It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock
Holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exer-
tions in the spring of '87. The whole question of the Netherland-
Sumatra Company and of the colossal schemes of Baron
Maupertuis are too recent in the minds of the public, and are too
intimately concerned with politics and finance to be fitting sub-
jects for this series of sketches. They led, however, in an indirect
fashion to a singular and complex problem which gave my friend
an opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon
among the many with which he waged his lifelong battle against
crime.
On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the fourteenth
of April that l received a telegram from Lyons which informed
me that Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within
twenty-four hours I was in his sick-room and was relieved to find
that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron
constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an
investigation which had extended over two months, during which
period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day and had
more than once, as he assured me. kept to his task for five days
at a stretch. Even the triumphant issue of his labours could not
save him from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time
when Europe was ringing with his name and when his room was
literally ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams I found him a
prey to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he had
succeeded where the police of three countries had failed. and that
he had outmanoeuvred at every point the most accomplished
swindler in Europe. was insufficient to rouse him from his
nervous prostration.
Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but it
was evident that my friend would be much the better for a
change, and the thought of a week of springtime in the country
was full of attractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel
Hayter, who had come under my professional care in Afghani-
stan, had now taken a house near Reigate in Surrey and had
frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On the
last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come
with me he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also.
A little diplomacy was needed, but when Holmes understood that
the establishment was a bachelor one, and that he would be
allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with my plans and a week
after our return from Lyons we were under the colonel's roof.
Hayter was a fine old soldier who had seen much of the world,
and he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and he had
much in common.
On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the colonel's
gun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while
Hayter and I looked over his little armory of Eastern weapons.
"By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I'll take one of
these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm."
"An alarm!" said I.
"Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is
one of our county magnates, had his house broken into last
Monday. No great damage done, but the fellows are still at
large."
"No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the colonel.
"None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of our little
country crimes, which must seem too small for your attention,
Mr. Holmes, after this great international affair."
Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed
that it had pleased him.
"Was there any feature of interest?"
"I fancy not. The thieves ransacked he library and got very
little for their pains. The whole place was turned upside down,
drawers burst open, and presses ransacked, with the result that
an odd volume of Pope's Homer, two plated candlesticks, an
ivory letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of twine
are all that have vanished."
"What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything they
could get."
Holmes grunted from the sofa.
"The county police ought to make something of that," said
he; "why, it is surely obvious that --"
But I held up a warning finger.
"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For heaven's sake
don't get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in
shreds."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resig-
nation towards the colonel, and the talk drifted away into less
dangerous channels.
It was destined, however, that all my professional caution
should be wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself
upon us in such a way that it was impossible to ignore it, and our
country visit took a turn which neither of us could have antici-
pated. We were at breakfast when the colonel's butler rushed in
with all his propriety shaken out of him.
"Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the Cun-
ningham's, sir!"
"Burglary!" cried the colonel, with his coffee-cup in mid-air.
"Murder!"
The colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he. "Who's killed,
then? The J. P. or his son?"
"Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot through the
heart, sir, and never spoke again."
"Who shot him, then?"
"The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away.
He'd just broke in at the pantry window when William came on
him and met his end in saving his master's property."
"What time?"
"It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve."
"Ah, then, we'll step over afterwards," said the colonel
coolly settling down to his breakfast again. "It's a baddish
business," he added when the butler had gone; "he's our leading
man about here, is old Cunningham, and a very decent fellow
too. He'll be cut up over this, for the man has been in his service
for years and was a good servant. It's evidently the same villains
who broke into Acton's."
"And stole that very singular collection," said Holmes
thoughtfully.
"Precisely."
"Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the world, but all
the same at first glance this is just a little curious, is it not? A
gang of burglars acting in the country might be expected to vary
the scene of their operations, and not to crack two cribs in the
same district within a few days. When you spoke last night of
taking precautions I remember that it passed through my mind
that this was probably the last parish in England to which the
thief or thieves would be likely to turn their attention -- which
shows that I have still much to learn."
"I fancy it's some local practitioner," said the colonel. "In
that case, of course, Acton's and Cunningham's are just the
places he would go for, since they are far the largest about
here."
"And richest?"
"Well, they ought to be, but they've had a lawsuit for some
years which has sucked the blood out of both of them, I fancy.
Old Acton has some claim on half Cunningham's estate, and the
lawyers have been at it with both hands."
"If it's a local villain there should not be much difficulty in
running him down," said Holmes with a yawn. "All right,
Watson, I don't intend to meddle."
"Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler, throwing open the
door.
The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, stepped into
the room. "Good-morning, Colonel," said he. "I hope I don't
intrude, but we hear that Mr. Holmes of Baker Street is here."
The colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the
inspector bowed.
"We thought that perhaps you would care to step across, Mr.
Holmes."
"The fates are against you, Watson," said he, laughing. "We
were chatting about the matter when you came in, Inspector.
Perhaps you can let us have a few details." As he leaned back in
his chair in the familiar attitude I knew that the case was
hopeless.
"We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we have plenty
to go on, and there's no doubt it is the same party in each case.
The man was seen."
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after the shot that killed
poor William Kirwan was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from
the bedroom window, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from
the back passage. It was quarter to twelve when the alarm broke
out. Mr. Cunningham had just got into bed, and Mr. Alec was
smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown. They both heard William,
the coachman, calling for help, and Mr. Alec ran down to see
what was the matter. The back door was open, and as he came to
the foot of the stairs he saw two men wrestling together outside.
One of them fired a shot, the other dropped, and the murderer
rushed across the garden and over the hedge. Mr. Cunningham,
looking out of his bedroom, saw the fellow as he gained the
road, but lost sight of him at once. Mr. Alec stopped to see if he
could help the dying man, and so the villain got clean away.
