hands. Then with a sudden impulsive gesture he plucked a photograph

from his breast-pocket and threw it on the rustic table before us.

"That is why I have done it," said he.

It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. Holmes stooped

over it.

"Brenda Tregennis," said he.

"Yes, Brenda Tregennis," repeated our visitor. "For years I have loved her.

For years she has loved me. There is the secret of that Cornish seclusion

which people have marvelled at. It has brought me close to the one thing

on earth that was dear to me. I could not marry her, for I have a wife who

has left me for years and yet whom, by the deplorable laws of England, I

could not divorce. For years Brenda waited. For years I waited. And this is

what we have waited for." A terrible sob shook his great frame, and he

clutched his throat under his brindled beard. Then with an effort he

mastered himself and spoke on:

"The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell you that she was

an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed to me and I returned.

What was my baggage or Africa to me when I learned that such a fate had

come upon my darling? There you have the missing clue to my action, Mr.

Holmes."

"Proceed," said my friend.

Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid it upon the

table. On the outside was written "Radix pedis diaboli" with a red poison

label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. "I understand that you are a

doctor, sir. Have you ever heard of this preparation?"

"Devil's-foot root! No, I have never heard of it."

"It is no reflection upon your professional knowledge," said he, "for I

believe that, save for one sample in a laboratory at Buda, there is no other

specimen in Europe. It has not yet found its way either into the pharmacopceia

or into the literature of toxicology. The root is shaped like a foot, half

human, half goatlike; hence the fanciful name given by a botanical missionary.

It is used as an ordeal poison by the medicine-men in certain districts of

West Africa and is kept as a secret among them. This particular specimen I

obtained under very extraordinary circumstances in the Ubangi country." He

opened the paper as he spoke and disclosed a heap of reddish-brown, snuff-like

powder.

"Well, sir?" asked Holmes sternly.

"I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that actually occurred, for you

already know so much that it is clearly to my interest that you should know

all. I have already explained the relationship in which I stood to the

Tregennis family. For the sake of the sister I was friendly with the brothers.

There was a family quarrel about money which estranged this man Mortimer, but

it was supposed to be made up, and I afterwards met him as I did the others.

He was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and several things arose which gave me a

suspicion of him, but I had no cause for any positive quarrel.

"One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottage and I

showed him some of my African curiosities. Among other things I exhibited

this powder, and I told him of its strange properties, how it stimulates those

brain centres which control the emotion of fear, and how either madness or

death is the fate of the unhappy native who is subjected to the ordeal by the

priest of his tribe. I told him also how powerless European science would be

to detect it. How hi took it I cannot say, for I never left the room, but

there is no doubt that it was then, while I was opening cabinets and stooping

to boxes, that he managed to abstract some of the devil's-foot root. I well

remember how he plied me with questions as to the amount and the time that

was needed for its effect, but I little dreamed that he could have a personal

reason for asking.

"I thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegram reached me at

Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be at sea before the news

could reach me, and that I should be lost for years in Africa. But I returned

at once. Of course, I could not listen to the details without feeling assured

that my poison had been used. I came round to see you on the chance tbat some

other explanation had suggesteid itself to you. But there could be none. I was

convinced that Mortimer Tregennis was the murderer; that for the sake of

money, and with the idea, perhaps, that if the other members of his family

were all insane he would be the sole guardian of their joint property, he had

used the devil's-foot powder upon them, driven two of them out of their

senses, and killed his sister Brenda, the one human being whom I have ever

loved or who has ever loved me. There was his crime; what was to be his

punishment?

"Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew that the facts

were true, but could I help to make a jury of countrymen believe so fantastic

a story? I might or I might not. But I could not afford to fail. My soul

cried out for revenge. I have said to you once before, Mr. Holmes, that I

have spent much of my life outside the law, and that I have come at last to

be a law to myself. So it was now. I determined that the fate which he had

given to others should be shared by himself. Either that or I would do

justice upon him with my own hand. In all England there can be no man who

sets less value upon his own life than I do at the present moment.

"Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest. I did, as

you say, after a restless night, set off early from my cottage. I foresaw the

difficulty of arousing him, so I gathered some gravel from the pile which you

have mentioned, and I used it to throw up to his window. He came down and

admitted me through the window of the sitting-room. I laid his offence before

him. I told him that I had come both as judge and executioner. The wretch sank

into a chair, paralyzed at the sight of my revolver. I lit the lamp, put the

powder above it, and stood outside the window, ready to carry out my

threat to shoot him should he try to leave the room. In five minutes he died.

My God! how he died! But my heart was flint, for he endured nothing which

my innocent darling had not felt before him. There is my story, Mr. Holmes.

Perhaps, if you loved a woman, you would have done as much yourself. At

any rate, I am in your hands. You can take what steps you like. As I have

already said, there is no man living who can fear death less than I do. "

Holmes sat for some little time in silence.

"What were your plans?" he asked at last.

"I had intended to bury myself in central Africa. My work there is but

half finished."

"Go and do the other half," said Holmes. "I, at least, am not prepared to

prevent you."

Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and waliked from the

arbour. Holmes lit his pipe and handed me his pouch.

"Some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change," said he.

"I think you must agree, Watson, that it is not a case in which we are called

upon to interfere. Our investigation has been independent, and our action

shall be so also. You would not denounce the man?"

"Certainly not," I answered.

"I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved had met

such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. Who

knows? Well, Watson, I will not offend your intelligence by explaining what

is obvious. The gravel upon the window-sill was, of course, the starting-

point of my research. It was unlike anything in the vicarage garden. Only

when my attention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale and his cottage did I

find its counterpart. The lamp shining in broad daylight and the remains of

powder upon the shield were successive links in a fairly obvious chain. And

now, my dear Watson, I think we may dismiss the matter from our mind

and go back with a clear conscience to the study of those Chaldean roots

which are surely to be traced in the Cornish branch of the great Celtic

speech."

 

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

The Advenfure of the Dying Detective

 

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-

suffering woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all

hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but

her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in

his life which must have sorely tried her patience. His incredible

untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional

revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous

scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and dan-

ger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in

London. On the other hand, his payments were princely. I have

no doubt that the house might have been purchased at the price

which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that I was

with him.

The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared

to interfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might

seem. She was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable

gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. He disliked

and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent.

Knowing how genuine was her regard for him, I listened earnestly

to her story when she came to my rooms in the second year of

my married life and told me of the sad condition to which my

poor friend was reduced.

"He's dying, Dr. Watson," said she. "For three days he has

been sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He would not

let me get a doctor. This morning when I saw his bones sticking

out of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me I could

stand no more of it. 'With your leave or without it, Mr. Holmes,

I am going for a doctor this very hour,' said I. 'Let it be Watson,

then,' said he. I wouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir, or

you may not see him alive."

I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I need

not say that I rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back I

asked for the details.

"There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at a

case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has

brought this illness back with him. He took to his bed on

Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these

three days neither food nor drink has passed his lips."

"Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?"

"He wouldn't have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. I

didn't dare to disobey him. But he's not long for this world, as

you'll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him."

He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dim light of a

foggy November day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it

was that gaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed which

sent a chill to my heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever,

there was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clung

to his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlet twitched incessantly,

his voice was croaking and spasmodic. He lay listlessly as I

entered the room, but the sight of me brought a gleam of

recognition to his eyes.

"Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days," said

he in a feeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness

of manner.

"My dear fellow!" I cried, approaching him.

"Stand back! Stand right back!" said he with the sharp impe-

riousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis.

"If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the

house."

"But why?"

"Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"

Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than

ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion.

"I only wished to help," I explained.

"Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told."

"Certainly, Holmes."

He relaxed the austerity of his manner.

"You are not angry?" he asked, gasping for breath.

Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in

such a plight before me?

"It's for your own sake, Watson," he croaked.

"For my sake?"

"I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease

from Sumatra -- a thing that the Dutch know more about than we,

though they have made little of it up to date. One thing only is

certain. It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious."

He spoke now with a feverish energy, the long hands twitch-

ing and jerking as he motioned me away.

"Contagious by touch, Watson -- that's it, by touch. Keep

your distance and all is well."

"Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consid-

eration weighs with me for an instant? It would not affect me in

the case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from

doing my duty to so old a friend?"

Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious

anger.

"If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must

leave the room."

I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of

Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I

least understood them. But now all my professional instincts

were aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his

in a sick room.

"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a

child, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will

examine your symptoms and treat you for them."

He looked at me with venomous eyes.

"If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least

have someone in whom I have confidence," said he.

"Then you have none in me?"

"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson,

and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very

limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to

have to say these things, but you leave me no choice."

I was bitterly hurt.

"Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me

very clearly the state of your own nerves. But if you have no

confidence in me I would not intrude my services. Let me bring

Sir Jasper Meek or Penrose Fisher, or any of the best men in

London. But someone you must have, and that is final. If you

think that I am going to stand here and see you die without either

helping you myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then you

have mistaken your man."

"You mean well, Watson," said the sick man with something

between a sob and a groan. "Shall I demonstrate your own

ignorance? What do you know, pray, of Tapanuli fever? What do

you know of the black Formosa corruption?"

"I have never heard of either."

"There are many problems of disease, many strange patholog-

ical possibilities, in the East, Watson." He paused after each

sentence to collect his failing strength. "I have learned so much

during some recent researches which have a medico-criminal

aspect. It was in the course of them that I contracted this

complaint. You can do nothing."

"Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, the

greatest living authority upon tropical disease, is now in London.

All remonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant to

fetch him." I turned resolutely to the door.

Never have I had such a shock! In an instant, with a tiger-

spring, the dying man had intercepted me. I heard the sharp snap

of a twisted key. The next moment he had staggered back to his

bed, exhausted and panting after his one tremendous outflame of

energy.

"You won't take the key from me by force, Watson. I've got

you, my friend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I will

otherwise. But I'll humour you." (All this in little gasps, with

terrible struggles for breath between.) "You've only my own

good at heart. Of course I know that very well. You shall have

your way, but give me time to get my strength. Not now,

Watson, not now. It's four o'clock. At six you can go."

"This is insanity, Holmes."

"Only two hours, Watson. I promise you will go at six. Are

you content to wait?"

"l seem to have no choice."

"None in the world, Watson. Thank you, I need no help in

arranging the clothes. You will please keep your distance. Now,

Watson, there is one other condition that I would make. You will

seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that I

choose."

"By all means."

"The first three sensible words that you have uttered since you

entered this room, Watson. You will find some books over

there. I am somewhat exhausted; I wonder how a battery feels

when it pours electricity into a non-conductor? At six, Watson,

we resume our conversation."

But it was destined to be resumed long before that hour, and

in circumstances which gave me a shock hardly second to that

caused by his spring to the door. I had stood for some minutes

looking at the silent figure in the bed. His face was almost

covered by the clothes and he appeared to be asleep. Then,

unable to settle down to reading, I walked slowly round the

room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which

every wall was adorned. Finally, in my aimless perambulation, I

came to the mantelpiece. A litter of pipes, tobacco-pouches,

syringes, penknives, revolver-cartridges, and other debris was

scattered over it. In the midst of these was a small black and

white ivory box with a sliding lid. It was a neat little thing, and I

had stretched out my hand to examine it more closely when -- It

was a dreadful cry that he gave -- a yell which might have been

heard down the street. My skin went cold and my hair bristled at

that horrible scream. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a con-

vulsed face and frantic eyes. I stood paralyzed, with the little

box in my hand.

"Put it down! Down, this instant, Watson -- this instant, I say!"

His head sank back upon the pillow and he gave a deep sigh of

relief as I replaced the box upon the mantelpiece. "I hate to have

my things touched, Watson. You know that I hate it. You fidget

me beyond endurance. You, a doctor -- you are enough to drive a

patient into an asylum. Sit down, man, and let me have my

rest!"

The incident left a most unpleasant impression upon my mind.

The violent and causeless excitement, followed by this brutality

of speech, so far removed from his usual suavity, showed me

how deep was the disorganization of his mind. Of all ruins, that

of a noble mind is the most deplorable. I sat in silent dejection

until the stipulated time had passed. He seemed to have been

watching the clock as well as I, for it was hardly six before he

began to talk with the same feverish animation as before.

"Now, Watson," said he. "Have you any change in your

pocket?"

"Yes."

"Any silver?"

"A good deal."

"How many half-crowns?"

"I have five."

"Ah, too few! Too few! How very unfortunate, Watson!

However, such as they are you can put them in your watchpocket.

And all the rest of your money in your left trouserpocket. Thank

you. It will balance you so much better like that."

This was raving insanity. He shuddered, and again made a

sound between a cough and a sob.

"You will now light the gas, Watson, but you will be very

careful that not for one instant shall it be more than half on. I

implore you to be careful, Watson. Thank you, that is excellent.

No, you need not draw the blind. Now you will have the

kindness to place some letters and papers upon this table within

my reach. Thank you. Now some of that litter from the mantel-

piece. Excellent, Watson! There is a sugar-tongs there. Kindly

raise that small ivory box with its assistance. Place it here among

the papers. Good! You can now go and fetch Mr. Culverton

Smith, of 13 Lower Burke Street."

To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat

weakened, for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that

it seemed dangerous to leave him. However, he was as eager

now to consult the person named as he had been obstinate in

refusing.

"I never heard the name," said I.

"Possibly not, my good Watson. It may surprise you to know

that the man upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a

medical man, but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-

known resident of Sumatra, now visiting London. An outbreak

of the disease upon his plantation, which was distant from

medical aid, caused him to study it himself, with some rather

far-reaching consequences. He is a very methodical person, and I

did not desire you to start before six, because I was well aware

that you would not find him in his study. If you could persuade

him to come here and give us the benefit of his unique experi-

ence of this disease, the investigation of which has been his

dearest hobby, I cannot doubt that he could help me."

I give Holmes's remarks as a consecutive whole and will not

attempt to indicate how they were interrupted by gaspings for

breath and those clutchings of his hands which indicated the pain

from which he was suffering. His appearance had changed for

the worse during the few hours that I had been with him. Those

hectic spots were more pronounced, the eyes shone more brightly

out of darker hollows, and a cold sweat glimmered upon his

brow. He still retained, however, the jaunty gallantry of his

speech. To the last gasp he would always be the master.

"You will tell him exactly how you have left me," said he.

"You will convey the very impression which is in your own

mind -- a dying man -- a dying and delirious man. Indeed, I can-

not think why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass

of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem. Ah, I am wandering!

Strange how the brain controls the brain! What was I saying,

Watson?"

"My directions for Mr. Culverton Smith."

"Ah, yes, I remember. My life depends upon it. Plead with

him, Watson. There is no good feeling between us. His nephew,

Watson -- I had suspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see

it. The boy died horribly. He has a grudge against me. You will

soften him, Watson. Beg him, pray him, get him here by any

means. He can save me -- only he!"

"I will bring him in a cab, if I have to carry him down to

it."

"You will do nothing of the sort. You will persuade him to

come. And then you will return in front of him. Make any

excuse so as not to come with him. Don't forget, Watson. You

won't fail me. You never did fail me. No doubt there are natural

enemies which limit the increase of the creatures. You and I,

Watson, we have done our part. Shall the world, then, be

overrun by oysters? No, no; horrible! You'll convey all that is in

your mind."

I left him full of the image of this magnificent intellect bab-

bling like a foolish child. He had handed me the key, and with a

happy thought I took it with me lest he should lock himself in.

Mrs. Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the pas-

sage. Behind me as I passed from the flat I heard Holmes's high,

thin voice in some delirious chant. Below, as I stood whistling

for a cab, a man came on me through the fog.

"How is Mr. Holmes, sir?" he asked.

It was an old acquaintance, Inspector Morton, of Scotland

Yard, dressed in unofficial tweeds.

"He is very ill," I answered.

He looked at me in a most singular fashion. Had it not been

too fiendish, I could have imagined that the gleam of the fanlight

showed exultation in his face.

"I heard some rumour of it," said he.

The cab had driven up, and I left him.

Lower Burke Street proved to be a line of fine houses lying in

the vague borderland between Notting Hill and Kensington. The

particular one at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smug

and demure respectability in its old-fashioned iron railings, its

massive folding-door, and its shining brasswork. All was in

keeping with a solemn butler who appeared framed in the pink

radiance of a tinted electric light behind him.

"Yes, Mr. Culverton Smith is in. Dr. Watson! Very good, sir,

I will take up your card."

My humble name and title did not appear to impress Mr.

Culverton Smith. Through the half-open door I heard a high,

petulant, penetrating voice.

"Who is this person? What does he want? Dear me, Staples,

how often have I said that I am not to be disturbed in my hours

of study?"

There came a gentle flow of soothing explanation from the

butler.

"Well, I won't see him, Staples. I can't have my work inter-

rupted like this. I am not at home. Say so. Tell him to come in

the morning if he really must see me."

Again the gentle murmur.

"Well, well, give him that message. He can come in the

morning, or he can stay away. My work must not be hindered."

I thought of Holmes tossing upon his bed of sickness and

counting the minutes, perhaps, until I could bring help to him. It

was not a time to stand upon ceremony. His life depended upon

my promptness. Before the apologetic butler had delivered his

message I had pushed past him and was in the room.

With a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chair

beside the fire. I saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained and

greasy, with heavy, double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray

eyes which glared at me from under tufted and sandy brows. A

high bald head had a small velvet smoking-cap poised coquett-

ishly upon one side of its pink curve. The skull was of enormous

capacity, and yet as I looked down I saw to my amazement that

the figure of the man was small and frail, twisted in the shoul-

ders and back like one who has suffered from rickets in his

childhood.

"What's this?" he cried in a high, screaming voice. "What is

the meaning of this intrusion? Didn't I send you word that I

would see you to-morrow morning?"

"I am sorry," said I, "but the matter cannot be delayed. Mr.

Sherlock Holmes --"

The mention of my friend's name had an extraordinary effect

upon the little man. The look of anger passed in an instant from

his face. His features became tense and alert.

"Have you come from Holmes?" he asked.

"I have just left him."

"What about Holmes? How is he?"

"He is desperately ill. That is why I have come."

The man motioned me to a chair, and turned to resume his

own. As he did so I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror

over the mantelpiece. I could have sworn that it was set in a

malicious and abominable smile. Yet I persuaded myself that it

must have been some nervous contraction which I had surprised,

for he turned to me an instant later with genuine concern upon

his features.

"I am sorry to hear this," said he. "I only know Mr. Holmes

through some business dealings which we have had, but I have

every respect for his talents and his character. He is an amateur

of crime, as I am of disease. For him the villain, for me the

microbe. There are my prisons," he continued, pointing to a row

of bottles and jars which stood upon a side table. "Among those

gelatine cultivations some of the very worst offenders in the

world are now doing time."

"It was on account of your special knowledge that Mr. Holmes

desired to see you. He has a high opinion of you and thought that

you were the one man in London who could help him."

The little man started, and the jaunty smoking-cap slid to the

floor.

"Why?" he asked. "Why should Mr. Holmes think that I

could help him in his trouble?"

"Because of your knowledge of Eastern diseases."

"But why should he think that this disease which he has

contracted is Eastern?"

"Because, in some professional inquiry, he has been working

among Chinese sailors down in the docks."

Mr. Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and picked up his

smoking-cap.

"Oh, that's it -- is it?" said he. "I trust the matter is not so

grave as you suppose. How long has he been ill?"

"About three days."

"Is he delirious?"

"Occasionally."

"Tut, tut! This sounds serious. It would be inhuman not to

answer his call. I very much resent any interruption to my work,

Dr. Watson, but this case is certainly exceptional. I will come

with you at once."

I remembered Holmes's injunction.

"I have another appointment," said I.

"Very good. I will go alone. I have a note of Mr. Holmes's

address. You can rely upon my being there within half an hour at

most."

It was with a sinking heart that I reentered Holmes's bedroom.

For all that I knew the worst might have happened in my

absence. To my enormous relief, he had improved greatly in the

interval. His appearance was as ghastly as ever, but all trace of

delirium had left him and he spoke in a feeble voice, it is true,

but with even more than his usual crispness and lucidity.

"Well, did you see him, Watson?"

"Yes; he is coming."

"Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the best of mes-

sengers."

"He wished to return with me."

"That would never do, Watson. That would be obviously

impossible. Did he ask what ailed me?"

"I told him about the Chinese in the East End."

"Exactly! Well, Watson, you have done all that a good friend

could. You can now disappear from the scene."

"I must wait and hear his opinion, Holmes."

"Of course you must. But I have reasons to suppose that this

opinion would be very much more frank and valuable if he

imagines that we are alone. There is just room behind the head

of my bed, Watson."

"My dear Holmes!"

"I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The room does not

lend itself to concealment, which is as well, as it is the less

likely to arouse suspicion. But just there, Watson, I fancy that it

could be done." Suddenly he sat up with a rigid intentness upon

his haggard face. "There are the wheels, Watson. Quick, man,

if you love me! And don't budge, whatever happens -- whatever

happens, do you hear? Don't speak! Don't move! Just listen with

all your ears." Then in an instant his sudden access of strength

departed, and his masterful, purposeful talk droned away into the

low, vague murmurings of a semi-dellrious man.

From the hiding-place into which I had been so swiftly hustled

I heard the footfalls upon the stair, with the opening and the

closing of the bedroom door. Then, to my surprise, there came a

long silence, broken only by the heavy breathings and gaspings

of the sick man. I could imagine that our visitor was standing by

the bedside and looking down at the sufferer. At last that strange

hush was broken.

"Holmes!" he cried. "Holmes!" in the insistent tone of one

who awakens a sleeper. "Can't you hear me, Holmes?" There

was a rustling, as if he had shaken the sick man roughly by the

shoulder.

"Is that you, Mr. Smith?" Holmes whispered. "I hardly

dared hope that you would come."

The other laughed.

"I should imagine not," he said. "And yet, you see, I am

here. Coals of fire, Holmes -- coals of fire!"