Beyond the fact that he was a middle-sized man and dressed in
some dark stuff, we have no personal clue; but we are making
energetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we shall soon find him
out."
"What was this William doing there? Did he say anything
before he died?"
"Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother, and as he
was a very faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to the
house with the intention of seeing that all was right there. Of
course this Acton business has put everyone on their guard. The
robber must have just burst open the door -- the lock has been
forced -- when William came upon him."
"Did William say anything to his mother before going out?"
"She is very old and deaf, and we can get no information
from her. The shock has made her half-witted, but I understand
that she was never very bright. There is one very important
circumstance, however. Look at this!"
He took a small piece of torn paper from a notebook and
spread it out upon his knee.
"This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead
man. It appears to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. You
will observe that the hour mentioned upon it is the very time at
which the poor fellow met his fate. You see that his murderer
might have torn the rest of the sheet from him or he might have
taken this fragment from the murderer. It reads almost as though
it were an appointment."
Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a facsimile of which is
here reproduced.
AT QUARTER TO TWELVE
LEARN WHAT
MAY
"Presuming that it is an appointment," continued the inspec-
tor, "it is of course a conceivable theory that this William
Kirwan, though he had the reputation of being an honest man,
may have been in league with the thief. He may have met him
there, may even have helped him to break in the door, and then
they may have fallen out between themselves."
"This writing is of extraordinary interest," said Holmes, who
had been examining it with intense concentration. "These are
much deeper waters than I had thought." He sank his head upon
his hands, while the inspector smiled at the effect which his case
had had upon the famous London specialist.
"Your last remark," said Holmes presently, "as to the possi-
bility of there being an understanding between the burglar and
the servant, and this being a note of appointment from one to the
other, is an ingenious and not entirely impossible supposition.
But this writing opens up --" He sank his head into his hands
again and remained for some minutes in the deepest thought.
When he raised his face again I was surprised to see that his
cheek was tinged with colour, and his eyes as bright as before
his illness. He sprang to his feet with all his old energy.
"I'll tell you what," said he, "I should like to have a quiet
little glance into the details of this case. There is something in it
which fascinates me extremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, I
will leave my friend Watson and you, and I will step round with
the inspector to test the truth of one or two little fancies of mine.
I will be with you again in half an hour."
An hour and a half had elapsed before the inspector returned
alone.
"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside,
said he. "He wants us all four to go up to the house together."
"To Mr. Cunningham's?"
"Yes, sir."
"What for?"
The inspector shrugged his shoulders. "I don't quite know
sir. Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes has not quite got
over his illness yet. He's been behaving very queerly, and he is
very much excited."
"I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I. "I have
usually found that there was method in his madness."
"Some folk might say there was madness in his method,"
muttercd the inspector. "But he's all on fire to start, Colonel, so
we had best go out if you are ready."
We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin
sunk upon his breast, and his hands thrust into his trousers
pockets.
"The matter grows in interest," said he. "Watson, your
country trip has been a distinct success. I have had a charming
morning."
"You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand,"
said the colonel.
"Yes, the inspector and I have made quite a little reconnais-
sance together."
"Any success?"
"Well, we have seen some very interesting things. I'll tell you
what we did as we walk. First of all, we saw the body of this
unfortunate man. He certainly died from a revolver wound as
reported."
"Had you doubted it, then?"
"Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not
wasted. We then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his
son, who were able to point out the exact spot where the
murderer had broken through the garden-hedge in his flight. That
was of great interest."
"Naturally."
"Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. We could
get no information from her, however, as she is very old and
feeble."
"And what is the result of your investigations?"
"The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhaps
our visit now may do something to make it less obscure. I think
that we are both agreed, Inspector, that the fragment of paper in
the dead man's hand, bearing, as it does, the very hour of his
death written upon it, is of extreme importance."
"It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes."
"It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man
who brought William Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But
where is the rest of that sheet of paper?"
"I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it."
said the inspector.
"It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was someone so
anxious to get possession of it? Because it incriminated him.
And what would he do with it? Thrust it into his pocket, most
likely, never noticing that a corner of it had been left in the grip
of the corpse. If we could get the rest of that sheet it is obvious
that we should have gone a long way towards solving the mystery."
"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before we
catch the criminal?"
"Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is another
obvious point. The note was sent to William. The man who
wrote it could not have taken it; otherwise, of course, he might
have delivered his own message by word of mouth. Who brought
the note, then? Or did it come through the post?"
"I have made inquiries," said the inspector. "William re-
ceived a letter by the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was
destroyed by him."
"Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the inspector on the
back. "You've seen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with
you. Well, here is the lodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I
will show you the scene of the crime."
We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had
lived and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen
Anne house, which bears the date of Malplaquet upon the lintel
of the door. Holmes and the inspector led us round it until we
came to the side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden
from the hedge which lines the road. A constable was standing at
the kitchen door.
"Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes. "Now, it was
on those stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the
two men struggling just where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was
at that window -- the second on the left -- and he saw the fellow
get away just to the left of that bush. So did the son. They are
both sure of it on account of the bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out
and knelt beside the wounded man. The ground is very hard, you
see, and there are no marks to guide us." As he spoke two men
came down the garden path, from round the angle of the house.
The one was an elderly man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-
eyed face; the other a dashing young fellow, whose bright,
smiling expression and showy dress were in strange contrast with
the business which had brought us there.
"Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I thought you Lon-
doners were never at fault. You don't seem to be so very quick,
after all."
"Ah, you must give us a little time," said Holmes good-
humouredly.
"You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham. "Why, I
don't see that we have any clue at all."
"There's only one," answered the inspector. "We thought
that if we could only find -- Good heavens. Mr. Holmes! what is
the matter?"