"It is very good of you -- very noble of you. I appreciate your

special knowledge."

Our visitor sniggered.

"You do. You are, fortunately, the only man in London who

does. Do you know what is the matter with you?"

"The same," said Holmes.

"Ah! You recognize the symptoms?"

"Only too well."

"Well, I shouldn't be surprised, Holmes. I shouldn't be sur-

prised if it were the same. A bad lookout for you if it is. Poor

Victor was a dead man on the fourth day -- a strong, hearty

young fellow. It was certainly, as you said, very surprising that

he should have contracted an out-of-the-way Asiatic disease in

the heart of London -- a disease, too, of which I had made such a

very special study. Singular coincidence, Holmes. Very smart of

you to notice it, but rather uncharitable to suggest that it was

cause and effect."

"I knew that you did it."

"Oh, you did, did you? Well, you couldn't prove it, anyhow.

But what do you think of yourself spreading reports about me

like that, and then crawling to me for help the moment you are in

trouble? What sort of a game is that -- eh?"

I heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the sick man. "Give

me the water!" he gasped.

"You're precious near your end, my friend, but I don't want

you to go till I have had a word with you. That's why I give you

water. There, don't slop it about! That's right. Can you under-

stand what I say?"

Holmes groaned.

"Do what you can for me. Let bygones be bygones," he

whispered. "I'll put the words out of my head -- I swear I will.

Only cure me, and I'll forget it."

"Forget what?"

"Well, about Victor Savage's death. You as good as admitted

just now that you had done it. I'll forget it."

"You can forget it or remember it, just as you like. I don't see

you in the witness-box. Quite another shaped box, my good

Holmes, I assure you. It matters nothing to me that you should

know how my nephew died. It's not him we are talking about.

It's you."

"Yes, yes."

"The fellow who came for me -- I've forgotten his name -- said

that you contracted it down in the East End among the sailors."

"I could only account for it so."

"You are proud of your brains, Holmes, are you not? Think

yourself smart, don't you? You came across someone who was

smarter this time. Now cast your mind back, Holmes. Can you

think of no other way you could have got this thing?"

"I can't think. My mind is gone. For heaven's sake help

me! "

"Yes, I will help you. I'll help you to understand just where

you are and how you got there. I'd like you to know before you

die."

"Give me something to ease my pain."

"Painful, is it? Yes, the coolies used to do some squealing

towards the end. Takes you as cramp, I fancy."

"Yes, yes; it is cramp."

"Well, you can hear what I say, anyhow. Listen now! Can

you remember any unusual incident in your life just about the

time your symptoms began?"

"No, no; nothing."

"Think again."

"I'm too ill to think."

"Well, then, I'll help you. Did anything come by post?"

"By post?"

"A box by chance?"

"I'm fainting -- I'm gone!"

"Listen, Holmes!" There was a sound as if he was shaking

the dying man, and it was all that I could do to hold myself quiet

in my hiding-place. "You must hear me. You shall hear me. Do

you remember a box -- an ivory box? It came on Wednesday.

You opened it -- do you remember?"

"Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring inside it.

Some joke --"

"It was no joke, as you will find to your cost. You fool,

you would have it and you have got it. Who asked you to cross

my path? If you had left me alone I would not have hurt

you."

"I remember," Holmes gasped. "The spring! It drew blood.

This box -- this on the table."

"The very one, by George! And it may as well leave the room

in my pocket. There goes your last shred of evidence. But you

have the truth now, Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge

that I killed you. You knew too much of the fate of Victor

Savage, so I have sent you to share it. You are very near your

end, Holmes. I will sit here and I will watch you die."

Holmes's voice had sunk to an almost inaudible whisper.

"What is that?" said Smith. "Turn up the gas? Ah, the

shadows begin to fall, do they? Yes, I will turn it up, that I may

see you the better." He crossed the room and the light suddenly

brightened. "Is there any other little service that I can do you,

my friend?"

"A match and a cigarette."

I nearly called out in my joy and my amazement. He was

speaking in his natural voice -- a little weak, perhaps, but the very

voice I knew. There was a long pause, and I felt that Culverton

Smith was standing in silent amazement looking down at his

companion.

"What's the meaning of this?" I heard him say at last in a

dry, rasping tone.

"The best way of successfully acting a part is to be it," said

Holmes. "I give you my word that for three days I have tasted

neither food nor drink until you were good enough to pour me

out that glass of water. But it is the tobacco which I find most

irksome. Ah, here are some cigarettes." I heard the striking of a

match. "That is very much better. Halloa! halloa! Do I hear the

step of a friend?"

There were footfalls outside, the door opened, and Inspector

Morton appeared.

"All is in order and this is your man," said Holmes.

The officer gave the usual cautions.

"I arrest you on the charge of the murder of one Victor

Savage," he concluded.

"And you might add of the attempted murder of one Sherlock

Holmes," remarked my friend with a chuckle. "To save an

invalid trouble, Inspector, Mr. Culverton Smith was good enough

to give our signal by turning up the gas. By the way, the prisoner

has a small box in the right-hand pocket of his coat which it

would be as well to remove. Thank you. I would handle it

gingerly if I were you. Put it down here. It may play its part in

the trial."

There was a sudden rush and a scuffle, followed by the clash

of iron and a cry of pain.

"You'll only get yourself hurt," said the inspector. "Stand

still, will you?" There was the click of the closing handcuffs.

"A nice trap!" cried the high, snarling voice. "It will bring

you into the dock, Holmes, not me. He asked me to come here to

cure him. I was sorry for him and I came. Now he will pretend,

no doubt, that I have said anything which he may invent which

will corroborate his insane suspicions. You can lie as you like,

Holmes. My word is always as good as yours."

"Good heavens!" cried Holmes. "I had totally forgotten him.

My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that

I should have overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr.

Culverton Smith, since I understand that you met somewhat

earlier in the evening. Have you the cab below? I will follow you

when I am dressed, for I may be of some use at the station.

"I never needed it more," said Holmes as he refreshed himself

with a glass of claret and some biscuits in the intervals of his

toilet. "However, as you know, my habits are irregular, and

such a feat means less to me than to most men. It was very

essential that I should impress Mrs. Hudson with the reality of

my condition, since she was to convey it to you, and you in turn

to him. You won't be offended, Watson? You will realize that

among your many talents dissimulation finds no place, and that

if you had shared my secret you would never have been able to

impress Smith with the urgent necessity of his presence, which

was the vital point of the whole scheme. Knowing his vindictive

nature, I was perfectly certain that he would come to look upon

his handiwork."

"But your appearance, Holmes -- your ghastly face?"

"Three days of absolute fast does not improve one's beauty,

Watson. For the rest, there is nothing which a sponge may not

cure. With vaseline upon one's forehead, belladonna in one's

eyes, rouge over the cheek-bones, and crusts of beeswax round

one's lips, a very satisfying effect can be produced. Malingering

is a subject upon which I have sometimes thought of writing a

monograph. A little occasional talk about half-crowns, oysters-,

or any other extraneous subject produces a pleasing effect of

delirium."

"But why would you not let me near you, since there was in

truth no infection?"

"Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imagine that I have

no respect for your medical talents? Could I fancy that your

astute judgment would pass a dying man who, however weak,

had no rise of pulse or temperature? At four yards, I could

deceive you. If I failed to do so, who would bring my Smith

within my grasp? No, Watson, I would not touch that box. You

can just see if you look at it sideways where the sharp spring

like a viper's tooth emerges as you open it. I dare say it was

by some such device that poor Savage, who stood between

this monster and a reversion, was done to death. My correspon-

dence, however, is, as you know, a varied one, and I am

somewhat upon my guard against any packages which reach

me. It was clear to me, however, that by pretending that he

had really succeeded in his design I might surprise a con-

fession. That pretence I have carried out with the thoroughness

of the true artist. Thank you, Watson, you must help me on

with my coat. When we have finished at the police-station I

think that something nutritious at Simpson's would not be out

of place."

 

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

The Adventure of the Empty House

 

It was in the spring of the year 1894 that all London was

interested, and the fashionable world dismayed. by the murder of

the Honourable Ronald Adair under most unusual and inexplica-

ble circumstances. The public has already learned those particu-

lars of the crime which came out in the po]ice investigation, but

a good deal was suppressed upon that occasion, since the case

for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly strong that it was not

necessary to bring forward all the facts. Only now, at the end of

nearly ten years, am I allowed to supply those missing links

which make up the whole of that remarkable chain. The crime

was of interest in itself, but that interest was as nothing to me

compared to the inconceivable sequel, which afforded me the

greatest shock and surprise of any event in my adventurous life.

Even now, after this long interval, I find myself thrilling as I

think of it, and feeling once more that sudden flood of joy,

amazement, and incredulity which utterly submerged my mind.

Let me say to that public, which has shown some interest in

those glimpses which I have occasionally given them of the

thoughts and actions of a very remarkable man, that they are not

to blame me if I have not shared my knowledge with them, for I

should have considered it my first duty to do so, had I not been

barred by a positive prohibition from his own lips, which was

only withdrawn upon the third of last month.

It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock

Holmes had interested me deeply in crime, and that after his

disappearance I never failed to read with care the various prob-

lems which came before the public. And I even attempted, more

than once, for my own private satisfaction, to employ his meth-

ods in their solution, though with indifferent success. There was

none, however, which appealed to me like this tragedy of Ronald

Adair. As I read the evidence at the inquest, which led up to a

verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons un-

known, I realized more clearly than I had ever done the loss

which the community had sustained by the death of Sherlock

Holmes. There were points about this strange business which

would, I was sure, have specially appealed to him, and the

efforts of the police would have been supplemented, or more

probably anticipated. by the trained observation and the alert

mind of the first criminal agent in Europe. All day. as I drove

upon my round, I turned over the case in my mind and found no

explanation which appeared to me to be adequate. At the risk of

telling a twice-told tale. I will recapitulate the facts as they were

known to the public at the conclusion of the inquest.

The Honourable Ronald Adair was the second son of the Earl

of Maynooth, at that time governor of one of the Australian

colonies. Adair's mother had returned from Australia to undergo

the operation for cataract, and she, her son Ronald, and her

daughter Hilda were living together at 427 Park Lane. The youth

moved in the best society -- had, so far as was known, no ene-

mies and no particular vices. He had been engaged to Miss Edith

Woodley, of Carstairs, but the engagement had been broken off

by mutual consent some months before, and there was no sign

that it had left any very profound feeling behind it. For the rest

of the man's life moved in a narrow and conventional circle, for

his habits were quiet and his nature unemotional. Yet it was

upon this easy-going young aristocrat that death came, in most

strange and unexpected form, between the hours of ten and

eleven-twenty on the night of March 30, 1894.

Ronald Adair was fond of cards -- playing continually, but

never for such stakes as would hurt him. He was a member of

the Baldwin, the Cavendish, and the Bagatelle card clubs. It was

shown that, after dinner on the day of his death, he had played a

rubber of whist at the latter club. He had also played there in the

afternoon. The evidence of those who had played with him -- Mr.

Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel Moran -- showed that the

game was whist, and that there was a fairly equal fall of the

cards. Adair might have lost five pounds, but not more. His

fortune was a considerable one, and such a loss could not in any

way affect him. He had played nearly every day at one club or

other, but he was a cautious player, and usually rose a winner. It

came out in evidence that, in partnership with Colonel Moran, he

had actually won as much as four hundred and twenty pounds in

a sitting, some weeks before, from Godfrey Milner and Lord

Balmoral. So much for his recent history as it came out at the

inquest.

On the evening of the crime, he returned from the club exactly

at ten. His mother and sister were out spending the evening with

a relation. The servant deposed that she heard him enter the front

room on the second floor, generally used as his sitting-room. She

had lit a fire there, and as it smoked she had opened the window.

No sound was heard from the room until eleven-twenty, the hour

of the return of Lady Maynooth and her daughter. Desiring to

say good-night, she attempted to enter her son's room. The door

was locked on the inside, and no answer could be got to their

cries and knocking. Help was obtained, and the door forced. The

unfortunate young man was found lying near the table. His head

had been horribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet, but

no weapon of any sort was to be found in the room. On the table

lay two banknotes for ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten

in silver and gold, the money arranged in little piles of varying

amount. There were some figures also upon a sheet of paper,

with the names of some club friends opposite to them, from

which it was conjectured that before his death he was endeav-

ouring to make out his losses or winnings at cards.

A minute examination of the circumstances served only to

make the case more complex. In the first place, no reason could

be given why the young man should have fastened the door upon

the inside. There was the possibility that the murderer had done

this, and had afterwards escaped by the window. The drop was

at least twenty feet, however, and a bed of crocuses in full

bloom lay beneath. Neither the flowers nor the earth showed any

sign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marks upon

the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the

road. Apparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who

had fastened the door. But how did he come by his death? No

one could have climbed up to the window without leaving traces.

Suppose a man had fired through the window, he would indeed

be a remarkable shot who could with a revolver inflict so deadly

a wound. Again, Park Lane is a frequented thoroughfare; there is

a cab stand within a hundred yards of the house. No one had

heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man, and there the

revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bul-

lets will, and so inflicted a wound which must have caused

instantaneous death. Such were the circumstances of the Park

Lane Mystery, which were further complicated by entire absence

of motive, since, as I have said, young Adair was not known to

have any enemy, and no attempt had been made to remove the

money or valuables in the room.

All day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavouring to

hit some theory which could reconcile them all, and to find that

line of least resistance which my poor friend had declared to be

the starting-point of every investigation. I confess that I made

little progress. In the evening I strolled across the Park, and

found myself about six o'clock at the Oxford Street end of Park

Lane. A group of loafers upon the pavements, all staring up at a

particular window, directed me to the house which I had come to

see. A tall, thin man with coloured glasses, whom I strongly

suspected of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out

some theory of his own, while the others crowded round to listen

to what he said. I got as near him as I could, but his observations

seemed to me to be absurd, so I withdrew again in some disgust.

As I did so I struck against an elderly, deformed man, who had

been behind me, and I knocked down several books which he

was carrying. I remember that as I picked them up, I observed

the title of one of them, The Origin of Tree Worship, and it

struck me that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile, who,

either as a trade or as a hobby, was a collector of obscure

volumes. I endeavoured to apologize for the accident, but it was

evident that these books which I had so unfortunately maltreated

were very precious objects in the eyes of their owner. With a

snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I saw his curved

back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng.

My observations of No. 427 Park Lane did little to clear up the

problem in which I was interested. The house was separated

from the street by a low wall and railing, the whole not more

than five feet high. It was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone

to get into the garden, but the window was entirely inaccessible,

since there was no waterpipe or anything which could help the

most active man to climb it. More puzzled than ever, I retraced

my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my study five minutes

when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me. To

my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book

collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of

white hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least,

wedged under his right arm.

"You're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a strange,

croaking voice.

I acknowledged that I was.

"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you

go into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to

myself, I'll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him

that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm

meant, and that I am much obliged to him for picking up my

books."

"You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I ask how

you knew who I was?"

"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of

yours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church

Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect

yourself, sir. Here's British Birds, and Catullus, and The Holy

War -- a bargain, every one of them. With five volumes you

could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks untidy, does

it not, sir?"

I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I

turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across

my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds

in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted

for the first and the last time in my life. Certainly a gray mist

swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-

ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips.

Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand.

"My dear Watson," said the well-remembered voice, "I owe

you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so

affected."

I gripped him by the arms.

"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that

you are alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out

of that awful abyss?"

"Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure that you are really

fit to discuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my

unnecessarily dramatic reappearance."

"I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my

eyes. Good heavens! to think that you -- you of all men -- should

be standing in my study." Again I gripped him by the sleeve,

and felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it. "Well, you're not a

spirit, anyhow," said I. "My dear chap, I'm overjoyed to see

you. Sit down, and tell me how you came alive out of that

dreadful chasm."

He sat opposite to me, and lit a cigarette in his old, nonchalant

manner. He was dressed in the seedy frockcoat of the book

merchant, but the rest of that individual lay in a pile of white

hair and old books upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner

and keener than of old, but there was a dead-white tinge in his

aquiline face which told me that his life recently had not been a

healthy one.

"I am glad to stretch myself, Watson," said he. "It is no joke

when a tall man has to take a foot off his stature for several

hours on end. Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these

explanations, we have, if I may ask for your cooperation, a hard

and dangerous night's work in front of us. Perhaps it would be

better if I gave you an account of the whole situation when that

work is finished."

"I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear now."

"You'll come with me to-night?"

"When you like and where you like."

"This is, indeed, like the old days. We shall have time for a

mouthful of dinner before we need go. Well, then, about that

chasm. I had no serious difficulty in getting out of it, for the

very simple reason that I never was in it."

"You never were in it?"

"No, Watson, I never was in it. My note to you was abso-

lutely genuine. I had little doubt that I had come to the end of

my career when I perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the

late Professor Moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway which

led to safety. I read an inexorable purpose in his gray eyes. I

exchanged some remarks with him, therefore, and obtained his

courteous permission to write the short note which you after-

wards received. I left it with my cigarette-box and my stick, and

I walked along the pathway, Moriarty still at my heels. When I

reached the end I stood at bay. He drew no weapon, but he

rushed at me and threw his long arms around me. He knew that

his own game was up, and was only anxious to revenge himself

upon me. We tottered together upon the brink of the fall. I have

some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or the Japanese system of

wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. I

slipped through his grip, and he with a horrible scream kicked

madly for a few seconds, and clawed the air with both his hands.

But for all his efforts he could not get his balance, and over he

went. With my face over the brink, I saw him fall for a long

way. Then he struck a rock, bounded off, and splashed into the

water."

I listened with amazement to this explanation, which Holmes

delivered between the puffs of his cigarette.

"But the tracks!" I cried. "I saw, with my own eyes, that two

went down the path and none returned."

"It came about in this way. The instant that the Professor had

disappeared, it struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky

chance Fate had placed in my way. I knew that Moriarty was not

the only man who had sworn my death. There were at least three

others whose desire for vengeance upon me would only be

increased by the death of their leader. They were all most

dangerous men. One or other would certainly get me. On the

other hand. if all the world was convinced that I was dead they

would take liberties, these men, they would soon lay themselves

open, and sooner or later I could destroy them. Then it would be

time for me to announce that I was still in the land of the living.

So rapidly does the brain act that I believe I had thought this all

out before Professor Moriarty had reached the bottom of the

Reichenbach Fall.

"I stood up and examined the rocky wall behind me. In your

picturesque account of the matter, which I read with great inter-

est some months later, you assert that the wall was sheer. That

was not literally true. A few small footholds presented them-

selves, and there was some indication of a ledge. The cliff is so

high that to climb it all was an obvious impossibility, and it was

equally impossible to make my way along the wet path without

leaving some tracks. I might, it is true, have reversed my boots,

as I have done on similar occasions, but the sight of three sets of

tracks in one direction would certainly have suggested a decep-

tion. On the whole, then, it was best that I should risk the climb.

It was not a pleasant business, Watson. The fall roared beneath

me. I am not a fanciful person, but I give you my word that I

seemed to hear Moriarty's voice screaming at me out of the

abyss. A mistake would have been fatal. More than once, as

tufts of grass came out in my hand or my foot slipped in the wet

notches of the rock, I thought that I was gone. But I struggled

upward, and at last I reached a ledge several feet deep and

covered with soft green moss, where I could lie unseen, in the

most perfect comfort. There I was stretched, when you, my dear

Watson, and all your following were investigating in the most

sympathetic and inefficient manner the circumstances of my

death.

"At last, when you had all formed your inevitable and totally

erroneous conclusions, you departed for the hotel, and I was left

alone. l had imagined that I had reached the end of my adven-

tures, but a very unexpected occurrence showed me that there

were surprises still in store for me. A huge rock, falling from

above, boomed past me, struck the path, and bounded over into

the chasm. For an instant I thought that it was an accident, but a

moment later, looking up, I saw a man's head against the

darkening sky, and another stone struck the very ledge upon

which I was stretched, within a foot of my head. Of course, the

meaning of this was obvious. Moriarty had not been alone. A

confederate -- and even that one glance had told me how danger-

ous a man that confederate was -- had kept guard while the

Profcssor had attacked me. From a distance, unseen by me, he

had been a witness of his friend's death and of my escape. He

had waited, and then making his way round to the top of the

cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where his comrade had

failed.

"I did not take long to think about it, Watson. Again I saw

that grim face look over the cliff, and I knew that it was the

precursor of another stone. I scrambled down on to the path. I

don't think I could have done it in cold blood. It was a hundred

times more difficult than getting up. But I had no time to think of

the danger, for another stone sang past me as I hung by my

hands from the edge of the ledge. Halfway down I slipped, but,

by the blessing of God, I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the

path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in the

darkness, and a week later I found myself in Florence, with the

certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me.

"I had only one confidant -- my brother Mycroft. I owe you

many apologies, my dear Watson, but it was all-important that it

should be thought I was dead, and it is quite certain that you

would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy

end had you not yourself thought that it was true. Several times

during the last three years I have taken up my pen to write to

you, but always I feared lest your affectionate regard for me

should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my

secret. For that reason I turned away from you this evening when

you upset my books, for I was in danger at the time, and any

show of surprise and emotion upon your part might have drawn

attention to my identity and led to the most deplorable and

irreparable results. As to Mycroft, I had to confide in him in

order to obtain the money which I needed. The course of events

in London did not run so well as I had hoped, for the trial of the

Moriarty gang left two of its most dangerous members, my own

most vindictive enemies, at liberty. I travelled for two years in

Tibet, therefore, and amused myself by visiting Lhassa, and

spending some days with the head lama. You may have read of

the remarkable explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson, but

I am sure that it never occurred to you that you were receiving

news of your friend. I then passed through Persia, looked in at

Mecca, and paid a short but interesting visit to the Khalifa at

Khartoum, the results of which I have communicated to the

Foreign Office. Returning to France, I spent some months in a

research into the coal-tar derivatives, which I conducted in a

laboratory at Montpellier, in the south of France. Having con-

cluded this to my satisfaction and learning that only one of my

enemies was now left in London, I was about to return when my

movements were hastened by the news of this very remarkable

Park Lane Mystery, which not only appealed to me by its own

merits. but which seemed to offer some most peculiar personal

opportunities. I came over at once to London, called in my own

person at Baker Street. threw Mrs. Hudson into violent hysterics,

and found that Mycroft had preserved my rooms and my papers

exactly as they had always been. So it was, my dear Watson

that at two o'clock to-day I found myself in my old armchair in

my own old room, and only wishing that I could have seen my

old friend Watson in the other chair which he has so often

adorned."