My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful
expression. His eyes rolled upward, his features writhed in ag-
ony, and with a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon
the ground. Horrified at the suddenness and severity of the
attack, we carried him into the kitchen, where he lay back in a
large chair and breathed heavily for some minutes. Finally, with
a shamefaced apology for his weakness, he rose once more.
"Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from a
severe illness," he explained. "I am liable to these sudden
nervous attacks."
"Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old Cunningham.
"Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I should
like to feel sure. We can very easily verify it."
"What is it?"
"Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrival of
this poor fellow William was not before, but after, the entrance
of the burglar into the house. You appear to take it for granted
that although the door was forced the robber never got in."
"I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr. Cunningham gravely.
"Why, my son Alec had not yet gone to bed, and he would
certainly have heard anyone moving about."
"Where was he sitting?"
"I was smoking in my dressing-room."
"Which window is that?"
"The last on the left, next my father's."
"Both of your lamps were lit, of course?"
"Undoubtedly."
"There are some very singular points here," said Holmes,
smiling. "Is it not extraordinary that a burglar -- and a burglar
who had some previous experience -- should deliberately break
into a house at a time when he could see from the lights that two
of the family were still afoot?"
"He must have been a cool hand."
"Well, of course, if the case were not an odd one we should
not have been driven to ask you for an explanation," said young
Mr. Alec. "But as to your ideas that the man had robbed the
house before William tackled him, I think it a most absurd
notion. Wouldn't we have found the place disarranged and missed
the things which he had taken?"
"It depends on what the things were," said Holmes. "You
must remember that we are dealing with a burglar who is a very
peculiar fellow, and who appears to work on lines of his own.
Look, for example, at the queer lot of things which he took from
Acton's -- what was it? -- a ball of string, a letter-weight, and I
don't know what other odds and ends."
"Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes," said old
Cunningham. "Anything which you or the inspector may sug-
gest will most certainly be done."
"In the first place," said Holmes, "I should like you to offer
a reward -- coming from yourself, for the officials may take a
little time before they would agree upon the sum, and these
things cannot be done too promptly. I have jotted down the form
here, if you would not mind signing it. Fifty pounds was quite
enough, I thought."
"I would willingly give five hundred," said the J. P., taking
the slip of paper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him.
"This is not quite correct, however," he added, glancing over
the document.
"I wrote it rather hurriedly."
"You see you begin, 'Whereas, at about a quarter to one on
Tuesday morning an attempt was made,' and so on. It was at a
quarter to twelve, as a matter of fact."
I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes
would feel any slip of the kind. It was his specialty to be
accurate as to fact, but his recent illness had shaken him, and
this one little incident was enough to show me that he was still
far from being himself. He was obviously embarrassed for an
instant, while the inspector raised his eyebrows, and Alec Cun-
ningham burst into a laugh. The old gentleman corrected the
mistake, however, and handed the paper back to Holmes.
"Get it printed as soon as possible," he said; "I think your
idea is an excellent one."
Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his pocketbook.
"And now," said he, "it really would be a good thing that we
should all go over the house together and make certain that this
rather erratic burglar did not, after all, carry anything away with
him."
Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the door
which had been forced. It was evident that a chisel or strong
knife had been thrust in, and the lock forced back with it. We
could see the marks in the wood where it had been pushed in.
"You don't use bars, then?" he asked.
"We have never found it necessary."
"You don't keep a dog?"
"Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the house."
"When do the servants go to bed?"
"About ten."
"I understand that William was usually in bed also at that
hour?"
"Yes."
"It is singular that on this particular night he should have been
up. Now, I should be very glad if you would have the kindness
to show us over the house, Mr. Cunningham."
A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away
from it, led by a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the
house. It came out upon the landing opposite to a second more
ornamental stair which came up from the front hall. Out of this
landing opened the drawing-room and several bedrooms, includ-
ing those of Mr. Cunningham and his son. Holmes walked
slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of the house. I could
tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet I
could not in the least imagine in what direction his inferences
were leading him.
"My good sir," said Mr. Cunningharn, with some impa-
tience, "this is surely very unnecessary. That is my room at the
end of the stairs, and my son's is the one beyond it. I leave it to
your judgment whether it was possible for the thief to have come
up here without disturbing us."
"You musf try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy," said
the son with a rather malicious smile.
"Still, I must ask you to humour me a little further. I should
like, for example, to see how far the windows of the bedrooms
command the front. This, I understand, is your son's room" -- he
pushed open the door -- "and that, I presume is the dressing-
room in which he sat smoking when the alarm was given. Where
does the window of that look out to?" He stepped across the
bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round the other
chamber.
"I hope that you are satisfied now?" said Mr. Cunningham
tartly.
"Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished."
"Then if it is really necessary we can go into my room."
"If it is not too much trouble."
The J. P. shrugged his shoulders and led the way into his own
chamber, which was a plainly furnished and commonplace room.
As we moved across it in the direction of the window, Holmes
fell back until he and I were the last of the group. Near the foot
of the bed stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. As we
passed it Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in
front of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over. The
glass smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about
into every corner of the room.
"You've done it now, Watson," said he coolly. "A pretty
mess you've made of the carpet."
I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit,
understanding for some reason my companion desired me to take
the blame upon myself. The others did the same and set the table
on its legs again.
"Hullo!" cried the inspector, "where's he got to?"
Holmes had disappeared.
"Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cunningham. "The
fellow is off his head, in my opinion. Come with me, father, and
see where he has got to!"
They rushed out of the room, leaving the inspector, the colo-
nel, and me staring at each other.
" 'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master Alec,"
said the official. "It may be the effect of this illness, but it
seems to me that --"
His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help! Help!