Such was the remarkable narrative to which I listened on that

April evening -- a narrative which would have been utterly in-

credible to me had it not been confirmed by the actual sight of

the tall, spare figure and the keen, eager face, which I had never

thought to see again. In some manner he had learned of my own

sad bereavement, and his sympathy was shown in his manner

rather than in his words. "Work is the best antidote to sorrow,

my dear Watson," said he; "and I have a piece of work for us

both to-night which, if we can bring it to a successful conclu-

sion, will in itself justify a man's life on this planet." In vain I

begged him to tell me more. "You will hear and see enough

before morning," he answered. "We have three years of the past

to discuss. Let that suffice until half-past nine, when we start

upon the notable adventure of the empty house."

It was indeed like old times when, at that hour, I found myself

seated beside him in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket, and

the thrill of adventure in my heart. Holmes was cold and stern

and silent. As the gleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his

austere features, I saw that his brows were drawn down in

thought and his thin lips compressed. I knew not what wild beast

we were about to hunt down in the dark jungle of criminal

London, but I was well assured, from the bearing of this master

huntsman, that the adventure was a most grave one -- while the

sardonic smile which occasionally broke through his ascetic

gloom boded little good for the object of our quest.

I had imagined that we were bound for Baker Street, but

Holmes stopped the cab at the corner of Cavendish Square. I

observed that as he stepped out he gave a most searching glance

to right and left, and at every subsequent street corner he took

the utmost pains to assure that he was not followed. Our route

was certainly a singular one. Holmes's knowledge of the byways

of London was extraordinary, and on this occasion he passed

rapidly and with an assured step through a network of mews and

stables, the very existence of which I had never known. We

emerged at last into a small road, lined with old, gloomy houses.

which led us into Manchester Street, and so to Blandford Street.

Here he turned swiftly down a narrow passage, passed through a

wooden gate into a deserted yard, and then opened with a key

the back door of a house. We entered together, and he closed it

behind us.

The place was pitch dark, but it was evident to me that it was

an empty house. Our feet creaked and crackled over the bare

planking, and my outstretched hand touched a wall from which

the paper was hanging in ribbons. Holmes's cold, thin fingers

closed round my wrist and led me forward down a long hall,

until I dimly saw the murky fanlight over the door. Here Holmes

turned suddenly to the right, and we found ourselves in a large,

square, empty room, heavily shadowed in the corners, but faintly

lit in the centre from the lights of the street beyond. There was

no lamp near, and the window was thick with dust, so that we

could only just discern each other's figures within. My compan-

ion put his hand upon my shoulder and his lips close to my ear.

"Do you know where we are?" he whispered.

"Surely that is Baker Street," I answered, staring through the

dim window.

"Exactly. We are in Camden House, which stands opposite to

our own old quarters."

"But why are we here?"

"Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque

pile. Might I trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little

nearer to the window, taking every precaution not to show

yourself, and then to look up at our old rooms -- the starting-point

of so many of your little fairy-tales? We will see if my three

years of absence have entirely taken away my power to surprise

you."

I crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. As

my eyes fell upon it, I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The

blind was down, and a strong light was burning in the room. The

shadow of a man who was seated in a chair within was thrown in

hard, black outline upon the luminous screen of the window.

There was no mistaking the poise of the head, the squareness of

the shoulders, the sharpness of the features. The face was turned

half-round, and the effect was that of one of those black silhou-

ettes which our grandparents loved to frame. It was a perfect

reproduction of Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw out my

hand to make sure that the man himself was standing beside me.

He was quivering with silent laughter.

"Well?" said he.

"Good hcavens!" I cried. "It is marvellous."

"I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite

variety," said he, and I recognized in his voice the joy and pride

which the artist takes in his own creation. "It really is rather like

me, is it not?"

"I should be prepared to swear that it was you."

"The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur Oscar Meunier

of Grenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. It is a

bust in wax. The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker

Street this afternoon."

"But why?"

"Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest possible rea-

son for wishing certain people to think that I was there when I

was really elsewhere."

"And you thought the rooms were watched?"

"I knew that they were watched."

"By whom?"

"By my old enemies, Watson. By the charming society whose

leader lies in the Reichenbach Fall. You must remember that

they knew, and only they knew, that I was still alive. Sooner or

later they believed that I should come back to my rooms. They

watched them continuously, and this morning they saw me arrive."

"How do you know?"

"Because I recognized their sentinel when I glanced out of my

window. He is a harmless enough fellow, Parker by name, a

garroter by trade, and a remarkable performer upon the jew's-

harp. I cared nothing for him. But I cared a great deal for the

much more formidable person who was behind him, the bosom

friend of Moriarty, the man who dropped the rocks over the cliff

the most cunning and dangerous criminal in London. That is the

man who is after me to-night, Watson, and that is the man who

is quite unaware that we are after him."

My friend's plans were gradually revealing themselvcs. From

this convenient retreat, the watchers were being watched and the

trackers tracked. That angular shadow up yonder was the bait.

and we were the hunters. In silence we stood together in the

darkness and watched the hurrying figures who passed and re-

passed in front of us. Holmes was silent and motionless; but I

could tell that he was keenly alert, and that his eyes were fixed

intently upon the stream of passers-by. It was a bleak and

boisterous night, and the wind whistled shrilly down the long

street. Many people were moving to and fro, most of them

muffled in their coats and cravats. Once or twice it seemed to

me that I had seen the same figure before, and I especially

noticed two men who appeared to be sheltering themselves from

the wind in the doorway of a house some distance up the street. I

tried to draw my companion's attention to them; but he gave a

little ejaculation of impatience, and continued to stare into the

street. More than once he fidgeted with his feet and tapped

rapidly with his fingers upon the wall. It was evident to me that

he was becoming uneasy, and that his plans were not working

out altogether as he had hoped. At last, as midnight approached

and the street gradually cleared, he paced up and down the room

in uncontrollable agitation. I was about to make some remark to

him, when I raised my eyes to the lighted window, and again

experienced almost as great a surprise as before. I clutched Holmes's

arm, and pointed upward.

"The shadow has moved!" I cried.

It was indeed no longer the profile, but the back, which was

turned towards us.

Three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of his

temper or his impatience with a less active intelligence than his

own.

"Of course it has moved," said he. "Am I such a farcical

bungler, Watson, that I should erect an obvious dummy, and

expect that some of the sharpest men in Europe would be de-

ceived by it? We have been in this room two hours, and Mrs.

Hudson has made some change in that figure eight times, or once

in every quarter of an hour. She works it from the front, so that

her shadow may never be seen. Ah!" He drew in his breath with

a shrill, excited intake. In the dim light I saw his head thrown

forward, his whole attitude rigid with attention. Outside the

street was absolutely deserted. Those two men might still be

crouching in the doorway, but I could no longer see them. All

was still and dark, save only that brilliant yellow screen in front

of us with the black figure outlined upon its centre. Again in the

utter silence I heard that thin, sibilant note which spoke of

intense suppressed excitement. An instant later he pulled me

back into the blackest corner of the room. and I felt his warning

hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were quiver-

ing. Never had I known my friend more moved, and yet the dark

street still stretched lonely and motionless before us.

But suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses had

already distinguished. A low, stealthy sound came to my ears,

not from the direction of Baker Street, but from the back of the

very house in which we lay concealed. A door opened and shut.

An instant later steps crept down the passage -- steps which were

meant to be silent, but which reverberated harshly through the

empty house. Holmes crouched back against the wall, and I did

the same, my hand closing upon the handle of my revolver.

Peering through the gloom, I saw the vague outline of a man, a

shade blacker than the blackness of the open door. He stood for

an instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing, into

the room. He was within three yards of us, this sinister figure,

and I had braced myself to meet his spring, before I realized that

he had no idea of our presence. He passed close beside us, stole

over to the window, and very softly and noiselessly raised it for

half a foot. As he sank to the level of this opening, the light of

the street, no longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon his

face. The man seemed to be beside himself with excitement. His

two eyes shone like stars, and his features were working convul-

sively. He was an elderly man, with a thin, projecting nose, a

high, bald forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache. An opera

hat was pushed to the back of his head, and an evening dress

shirt-front gleamed out through his open overcoat. His face was

gaunt and swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. In his hand

he carried what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down

upon the floor it gave a metallic clang. Then from the pocket of

his overcoat he drew a bulky object, and he busied himself in

some task which ended with a loud, sharp click, as if a spring or

bolt had fallen into its place. Still kneeling upon the floor he bent

forward and threw all his weight and strength upon some lever

with the result that there came a long, whirling, grinding noise,

ending once more in a powerful click. He straightened himself

then, and I saw that what he held in his hand was a sort of gun,

with a curiously misshapen butt. He opened it at the breech, put

something in, and snapped the breech-lock. Then, crouching

down, he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open

window, and I saw his long moustache droop over the stock and

his eye gleam as it peered along the sights. I heard a little sigh of

satisfaction as he cuddled the butt into his shoulder, and saw that

amazing target, the black man on the yellow ground, standing

clear at the end of his foresight. For an instant he was rigid and

motionless. Then his finger tightened on the trigger. There was a

strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle of broken glass. At

that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on to the marksman's

back, and hurled him flat upon his face. He was up again in a

moment, and with convulsive strength he seized Holmes by the

throat, but I struck him on the head with the butt of my revolver,

and he dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon him, and as I

held him my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. There

was the clatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two

policemen in uniform, with one plain-clothes detective, rushed

through the front entrance and into the room.

"That you, Lestrade?" said Holmes.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It's good to see you

back in London, sir."

"I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetected

murders in one year won't do, Lestrade. But you handled the

Molesey Mystery with less than your usual -- that's to say, you

handled it fairly well."

We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with

a stalwart constable on each side of him. Already a few loiterers

had begun to collect in the street. Holmes stepped up to the

window, closed it, and dropped the blinds. Lestrade had pro-

duced two candles, and the policemen had uncovered their lan-

terns. I was able at last to have a good look at our prisoner.

It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was

turned towards us. With the brow of a philosopher above and the

jaw of a sensualist below, the man must have started with great

capacities for good or for evil. But one could not look upon his

cruel blue eyes, with their drooping, cynical lids, or upon the

fierce, aggressive nose and the threatening, deep-lined brow,

without reading Nature's plainest danger-signals. He took no

heed of any of us, but his eyes were fixed upon Holmes's face

with an expression in which hatred and amazement were equally

blended. "You fiend!" he kept on muttering. "You clever,

clever fiend!"