Murder!" With a thrill I recognized the voice as that of my
friend. I rushed madly from the room on to the landing. The cries
which had sunk down into a hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came
from the room which we had first visited. I dashed in, and on
into the dressing-room beyond. The two Cunninghams were
bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes, the young-
er clutching his throat with both hands, while the elder seemed
to be twisting one of his wrists. In an instant the three of us had
torn them away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet,
very pale and evidently greatly exhausted.
"Arrest these men, Inspector," he gasped.
"On what charge?"
"That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan."
The inspector stared about him in bewilderment. "Oh, come
now, Mr. Holmes," said he at last, "I'm sure you don't really
mean to --"
"Tut, man, look at their faces!" cried Holmes curtly.
Never certainly have I seen a plainer confession of guilt upon
human countenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed,
with a heavy, sullen expression upon his strongly marked face.
The son, on the other hand, had dropped all that jaunty, dashing
style which had characterized him, and the ferocity of a danger-
ous wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes and distorted his hand-
some features. The inspector said nothing, but, stepping to the
door, he blew his whistle. Two of his constables came at the
call.
"I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham," said he. "I trust
that this may all prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can see
that Ah, would you? Drop it!" He struck out with his hand,
and a revolver which the younger man was in the act of cocking
clattered down upon the floor.
"Keep that," said Holmes, quietly putting his foot upon it;
"you will find it useful at the trial. But this is what we really
wanted." He held up a little crumpled piece of paper.
"The remainder of the sheet!" cried the inspector.
"Precisely."
"And where was it?"
"Where I was sure it must be. I'll make the whole matter
clear to you presently. I think, Colonel, that you and Watson
might return now, and I will be with you again in an hour at the
furthest. The inspector and I must have a word with the prison-
ers, but you will certainly see me back at luncheon time."
Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one
o'clock he rejoined us in the colonel's smoking-room. He was
accompanied by a little elderly gentleman, who was introduced
to me as the Mr. Acton whose house had been the scene of the
original burglary.
"I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated this
small matter to you," said Holmes, "for it is natural that he
should take a keen interest in the details. I am afraid, my dear
Colonel, that you must regret the hour that you took in such a
stormy petrel as I am."
"On the contrary," answered the colonel warmly, "I consider
it the greatest privilege to have been permitted to study your
methods of working. I confess that they quite surpass my expec-
tations, and that I am utterly unable to account for your result. I
have not yet seen the vestige of a clue."
"I am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you, but it
has always been my habit to hide none of my methods, either
from my friend Watson or from anyone who might take an
intelligent interest in them. But, first, as I am rather shaken by
the knocking about which I had in the dressing-room. I think that
I shall help myself to a dash of your brandy, Colonel. My
strength has been rather tried of late."
"I trust you had no more of those nervous attacks.''
Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily. "We will come to that in
its turn," said he. "I will lay an account of the case before you
in its due order, showing you the various points which guided
me in my decision. Pray interrupt me if there is any inference
which is not perfectly clear to you.
"It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be
able to recognize, out of a number of facts, which are incidental
and which vital. Otherwise your energy and attention must be
dissipated instead of being concentrated. Now, in this case there
was not the slightest doubt in my mind from the first that the key
of the whole matter must be looked for in the scrap of paper in
the dead man's hand.
"Before going into this, I would draw your attention to the
fact that, if Alec Cunningham's narrative was correct, and if the
assailant, after shooting William Kirwan, had instantly fled, then
it obviously could not be he who tore the paper from the dead
man's hand. But if it was not he, it must have been Alec
Cunningham himself, for by the time that the old man had
descended several servants were upon the scene. The point is a
simple one, but the inspector had overlooked it because he had
started with the supposition that these county magnates had had
nothing to do with the matter. Now, I make a point of never
having any prejudices, and of following docilely wherever fact
may lead me, and so, in the very first stage of the investigation,
I found myself looking a little askance at the part which had been
played by Mr. Alec Cunningham.
"And now I made a very careful examination of the corner of
paper which the inspector had submitted to us. It was at once
clear to me that it formed part of a very remarkable document.
Here it is. Do you not now observe something very suggestive
about it?"
"It has a very irregular look," said the colonel.
"My dear sir," cried Holmes, "there cannot be the least
doubt in the world that it has been written by two persons doing
alternate words. When I draw your attention to the strong t's of
'at' and 'to,' and ask you to compare them with the weak ones of
'quarter' and 'twelve,' you will instantly recognize the fact. A
very brief analysis of these four words would enable you to say
with the utmost confidence that the 'learn' and the 'maybe' are
written in the stronger hand, and the 'what' in the weaker."
"By Jove, it's as clear as day!" cried the colonel. "Why on
earth should two men write a letter in such a fashion?"
"Obviously the business was a bad one, and one of the men
who distrusted the other was determined that, whatever was
done, each should have an equal hand in it. Now, of the two
men, it is clear that the one who wrote the 'at' and 'to' was the
ringleader."
"How do you get at that?"
"We might deduce it from the mere character of the one hand
as compared with the other. But we have more assured reasons
than that for supposing it. If you examine this scrap with atten-
tion you will come to the conclusion that the man with the
stronger hand wrote all his words first, leaving blanks for the
other to fill up. These blanks were not always sufficient, and you
can see that the second man had a squeeze to fit his 'quarter' in
between the 'at' and the 'to,' showing that the latter were already
written. The man who wrote all his words first is undoubtedly
the man who planned the affair."
"Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton.
"But very superficial," said Holmes. "We come now, how-
ever, to a point which is of importance. You may not be aware
that the deduction of a man's age from his writing is one which
has been brought to consideiable accuracy by experts. In normal
cases one can place a man in his true decade with tolerable
confidence. I say normal cases, because ill-health and physical
weakness reproduce the signs of old age, even when the invalid
is a youth. In this case, looking at the bold, strong hand of the
one, and the rather broken-backed appearance of the other,
which still retains its legibility although the t's have begun to
lose their crossing, we can say that the one was a young man and
the other was advanced in years without being positively decrepit."
"Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton again.
"There is a further point, however, which is subtler and of
greater interest. There is something in common between these
hands. They belong to men who are blood-relatives. It may be
most obvious to you in the Greek e's, but to me there are many
small points which indicate the same thing. I have no doubt at all
that a family mannerism can be traced in these two specimens of
writing. I am only, of course, giving you the leading results now
of my examination of the paper. There were twenty-three other
deductions which would be of more interest to experts than to
you. They all tend to deepen the impression upon my mind that
the Cunninghams, father and son, had written this letter.
"Having got so far, my next step was, of course, to examine
into the details of the crime, and to see how far they would help
us. I went up to the house with the inspector and saw all that was
to be seen. The wound upon the dead man was, as I was able to
determine with absolute confidence, fired from a revolver at the
distance of something over four yards. There was no powder-
blackening on the clothes. Evidently, therefore, Alec Cunning-
ham had lied when he said that the two men were struggling
when the shot was fired. Again, both father and son agreed as to
the place where the man escaped into the road. At that point,
however, as it happens, there is a broadish ditch, moist at the
bottom. As there were no indications of boot-marks about this
ditch, I was absolutely sure not only that the Cunninghams had
again lied but that there had never been any unknown man upon
the scene at all.
"And now I have to consider the motive of this singular
crime. To get at this, I endeavoured first of all to solve the
reason of the original burglary at Mr. Acton's. I understood,
from something which the colonel told us, that a lawsuit had
been going on between you, Mr. Acton, and the Cunninghams.
Of course, it instantly occurred to me that they had broken into
your library with the intention of getting at some document
which might be of importance in the case."
"Precisely so," said Mr. Acton. "There can be no possible
doubt as to their intentions. I have the clearest claim upon half of
their present estate, and if they could have found a single paper --
which, fortunately, was in the strong-box of my solicitors -- they
would undoubtedly have crippled our case."
"There you are," said Holmes, smiling. "It was a dangerous,
reckless attempt in which I seem to trace the influence of young
Alec. Having found nothing, they tried to divert suspicion by
making it appear to be an ordinary burglary, to which end they
carried off whatever they could lay their hands upon. That is all
clear enough, but there was much that was still obscure. What I
wanted, above all. was to get the missing part of that note. I was
certain that Alec had torn it out of the dead man's hand, and
almost certain that he must have thrust it into the pocket of his
dressing-gown. Where else could he have put it? The only
question was whether it was still there. It was worth an effort to
find out, and for that object we all went up to the house.
"The Cunninghams joined us. as you doubtless remember
outside the kitchen door. It was, of course, of the very first
importance that they should not be reminded of the existence of
this paper otherwise they would naturally destroy it without
delay. The inspector was about to tell them the importance which
we attached to it when, by the luckiest chance in the world, I
tumbled down in a sort of fit and so changed the conversation."
"Good heavens!" cned the colonel, laughing, "do you mean
to say all our sympathy was wasted and your fit an imposture?"
"Speaking professionally, it was admirably done," cried I,
looking in amazement at this man who was forever confounding
me with some new phase of his astuteness.
"It is an art which is often useful," said he. "When I
recovered I managed, by a device which had perhaps some little
merit of ingenuity, to get old Cunningham to write the word
'twelve,' so that I might compare it with the 'twelve' upon the
paper."
"Oh, what an ass I have been!" I exclaimed.
"I could see that you were commiserating me over my weak-
ness," said Holmes, laughing. "I was sorry to cause you the
sympathetic pain which I know that you felt. We then went
upstairs together, and, having entered the room and seen the
dressing-gown hanging up behind the door, I contrived, by
upsetting a table, to engage their attention for the moment and
slipped back to examine the pockets. I had hardly got the paper,
however -- which was, as I had expected, in one of them -- when
the two Cunninghams were on me, and would, I verily believe,
have murdered me then and there but for your prompt and
friendly aid. As it is, I feel that young man's grip on my throat
now, and the father has twisted my wrist round in the effort to
get the paper out of my hand. They saw that I must know all
about it, you see, and the sudden change from absolute security
to complete despair made them perfectly desperate.
"I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as to the
motive of the crime. He was tractable enough, though his son
was a perfect demon. ready to blow out his own or anybody
else's brains if he could have got to his revolver. When Cunning-
ham saw that the case against him was so strong he lost all heart
and made a clean breast of everything. It seems that William had
secretly followed his two masters on the night when they made
their raid upon Mr. Acton's and, having thus got them into his
power, proceeded, under threats of exposure, to levy blackmail
upon them. Mr. Alec, however, was a dangerous man to play
games of that sort with. It was a stroke of positive genius on his
part to see in the burglary scare which was convulsing the
countryside an opportunity of plausibly getting rid of the man
whom he feared. William was decoyed up and shot. and had
they only got the whole of the note and paid a little more
attention to detail in their accessories, it is very possible that
suspicion might never have been aroused."
"And the note?" I asked.
Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper before us.
IF YOU WILL ONLY COME AROUND
TO THE EAST GATE YOU WILL
WILL VERY MUCH SURPRISE YOU AND
BE OF THE GREATEST SERVICE TO YOU AND ALSO
TO ANNIE MORRISON. BUT SAY NOTHING TO ANYONE
UPON THE MATTER.
"It is very much the sort of thing that I expected," said he.