"Ah, Colonel!" said Holmes, arranging his rumpled collar.

" 'Journeys end in lovers' meetings,' as the old play says. I

don't think I have had the pleasure of seeing you since you

favoured me with those attentions as I lay on the ledge above the

Reichenbach Fall."

The colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance.

"You cunning, cunning fiend!" was all that he could say.

"I have not introduced you yet," said Holmes. "This, gentle-

men, is Colonel Sebastian Moran, once of Her Majesty's Indian

Army, and the best heavy-game shot that our Eastern Empire has

ever produced. I believe I am correct, Colonel, in saying that

your bag of tigers still remains unrivalled?"

The fierce old man said nothing, but still glared at my com-

panion. With his savage eyes and bristling moustache he was

wonderfully like a tiger himself.

"I wonder that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old

a shikari," said Holmes. "It must be very familiar to you. Have

you not tethered a young kid under a tree, lain above it with your

rifle, and waited for the bait to bring up your tiger? This empty

house is my tree, and you are my tiger. You have possibly had

other guns in reserve in case there should be several tigers, or in

the unlikely supposition of your own aim failing you. These,"

he pointed around, "are my other guns. The parallel is exact."

Colonel Moran sprang forward with a snarl of rage, but the

constables dragged him back. The fury upon his face was terrible

to look at.

"I confess that you had one small surprise for me," said

Holmes. "I did not anticipate that you would yourself make use

of this empty house and this convenient front window. I had

imagined you as operating from the street, where my friend

Lestrade and his merry men were awaiting you. With that excep-

tion, all has gone as I expected."

Colonel Moran turned to the official detective.

"You may or may not have just cause for arresting me," said

he, "but at least there can be no reason why I should submit to

the gibes of this person. If I am in the hands of the law, let

things be done in a legal way."

"Well, that's reasonable enough," said Lestrade. "Nothing

further you have to say, Mr. Holmes, before we go?"

Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor,

and was examining its mechanism.

"An admirable and unique weapon," said he, "noiseless and

of tremendous power: I knew Von Herder, the blind German

mechanic, who constructed it to the order of the late Professor

Moriarty. For years I have been aware of its existence, though I

have never before had the opportunity of handling it. I commend

it very specially to your attention, Lestrade, and also the bullets

which fit it."

"You can trust us to look after that, Mr. Holmes," said

Lestrade, as the whole party moved towards the door. "Any-

thing further to say?"

"Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer?"

"What charge, sir? Why, of course, the attempted murder of

Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to appear in the matter at

all. To you, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remark-

able arrest which you have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratu-

late you! With your usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity,

you have got him."

"Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?"

"The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain --

Colonel Sebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair

with an expanding bullet from an air-gun through the open

window of the second-floor front of No. 427 Park Lane, upon

the thirtieth of last month. That's the charge, Lestrade. And

now, Watson, if you can endure the draught from a broken

window, I think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may

afford you some profitable amusement."

 

Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the super-

vision of Mycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hud-

son. As I entered I saw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the

old landmarks were all in their place. There were the chemical

corner and the acid-stained, deal-topped table. There upon a

shelf was the row of formidable scrap-books and books of refer-

ence which many of our fellow-citizens would have been so glad

to burn. The diagrams, the violin-case, and the pipe-rack -- even

the Persian slipper which contained the tobacco -- all met my

eyes as I glanced round me. There were two occupants of the

room -- one, Mrs. Hudson, who beamed upon us both as we

entered -- the other, the strange dummy which had played so

important a part in the evening's adventures. It was a wax-

coloured model of my friend, so admirably done that it was a

perfect facsimile. It stood on a small pedestal table with an old

dressing-gown of Holmes's so draped round it that the illusion

from the street was absolutely perfect.

"I hope you observed all precautions, Mrs. Hudson?" said

Holmes.

"I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me."

"Excellent. You carried the thing out very well. Did you

observe where the bullet went?"

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for it

passed right through the head and flattened itself on the wall. I

picked it up from the carpet. Here it is!"

Holmes held it out to me. "A soft revolver bullet, as you

perceive, Watson. There's genius in that, for who would expect

to find such a thing fired from an air-gun? All right, Mrs. Hudson.

I am much obliged for your assistance. And now. Watson, let me

see you in your old seat once more, for there are several points

which I should like to discuss with you."

He had thrown off the seedy frockcoat, and now he was the

Holmes of old in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he

took from his effigy.

"The old shikari's nerves have not lost their steadiness, nor

his eyes their keenness," said he, with a laugh, as he inspected

the shattered forehead of his bust.

"Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack

through the brain. He was the best shot in India, and I expect

that there are few better in London. Have you heard the name?"

"No, I have not."

"Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember right,

you had not heard the name of Professor James Moriarty, who

had one of the great brains of the century. Just give me down

my index of biographies from the shelf."

He turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair and

blowing great clouds from his cigar.

"My collection of M's is a fine one," said he. "Moriarty

himself is enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is

Morgan the poisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory, and

Mathews, who knocked out my left canine in the waiting-room

at Charing Cross, and, finally, here is our friend of to-night."

He handed over the book, and I read:

 

Moran, Sebastian, Colonel . Unemployed . Formerly I st

Bangalore Pioneers. Born London, 1840. Son of Sir Augus-

tus Moran, C.B., once British Minister to Persia. Educated

Eton and Oxford. Served in Jowaki Campaign, Afghan

Campaign, Charasiab (despatches), Sherpur, and Cabul. Au-

thor of Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas (1881);

Three Months in the Jungle (1884). Address: Conduit Street.

Clubs: The Anglo-lndian, the Tankerville, the Bagatelle

Card Club.

 

On the margin was written, in Holmes's precise hand:

 

The second most dangerous man in London.

 

"This is astonishing," said I, as I handed back the volume.

"The man's career is that of an honourable soldier."

"It is true," Holmes answered. "Up to a certain point he did

well. He was always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still

told in India how he crawled down a drain after a wounded

man-eating tiger. There are some trees, Watson, which grow to a

certain height, and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccen-

tricity. You will see it often in humans. I have a theory that the

individual represents in his development the whole procession of

his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or evil stands

for some strong influence which came into the line of his pedi-

gree. The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history

of his own family."

"It is surely rather fanciful."

"Well, I don't insist upon it. Whatever the cause, Colonel

Moran began to go wrong. Without any open scandal, he still

made India too hot to hold him. He retired, came to London, and

again acquired an evil name. It was at this time that he was

sought out by Professor Moriarty, to whom for a time he was

chief of the staff. Moriarty supplied him liberally with money,

and used him only in one or two very high-class jobs, which no

ordinary criminal could have undertaken. You may have some

recollection of the death of Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder, in 1887.

Not? Well, I am sure Moran was at the bottom of it, but nothing

could be proved. So cleverly was the colonel concealed that,

even when the Moriarty gang was broken up, we could not

incriminate him; You remember at that date, when I called upon

you in your rooms, how I put up the shuners for fear of air-guns?

No doubt you thought me fanciful. I knew exactly what I was

doing, for I knew of the existence of this remarkable gun, and I

knew also that one of the best shots in the world would be

behind it. When we were in Switzerland he followed us with

Moriarty, and it was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five

minutes on the Reichenbach ledge.

"You may think that I read the papers with some attention

during my sojourn in France, on the look-out for any chance of

laying him by the heels. So long as he was free in London, my

life would really not have been worth living. Night and day the

shadow would have been over me, and sooner or later his chance

must have come. What could I do? I could not shoot him at

sight, or I should myself be in the dock. There was no use

appealing to a magistrate. They cannot interfere on the strength

of what would appear to them to be a wild suspicion. So I could

do nothing. But I watched the criminal news, knowing that

sooner or later I should get him. Then came the death of this

Ronald Adair. My chance had come at last. Knowing what I did,

was it not certain that Colonel Moran had done it? He had played

cards with the lad, he had followed him home from the club, he

had shot him through the open window. There was not a doubt

of it. The bullets alone are enough to put his head in a noose. I

came over at once. I was seen by the sentinel, who would, I

knew, direct the colonel's attention to my presence. He could not

fail to connect my sudden return with his crime, and to be

terribly alarmed. I was sure that he would make an attempt to get

me out of the way at once, and would bring round his murderous

weapon for that purpose. I left him an excellent mark in the

window, and, having warned the police that they might be

needed -- by the way, Watson, you spotted their presence in that

doorway with unerring accuracy -- I took up what seemed to me

to be a judicious post for observation, never dreaming that he

would choose the same spot for his attack. Now, my dear

Watson, does anything remain for me to explain?"

"Yes," said I. "You have not made it clear what was Colonel

Moran's motive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair?"

"Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into those realms of

conjecture, where the most logical mind may be at fault. Each

may form his own hypothesis upon the present evidence, and

yours is as likely to be correct as mine."

"You have formed one, then?"

"I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. It came out

in evidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had, between

them, won a considerable amount of money. Now, Moran un-

doubtedly played foul -- of that I have long been aware. I believe

that on the day of the murder Adair had discovered that Moran

was cheating. Very likely he had spoken to him privately, and

had threatened to expose him unless he voluntarily resigned his

membership of the club, and promised not to play cards again. It

is unlikely that a youngster like Adair would at once make a

hideous scandal by exposing a well known man so much older

than himself. Probably he acted as I suggest. The exclusion from

his clubs would mean ruin to Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten

card-gains. He therefore murdered Adair, who at the time was

endeavouring to work out how much money he should himself

return. since he could not profit by his partner's foul play. He

locked the door lest the ladies should surprise him and insist

upon knowing what he was doing with these names and coins.

Will it pass?"

"I have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth."

"It will be verified or disproved at the trial. Meanwhile. come

what may, Colonel Moran will trouble us no more. The famous

air-gun of Von Herder will embellish the Scotland Yard Mu-

seum, and once again Mr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his

life to examining those interesting little problems which the

complex life of London so plentifully presents."

 

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

The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb

 

Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend,

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our

intimacy, there were only two which I was the means of intro-

ducing to his notice -- that of Mr. Hatherley's thumb, and that of

Colonel Warburton's madness. Of these the latter may have

afforded a finer field for an acute and original observer, but the

other was so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details

that it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record,

even if it gave my friend fewer openings for those deductive

methods of reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable

results. The story has, I believe, been told more than once in the

newspapers, but, like all such narratives, its effect is much less

striking when set forth en bloc in a single half-column of print

than when the facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the

mystery clears gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a

step which leads on to the complete truth. At the time the

circumstances made a deep impression upon me, and the lapse of

two years has hardly served to weaken the effect.

It was in the summer of '89, not long after my marriage, that

the events occurred which I am now about to summarize. I had

returned to civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in

his Baker Street rooms, although I continually visited him and

occasionally even persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits

so far as to come and visit us. My practice had steadily in-

creased, and as I happened to live at no very great distance from

Paddington Station, I got a few patients from among the offi-

cials. One of these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering

disease, was never weary of advertising my virtues and of en-

deavouring to send me on every sufferer over whom he might

have any influence.