"Of course, we do not yet know what the relations may have
been between Alec Cunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie
Morrison. The result shows that the trap was skilfully baited. I
am sure that you cannot fail to be delighted with the traces of
heredity shown in the p's and in the tails of the g's. The absence
of the i-dots in the old man's writing is also most characteristic.
Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has been a distinct
success, and I shall certainly return much invigorated to Baker
Street to-morrow."
===========================
The Resident Patient
In glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs
with which I have endeavoured to illustrate a few of the mental
peculiarities of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been
struck by the difficulty which I have experienced in picking out
examples which shall in every way answer my purpose. For in
those cases in which Holmes has performed some tour de force
of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his
peculiar methods of investigation, the facts themselves have
often been so slight or so commonplace that I could not feel
justified in laying them before the public. On the other hand, it
has frequently happened that he has been concerned in some
research where the facts have been of the most remarkable and
dramatic character, but where the share which he has himself
taken in determining their causes has been less pronounced than
I, as his biographer, could wish. The small matter which I have
chronicled under the heading of "A Study in Scarlet," and that
other later one connected with the loss of the Gloria Scott, may
serve as examples of this Scylla and Charybdis which are forever
threatening the historian. It may be that in the business of which
I am now about to write the part which my friend played is not
sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole train of circumstances
is so remarkable that I cannot bring myself to omit it entirely
from this series.
It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds were
half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and
re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post.
For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand
heat better than cold, and a thermometer of ninety was no
hardship. But the paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen.
Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the
New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account
had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my compan-
ion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attrac-
tion to him. He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of
people, with his filaments stretching out and running through
them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved
crime. Appreciation of nature found no place among his many
gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the
evildoer of the town to track down his brother of the country.
Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had
tossed aside the barren paper, and, leaning back in my chair I
fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke
in upon my thoughts.
"You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a very
preposterous way of settling a dispute."
"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then, suddenly realiz-
ing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in
my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.
"What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything
which I could have imagined."
He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago, when I
read you the passage in one of Poe's sketches, in which a close
reasoner follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you
were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour de force of the
author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of
doing the same thing you expressed incredulity."
"Oh, no!"
"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly
with your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper
and enter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the
opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it,
as a proof that I had been in rapport with you."
But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you
read to me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the
actions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, he
stumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so
on. But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues
can I have given you?"
"You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man
as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours
are faithful servants."
"Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from
my features?"
"Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot
yourself recall how your reverie commenced?"
"No, I cannot."
"Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which
was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a
minute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed them-
selves upon your newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I
saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been
started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes turned across to
the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher, which stands
upon the top of your books. You then glanced up at the wall, and
of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if
the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and
correspond with Gordon's picture over there."
"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.
"So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your
thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if
you were studying the character in his features. Then your eyes
ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your
face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Bee-
cher's career. I was well aware that you could not do this
without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of
the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember you
expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he
was received by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so
strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Beecher
without thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw your
eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind
had now turned to the Civil War, and when I observed that your
lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clinched, I was
positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was
shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again,
your face grew sadder; you shook your head. You were dwelling
upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand
stole towards your own old wound, and a smile quivered on your
lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of
settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind.
At this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous, and was
glad to find that all my deductions had been correct.
"Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I
confess that I am as amazed as before."
"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I
should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not
shown some incredulity the other day. But the evening has
brought a breeze with it. What do you say to a ramble through
London?"
I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced.
For three hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-
changing kaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet
Street and the Strand. His characteristic talk, with its keen
observance of detail and subtle power of inference, held me
amused and enthralled. It was ten o'clock before we reached
Baker Street again. A brougham was waiting at our door.
"Hum! A doctor's -- general practitioner, I perceive," said
Holmes. "Not been long in practice, but has a good deal to do.
Come to consult us, I fancy! Lucky we came back!"
I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be
able to follow his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state
of the various medical instruments in the wicker basket which
hung in the lamp-light inside the brougham had given him the
data for his swift deduction. The light in our window above
showed that this late visit was indeed intended for us. With some
curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico to us at
such an hour, I followed Holmes into our sanctum.
A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a
chair by the fire as we entered. His age may not have been more
than three or four and thirty, but his haggard expression and
unhealthy hue told of a life which had sapped his strength and
robbed him of his youth. His manner was nervous and shy, like
that of a sensitive gentleman, and the thin white hand which he
laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist rather than
of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre -- a black frock-
coat, dark trousers, and a touch of colour about his necktie.
"Good-evening, Doctor," said Holmes cheerily. "I am glad
to see that you have only been waiting a very few minutes."
"You spoke to my coachman, then?"
"No, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. Pray
resume your seat and let me know how I can serve you."
"My name is Dr. Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and I
live at 403 Brook Street."
"Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure ner-
vous lesions?" I asked.
His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work
was known to me.
"I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite
dead," said he. "My publishers gave me a most discouraging
account of its sale. You are yourself, I presume, a medical man."
"A retired army surgeon."
"My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should
wish to make it an absolute specialty, but of course a man must
take what he can get at first. This, however, is beside the
question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I quite appreciate how
valuable your time is. The fact is that a very singular train of
events has occurred recently at my house in Brook Street, and
to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quite
impossible for me to wait another hour before asking for your
advlce and assistance."
Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. "You are very
welcome to both," said he. "Pray let me have a detailed account
of what the circumstances are which have disturbed you."
"One or two of them are so trivial," said Dr. Trevelyan
"that really I am almost ashamed to mention them. But the
matter is so inexplicable, and the recent turn which it has taken
is so elaborate, that I shall lay it all before you, and you shall
judge what is essential and what is not.
"I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own
college career. I am a London University man, you know, and I
am sure that you will not think that I am unduly singing my own
praises if I say that my student career was considered by my
professors to be a very promising one. After I had graduated I
continued to devote myself to research, occupying a minor posi-
tion in King's College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough to
excite considerable interest by my research into the pathology of
catalepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize and
medal by the monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend
has just alluded. I should not go too far if I were to say that there
was a general impression at that time that a distinguished career
lay before me.
"But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital.
As you will readily understand, a specialist who aims high is
compelled to start in one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish
Square quarter, all of which entail enormous rents and furnishing
expenses. Besides this preliminary outlay, he must be prepared
to keep himself for some years, and to hire a presentable carriage
and horse. To do this was quite beyond my power, and I could
only hope that by economy I might in ten years' time save
enough to enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly, however, an
unexpected incident opened up quite a new prospect to me.
"This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington,
who was a complete stranger to me. He came up into my room
one morning, and plunged into business in an instant.
" 'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distin-
guished a career and won a great prize lately?' said he.
"I bowed.
" 'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it to
your interest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a
successful man. Have you the tact?'
"I could not help smiling at the abruptness of the question.
" 'l trust that I have my share,' I said.
" 'Any bad habits? Not drawn towards drink, eh?'
" 'Really, sir!' I cried.
" 'Quite right! That's all right! But I was bound to ask. With
all these qualities, why are you not in practice?'
"I shrugged my shoulders.
" 'Come, come!' said he in his bustling way. 'It's the old story.
More in your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you
say if I were to start you in Brook Street?'
"I stared at him in astonishment.
" 'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'I'll be
perfectly frank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very
well. I have a few thousands to invest, d'ye see, and I think I'll
sink them in you.'
" 'But why?' I gasped.
" 'Well, it's just like any other speculation, and safer than
most.'
" 'What am I to do, then?'
" 'I'll tell you. I'll take the house, furnish it, pay the maids,
and run the whole place. All you have to do is just to wear out
your chair in the consulting-room. I'll let you have pocket-
money and everything. Then you hand over to me three quarters
of what you earn, and you keep the other quarter for yourself.'
"This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the
man Blessington approached me. I won't weary you with the
account of how we bargained and negotiated. It ended in my
moving into the house next Lady Day, and starting in-practice on
very much the same conditions as he had suggested. He came
himself to live with me in the character of a resident patient. His
heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant medical
supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor into a
sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singular
habits, shunning company and very seldom going out. His life
was irregular, but in one respect he was regularity itself. Every
evening, at the same hour, he walked into the consulting-room,
examined the books, put down five and three-pence for every
guinea that I had earned, and carried the rest off to the strong-
box in his own room.
"I may say with confidence that he never had occasion to
regret his speculation. From the first it was a success. A few
good cases and the reputation which I had won in the hospital
brought me rapidly to the front, and during the last few years I
have made him a rich man.
"So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations
with Mr. Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you
what has occurred to bring me here tonight.
"Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it
seemed to me, a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of
some burglary which, he said, had been committed in the West
End, and he appeared, I remember, to be quite unnecessarily
excited about it, declaring that a day should not pass before we
should add stronger bolts to our windows and doors. For a week
he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness, peering
continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the short
walk which had usually been the prelude to his dinner. From his
manner it struck me that he was in mortal dread of something or
somebody, but when I questioned him upon the point he became
so offensive that I was compelled to drop the subject. Gradually,
as time passed, his fears appeared to die away, and he renewed
his former habits, when a fresh event reduced him to the pitiable
state of prostration in which he now lies.
"What happened was this. Two days ago I received the letter
which I now read to you. Neither address nor date is attached to it.
"A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England [it
runs], would be glad to avail himself of the professional
assistance of Dr. Percy Trevelyan. He has been for some
years a victim to cataleptic attacks, on which, as is well
known, Dr. Trevelyan is an authority. He proposes to call at
about a quarter-past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Trevelyan
will make it convenient to be at home.
"This letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficulty
in the study of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. You may
believe, then, that I was in my consulting-room when, at the
appointed hour, the page showed in the patient.
"He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and commonplace -- by
no means the conception one forms of a Russian nobleman. I
was much more struck by the appearance of his companion. This
was a tall young man, surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce
face, and the limbs and chest of a Hercules. He had his hand
under the other's arm as they entered, and helped him to a chair
with a tenderness which one would hardly have expected from
his appearance.
" 'You will excuse my coming in, Doctor,' said he to me,
speaking English with a slight lisp. 'This is my father, and his
health is a matter of the most overwhelming importance to me.'
"I was touched by this filial anxiety. 'You would, perhaps,
care to remain during the consultation?' said I.
" 'Not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of horror. 'It is
more painful to me than I can express. If I were to see my father
in one of these dreadful seizures I am convinced that I should
never survive it. My own nervous system is an exceptionally
sensitive one. With your permission, I will remain in the waiting-
room while you go into my father's case.'
"To this, of course, I assented, and the young man withdrew.
The patient and I then plunged into a discussion of his case, of
which I took exhaustive notes. He was not remarkable for intelli-
gence, and his answers were frequently obscure, which I attrib-
uted to his limited acquaintance with our language. Suddenly,
however, as I sat writing, he ceased to give any answer at all to
my inquiries, and on my turning towards him I was shocked to
see that he was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring at me with
a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again in the grip of his
mysterious malady.
"My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity and
horror. My second, I fear, was rather one of professional satis-
faction. I made notes of my patient's pulse and temperature,
tested the rigidity of his muscles. and examined his reflexes.
There was nothing markedly abnormal in any of these condi-
tions, which harmonized with my former experiences. I had
obtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of
amyl, and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of
testing its virtues. The bottle was downstairs in my laboratory,
so, leaving my patient seated in his chair, I ran down to get it.