One morning, at a little before seven o'clock, I was awakened

by the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had

come from Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room.

I dressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases

were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended,

my old ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door

tightly behind him.

"I've got him here," he whispered, jerking his thumb over his

shoulder; "he's all right."

"What is it, then?" I asked, for his manner suggested that it

was some strange creature which he had caged up in my room.

"It's a new patient," he whispered. "I thought I'd bring him

round myself; then he couldn't slip away. There he is, all safe

and sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the

same as you." And off he went, this trusty tout, without even

giving me time to thank him.

I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated

by the table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed

with a soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books.

Round one of his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which

was mottled all over with bloodstains. He was young, not more

than five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong, masculine

face; but he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of

a man who was suffering from some strong agitation, which it

took all his strength of mind to control.

"I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor," said he, "but

I have had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by

train this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I

might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me

here. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon

the side-table."

 

I took it up and glanced at it. "Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydrau-

iic engineer, 1 6A. Victoria Street (3d floor) . " That was the

name, style, and abode of my morning visitor. "I regret that I

have kept you waiting," said I, sitting down in my library-chair.

"You are fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in

itself a monotonous occupation."

"Oh, my night could not be called monotonous," said he, and

laughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note,

leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical

instincts rose up against that laugh.

"Stop it!" I cried; "pull yourself together!" and I poured out

some water from a carafe.

It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical

outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great

crisis is over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more,

very weary and pale-looking.

"I have been making a fool of myself," he gasped.

"Not at ail. Drink this." I dashed some brandy into the water,

and the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.

"That's better!" said he. "And now, Doctor, perhaps you

would kindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where

my thumb used to be."

He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave

even my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four

protruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the

thumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out

from the roots.

"Good heavens!" I cried, "this is a terrible injury. It must

have bled considerably."

"Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I

must have been senseless for a long time. When I came to I

found that it was still bleeding, sol tied one end of my handker-

chief very tightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig."

"Excellent! You should have been a surgeon."

"It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my

own province."

"This has been done," said I, examining the wound, "by a

very heavy and sharp instrument."

"A thing like a cleaver," said he.

"An accident, I presume?"

"By no means."

"What! a murderous attack?''

"Very murderous indeed."

"You horrify me."

I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally cov-

ered it over with cotton wadding and carbolized bandages. He

lay back without wincing, though he bit his lip from time to

time.

"How is that?" I asked when I had finished.

"Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a

new man. I was very weak, but I have had a good deal to go

through."

"Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evi-

dently trying to your nerves."

"Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police;

but, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing evi-

dence of this wound of mine, I should be surprised if they

believed my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I

have not much in the way of proof with which to back it up; and,

even if they believe me, the clues which I can give them are so

vague that it is a question whether justice will be done."

"Ha!" cried I, "if it is anything in the nature of a problem

which you desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend

you to come to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go

to the official police."

"Oh, I have heard of that fellow," answered my visitor, "and

I should be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of

course I must use the official police as well. Would you give me

an introduction to him?"

"I'll do better. I'll take you round to him myself."

"I should be immensely obliged to you."

"We'll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to

have a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?"

"Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story."

"Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in

an instant." I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my

wife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my

new acquaintance to Baker Street.

Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his sitting-

room in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of The

Times and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was com-

posed of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day

before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the

mantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial fashion, or-

dered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal.

When it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon

the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of

brandy and water within his reach.

"It is easy to see that your experience has been no common

one, Mr. Hatherley," said he. "Pray, lie down there and make

yourself absolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when

you are tired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant."

"Thank you," said my patient. "but I have felt another man

since the doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has

completed the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable time

as possible, so l shall start at once upon my peculiar experiences."

Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded

expression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat

opposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story

which our visitor detailed to us.

"You must know," said he, "that I am an orphan and a

bachelor, residing alone in lodgings in London. By profession I

am a hydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience

of my work during the seven years that I was apprenticed to

Venner & Matheson, the well-known firm, of Greenwich. Two

years ago, having served my time, and having also come into a

fair sum of money through my poor father's death, I determined

to start in business for myself and took professional chambers in

Victoria Street.

"I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in

business a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally

so. During two years I have had three consultations and one

small job, and that is absolutely all that my profession has

brought me. My gross takings amount to 27 pounds lOs. Every day,

from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waited in

my little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to

believe that I should never have any practice at all.

"Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the

office, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting

who wished to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too,

with the name of 'Colonel Lysander Stark' engraved upon it.

Close at his heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over

the middle size, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that

I have ever seen so thin a man. His whole face sharpened away

into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite

tense over his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to

be his natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was

bright, his step brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly

but neatly dressed, and his age, I should judge, would be nearer

forty than thirty.

" 'Mr. Hatherley?' said he, with something of a German

accent. 'You have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as

being a man who is not only proficient in his profession but is

also discreet and capable of preserving a secret.'

"I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at

such an address. 'May I ask who it was who gave me so good a

character?'

" 'Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just

at this moment. I have it from the same source that you are both

an orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone in London.'

" 'That is quite correct,' I answered; 'but you will excuse me

if I say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional

qualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter

that you wished to speak to me?'

" 'Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really to

the point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute

secrecy is quite essential -- absolute secrecy, you understand, and

of course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than

from one who lives in the bosom of his family.'

" 'If I promise to keep a secret,' said I, 'you may absolutely

depend upon my doing so.'

"He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me

that I had never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye.

" 'Do you promise, then?' said he at last.

" 'Yes, I promise.'

" 'Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after?

No reference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?'

" 'I have already given you my word.'

" 'Very good.' He suddenly sprang up, and darting like light-

ning across the room he flung open the door. The passage

outside was empty.

" 'That's all right,' said he, coming back. 'I know the clerks

are sometimes curious as to their master's affairs. Now we can

talk in safety.' He drew up his chair very close to mine and

began to stare at me again with the same questioning and thought-

ful look.

"A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had

begun to rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless

man. Even my dread of losing a client could not restrain me

from showing my impatience.

" 'I beg that you will state your business, sir,' said l; 'my

time is of value.' Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but

the words came to my lips.

" 'How would fifty guineas for a night's work suit you?' he

asked.

" 'Most admirably.'

" 'I say a night's work, but an hour's would be nearer the

mark. I simply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping

machine which has got out of gear. If you show us what is

wrong we shall soon set it right ourselves. What do you think of

such a commission as that?'

" 'The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.'

" 'Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the

last train.'

" 'Where to?'

" 'To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders

of Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a

train from Paddington which would bring you there at about

11:15.'

" 'Very good.'

" 'I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.'

" 'There is a drive, then?'

" 'Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good

seven miles from Eyford Station.'

" 'Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose

there would be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled

to stop the night.'

" 'Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.'

" 'That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more

convenient hour?'

" 'We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to

recompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to

you, a young and unknown man, a fee which would buy an

opinion from the very heads of your profession. Still, of course,

if you would like to draw out of the business, there is plenty of

time to do so.'

"I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they

would be to me. 'Not at all,' said I, 'I shall be very happy to

accommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to

understand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to do.'

" 'Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which

we have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I

have no wish to commit you to anything without your having it

all laid before you. I suppose that we are absolutely safe from

eavesdroppers?'

" 'Entirely.'

" 'Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that

fuller's-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found in

one or two places in England?'

" 'I have heard so.'

" 'Some little time ago I bought a small place -- a very small

place -- within ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to

discover that there was a deposit of fuller's-earth in one of my

fields. On examining it, however, I found that this deposit was a

comparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two

very much larger ones upon the right and left -- both of them,

however, in the grounds of my neighbours. These good people

were absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was

quite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my interest

to buy their land before they discovered its true value, but

unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this. I took a

few of my friends into the secret, however, and they suggested

that we should quietly and secretly work our own little deposit

and that in this way we should earn the money which would

enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This we have now been

doing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we

erected a hydraulic press. This press, as I have already ex-

plained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the

subject. We guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it

once became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to

our little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the

facts came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting

these fields and carrying out our plans. That is why I have made

you promise me that you will not tell a human being that you are

going to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?'

" 'I quite follow you,' said I. 'The only point which I could

not quite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic

press in excavating fuller's-earth, which, as I understand, is dug

out like gravel from a pit.'

" 'Ah!' said he carelessly, 'we have our own process. We

compress the earth into bricks, so as to remove them without

revealing what they are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken

you fully into my confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have

shown you how I trust you.' He rose as he spoke. 'I shall expect

you, then, at Eyford at 11:15.'

" 'I shall certainly be there.'

" 'And not a word to a soul.' He looked at me with a last

long, questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold,

dank grasp, he hurried from the room.

"Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was

very much astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden

commission which had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of

course, I was glad, for the fee was at least tenfold what I should

have asked had I set a price upon my own services, and it was

possible that this order might lead to other ones. On the other

hand, the face and manner of my patron had made an unpleasant

impression upon me, and I could not think that his explanation of

the fuller's-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my

coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell

anyone of my errand. However, I threw all fears to the winds,

ate a hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off, having

obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue.

"At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my

station. However, I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I

reached the little dim-lit station aher eleven o'clock. I was the

only passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the

platform save a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed

out through the wicket gate, however, I found my acquaintance

of the morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side.

Without a word he grasped my arm and hurried me into a

carriage, the door of which was standing open. He drew up the

windows on either side, tapped on the wood-work, and away we

went as fast as the horse could go."

"One horse?" interjected Holmes.

"Yes, only one."

"Did you observe the colour?"

"Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the

carriage. It was a chestnut."

"Tired-looking or fresh?"

"Oh, fresh and glossy."

"Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray con-

tinue your most interesting statement."

"Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour.

Colonel Lysander Stark had said that it was only seven miles,

but I should think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from

the time that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He

sat at my side in silence all the time, and I was aware, more than

once when I glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me

with great intensity. The country roads seem to be not very good

in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I

tried to look out of the windows to see something of where we

were, but they were made of frosted glass, and I could make out

nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now

and then I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the

journey, but the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the

conversation soon flagged. At last, however, the bumping of the

road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive,

and the carriage came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang

out, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch

which gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of

the carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the most

fleeting glance of the front of the house. The instant that I had

crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind us, and I

heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage drove away.

"It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled

about looking for matches and muttering under his breath. Sud-

denly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a long,

golden bar of light shot out in our direction. It grew broader, and

a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she held

above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us. I

could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which the

light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a rich

material. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as

though asking a question, and when my companion answered in

a gruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly

fell from her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered

something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room

from whence she had come, he walked towards me again with

the lamp in his hand.

" 'Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for

a few minutes,' said he, throwing open another door. It was a

quiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the

centre, on which several German books were scattered. Colonel

Stark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the

door. 'I shall not keep you waiting an instant,' said he, and

vanished into the darkness.

 

"I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my

ignorance of German I could see that two of them were treatises

on science, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked

across to the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of

the country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded

across it. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an old

clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise

everything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began

to steal over me. Who were these German people, and what were

they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And

where was the place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was

all I knew, but whether north, south, east, or west I had no idea.

For that matter, Reading, and possibly other large towns, were

within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded, after

all. Yet it was quite certain, from the absolute stillness, that we

were in the country. I paced up and down the room, humming a

tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling that I was

thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee.

"Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the

utter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The

woman was standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall

behind her, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her

eager and beautiful face. I could see at a glance that she was sick

with fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up

one shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few

whispered words of broken English at me, her eyes glancing

back, like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her.

" 'I would go,' said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to

speak calmly; 'I would go. I should not stay here. There is no

good for you to do.'

" 'But, madam,' said I, 'I have not yet done what I came for.

I cannot possibly leave until I have seen the machine.'

" 'It is not worth your while to wait,' she went on. 'You can

pass through the door; no one hinders.' And then, seeing that I

smiled and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her con-

straint and made a step forward, with her hands wrung together.

'For the love of Heaven!' she whispered, 'get away from here

before it is too late!'

"But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more

ready to engage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the

way. I thought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey,

and of the unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. Was

it all to go for nothing? Why should I slink away without having

carried out my commission, and without the payment which was

my due? This woman might, for all I knew, be a monomaniac.

With a stout bearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken

me more than I cared to confess, I still shook my head and

declared my intention of remaining where I was. She was about

to renew her entreaties when a door slammed overhead, and the

sound of several footsteps was heard upon the stairs. She listened

for an instant, threw up her hands with a despairing gesture, and

vanished as suddenly and as noiselessly as she had come.

"The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short

thick man with a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of

his double chin, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson.

" 'This is my secretary and manager,' said the colonel. 'By

the way, I was under the impression that I left this door shut just

now. I fear that you have felt the draught.'

" 'On the contrary,' said I, 'I opened the door myself because

I felt the room to be a little close.'

"He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. 'Perhaps we had

better proceed to business, then,' said he. 'Mr. Ferguson and I

will take you up to see the machine.'

" 'I had better put my hat on, I suppose.'

" 'Oh, no, it is in the house.'

" 'What, you dig fuller's-earth in the house?'

" 'No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind

that. All we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let

us know what is wrong with it.'

"We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp,

the fat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old

house, with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and

little low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by

the generations who had crossed them. There were no carpets

and no signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the

plaster was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking

through in green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as uncon-

cerned an air as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of

the lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye

upon my two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose

and silent man, but I could see from the little that he said that he

was at least a fellow-countryman.

"Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door,

which he unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which

the three of us could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained

outside, and the colonel ushered me in.

" 'We are now,' said he, 'actually within the hydraulic press,

and it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone

were to turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the

end of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force

of many tons upon this metal floor. There are small lateral

columns of water outside which receive the force, and which

transmit and multiply it in the manner which is familiar to you.

The machine goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in

the working of it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you

will have the goodness to look it over and to show us how we

can set it right.'

"I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very

thoroughly. It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of exercis-

ing enormous pressure. When I passed outside, however, and

pressed down the levers which controlled it, I knew at once by

the whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which al-

lowed a regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders.

An examination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which

was round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to

fill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause

of the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who

followed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical

questions as to how they should proceed to set it right. When I

had made it clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the

machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity.

It was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller's-earth was

the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose that so

powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a pur-

pose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large

iron trough, and when I came to examine it I could see a crust of

metallic deposit all over it. I had stooped and was scraping at

this to see exactly what it was when I heard a muttered exclama-

tion in German and saw the cadaverous face of the colonel

looking down at me.

" 'What are you doing there?' he asked.

"I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as

that which he had told me. 'I was admiring your fuller's-earth,'

said I; 'I think that I should be better able to advise you as to

your machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it

was used.'

"The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness

of my speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in

his gray eyes.

" 'Very well,' said he, 'you shall know all about the ma-

chine.' He took a step backward, slammed the little door, and

turned the key in the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the

handle, but it was quite secure, and did not give in the least to

my kicks and shoves. 'Hello!' I yelled. 'Hello! Colonel! Let me

out!'

"And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent

my heart into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the

swish of the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The

lamp still stood upon the floor where I had placed it when

examining the trough. By its light I saw that the black ceiling

was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew

better than myself, with a force which must within a minute

grind me to a shapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming, against

the door, and dragged with my nails at the lock. I implored the

colonel to let me out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers

drowned my cries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my

head, and with my hand upraised I could feel its hard, rough

surface. Then it flashed through my mind that the pain of my

death would depend very much upon the position in which I met

it. If I lay on my face the weight would come upon my spine,

and I shuddered to think of that dreadful snap. Easier the other

way, perhaps; and yet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that

deadly black shadow wavering down upon me? Already I was

unable to stand erect, when my eye caught something which

brought a gush of hope back to my heart.

"I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the

walls were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I

saw a thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which

broadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward.

For an instant I could hardly believe that here was indeed a door

which led away from death. The next instant I threw myself

through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had

closed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few

moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me

how narrow had been my escape.

"I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist,

and I found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow

corridor, while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her

left hand, while she held a candle in her right. It was the same

good friend whose warning I had so foolishly rejected.

" 'Come! come!' she cried breathlessly. 'They will be here in

a moment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste

the so-precious time, but come!'

"This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to

my feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding

stair. The latter led to ancther broad passage, and just as we

reached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting of

two voices, one answering the other from the floor on which we

were and from the one beneath. My guide stopped and looked

about her like one who is at her wit's end. Then she threw open

a door which led into a bedroom, through the window of which

the moon was shining brightly.

" 'It is your only chance,' said she. 'It is high, but it may be

that you can jump it.'

"As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of

the passage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark

rushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a

butcher's cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom, flung

open the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and

wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not

be more than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, but

I hesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed be-

tween my saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were

ill-used, then at any risks I was determined to go back to her

assistance. The thought had hardly flashed through my mind

before he was at the door, pushing his way past her; but she

threw her arms round him and tried to hold him back.

" 'Fritz! Fritz!' she cried in English, 'remember your promise

after the last time. You said it should not be again. He will be

silent! Oh, he will be silent!'

" 'You are mad, Elise!' he shouted, struggling to break away

from her. 'You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let

me pass, I say!' He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the

window, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go,

and was hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. I

was conscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into

the garden below.

"I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself up

and rushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I

understood that I was far from being out of danger yet. Sud-

denly, however, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came

over me. I glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing

painfully, and then, for the first time, saw that my thumb had

been cut off and that the blood was pouring from my wound. I

endeavoured to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came a

sudden buzzing in my ears, and next moment I fell in a dead

faint among the rose-bushes.

"How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have

been a very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright

morning was breaking when I came to myself. My clothes were

all sodden with dew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with

blood from my wounded thumb. The smarting of it recalled in an

instant all the particulars of my night's adventure, and I sprang

to my feet with the feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from

my pursuers. But to my astonishment, when I came to look round

me, neither house nor garden were to be seen. I had been Iying

in an angle of the hedge close by the highroad, and just a little

lower down was a long building, which proved, upon my ap-

proaching it, to be the very station at which I had arrived upon

the previous night. Were it not for the ugly wound upon my

hand, all that had passed during those dreadful hours might have

been an evil dream.

"Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the

morning train. There would be one to Reading in less than an

hour. The same porter was on duty, I found, as had been there

when I arrived. I inquired of him whether he had ever heard of

Colonel Lysander Stark. The name was strange to him. Had he

observed a carriage the night before waiting for me? No, he had

not. Was there a police-station anywhere near? There was one

about three miles off.

"It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I

determined to wait until I got back to town before telling my

story to the police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I

went first to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was

kind enough to bring me along here. I put the case into your

hands and shall do exactly what you advise."

We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to

this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down

from the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in

which he placed his cuttings.

"Here is an advertisement which will interest you," said he.

"It appeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this:

 

"Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged

twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten

o'clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was

dressed in --

 

etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that the colonel

needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy."

"Good heavens!" cried my patient. "Then that explains what

the girl said."

"Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and

desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing

should stand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out

pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well,

every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall

go down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for

Eyford."

Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train

together, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village.

There were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector

Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself.

Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon

the seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with

Eyford for its centre.

"There you are," said he. "That circle is drawn at a radius of

ten miles from the village. The place we want must be some-

where near that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir."

"It was an hour's good drive."

"And you think that they brought you back all that way when

you were unconscious?"

"They must have done so.l have a confused memory, too, of

having been lifted and conveyed somewhere."

"What I cannot understand," said I, "is why they should

have spared you when they found you lying fainting in the

garden. Perhaps the villain was softened by the woman's

entreaties."

"I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face

in my life."

"Oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said Bradstreet. "Well,

I have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point

upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found."

"I think I could lay my finger on it," said Holmes quietly.

"Really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have formed your

opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it

is south, for the country is more deserted there."

"And I say east," said my patient.

"I am for west," remarked the plain-clothes man. "There are

several quiet little villages up there."

"And I am for north," said I, "because there are no hills

there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go

up any."

"Come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it's a very pretty

diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us.

Who do you give your casting vote to?"

"You are all wrong."

"But we can't all be."

"Oh, yes, you can. This is my point." He placed his finger in

the centre of the circle. "This is where we shall find them."

"But the twelve-mile drive?" gasped Hatherley.

"Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that

the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be

that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?"

"Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough," observed Bradstreet

thoughtfully. "Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature

of this gang."

"None at all," said Holmes. "They are coiners on a large

scale, and have used the machine to form the amalgam which

has taken the place of silver."

"We have known for some time that a clever gang was at

work," said the inspector. "They have been turning out half-

crowns by the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading,

but could get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a

way that showed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks

to this lucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough."

But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not

destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into

Eyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed

up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and

hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape.

"A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off

again on its way.

"Yes, sir!" said the station-master.

"When did it break out?"

"I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse,

and the whole place is in a blaze."

"Whose house is it?"

"Dr. Becher's."

"Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German,

very thin, with a long, sharp nose?"

The station-master laughed heartily. "No, sir, Dr. Becher is

an Englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a

bener-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him,

a patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if

a little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm."

The station-master had not finished his speech before we were

all hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low

hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in

front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in

the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep

the flames under.

"That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There is

the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That

second window is the one that I jumped from."

"Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge

upon them. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp

which, when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden

walls, though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after

you to observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this

crowd for your friends of last night, though I very much fear that

they are a good hundred miles off by now."

And Holmes's fears came to be realized, for from that day to

this no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman,

the sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morn-

ing a peasant had met a cart containing several people and some

very bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but

there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes's

ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their

whereabouts.

The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrange-

ments which they had found within, and still more so by discov-

ering a newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the

second floor. About sunset, however, their efforts were at last

successful, and they subdued the flames, but not before the roof

had fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to such absolute

ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a

trace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate

acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were

discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be

found, which may have explained the presence of those bulky

boxes which have been already referred to.

How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the

garden to the spot where he recovered his senses might have

remained forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which

told us a very plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by

two persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the

other unusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable

that the silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous

than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear the uncon-

scious man out of the way of danger.

"Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to

return once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for

me! I have lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and

what have I gained?"

"Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be

of value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain

the reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of

your exlstence."