There was some little delay in finding it -- five minutes, let us
say -- and then I returned. Imagine my amazement to find the
room empty and the patient gone.
"Of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room.
The son had gone also. The hall door had been closed, but not
shut. My page who admits patients is a new boy and by no
means quick. He waits downstairs and runs up to show patients
out when I ring the consulting-room bell. He had heard nothing,
and the affair remained a complete mystery. Mr. Blessington
came in from his walk shortly afterwards, but I did not say
anything to him upon the subject, for, to tell the truth, I have got
in the way of late of holding as little communication with him as
possible.
"Well, I never thought that I should see anything more of the
Russian and his son, so you can imagine my amazement when,
at the very same hour this evening, they both came marching
into my consulting-room, just as they had done before.
" 'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my abrupt
departure yesterday, Doctor,' said my patient.
" 'I confess that I was very much surprised at it,' said I.
" 'Well, the fact is,' he remarked, 'that when I recover from
these attacks my mind is always very clouded as to all that has
gone before. I woke up in a strange room, as it seemed to me,
and made my way out into the street in a sort of dazed way when
you were absent.'
" 'And I,' said the son, 'seeing my father pass the door of the
waiting-room, naturally thought that the consultation had come
to an end. It was not until we had reached home that I began to
realize the true state of affairs.'
" 'Well,' said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done except that
you puzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into the
waiting-room I shall be happy to continue our consultation which
was brought to so abrupt an ending.'
"For half an hour or so I discussed the old gentleman's
symptoms with him, and then, having prescribed for him, I saw
him go off upon the arm of his son.
"I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose this
hour of the day for his exercise. He came in shortly afterwards
and passed upstairs. An instant later I heard him running down,
and he burst into my consulting-room like a man who is mad
with panic.
" 'Who has been in my room?' he cried.
" 'No one,' said I.
" 'It's a lie!' he yelled. 'Come up and look!'
"I passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed
half out of his mind with fear. When I went upstairs with him he
pointed to several footprints upon the light carpet.
" 'Do you mean to say those are mine?' he cried.
"They were certainly very much larger than any which he
could have made, and were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard
this afternoon, as you know, and my patients were the only
people who called. It must have been the case, then, that the
man in the waiting-room had, for some unknown reason, while I
was busy with the other, ascended to the room of my resident
patient. Nothing had been touched or taken, but there were the
footprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact.
"Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I
should have thought possible, though of course it was enough to
disturb anybody's peace of mind. He actually sat crying in an
armchair, and I could hardly get him to speak coherently. It was
his suggestion that I should come round to you, and of course I
at once saw the propriety of it, for certainly the incident is a very
singular one, though he appears to completely overrate its impor-
tance. If you would only come back with me in my brougham,
you would at least be able to soothe him, though I can hardly
hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable occurrence."
Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with an
intentness which showed me that his interest was keenly aroused.
His face was as impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more
heavily over his eyes, and his smoke had curled up more thickly
from his pipe to emphasize each curious episode in the doctor's
tale. As our visitor concluded, Holmes sprang up without a
word, handed me my hat, picked his own from the table, and
followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarter of an hour
we had been dropped at the door of the physician's residence in
Brook Street, one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which one
associates with a West End practice. A small page admitted us,
and we began at once to ascend the broad, well-carpeted stair.
But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. The light
at the top was suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness
came a reedy, quavering voice.
"I have a pistol," it cried. "I give you my word that I'll fire
if you come any nearer."
"This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington," cried Dr.
Trevelyan .
"Oh, then it is you, Doctor." said the voice with a great
heave of relief. "But those other gentlemen. are they what they
pretend to be ?"
We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness.
"Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. "You can
come up, and I am sorry if my precautions have annoyed you."
He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a
singular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice,
testified to his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but had appar-
ently at some time been much fatter, so that the skin hung about
his face in loose pouches, like the cheeks of a bloodhound. He
was of a sickly colour, and his thin, sandy hair seemed to bristle
up with the intensity of his emotion. In his hand he held a pistol,
but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced.
"Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am sure I am very
much obliged to you for coming round. No one ever needed your
advice more than I do. I suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you
of this most unwarrantable intrusion into my rooms."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "Who are these two men, Mr.
Blessington, and why do they wish to molest you?"
"Well, well," said the resident patient in a nervous fashion,
"of course it is hard to say that. You can hardly expect me to
answer that, Mr. Holmes."
"Do you mean that you don't know?"
"Come in here, if you please. Just have the kindness to step in
here."
He led the way into his bedroom, which was large and com-
fortably furnished.
"You see that," said he, pointing to a big black box at the
end of his bed. "I have never been a very rich man, Mr.
Holmes -- never made but one investment in my life, as Dr.
Trevelyan would tell you. But I don't believe in bankers. I
would never trust a banker, Mr. Holmes. Between ourselves,
what little I have is in that box, so you can understand what it
means to me when unknown people force themselves into my
rooms."
Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and
shook his head.
"I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me," said
he.
"But I have told you everything."
Holmes turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. "Good-
night, Dr. Trevelyan," said he.
"And no advice for me?" cried Blessington in a breaking
voice.
"My advice to you, sir, is to speak the truth."
A minute later we were in the street and walking for home.
We had crossed Oxford Street and were halfway down Harley
Street before I could get a word from my companion.
"Sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand, Watson," he
said at last. "It is an interesting case, too, at the bottom of it."
"I can make little of it," I confessed.
"Well, it is quite evident that there are two men -- more
perhaps, but at least two -- who are determined for some reason
to get at this fellow Blessington. I have no doubt in my mind that
both on the first and on the second occasion that young man
penetrated to Blessington's room, while his confederate, by an
ingenious device, kept the doctor from interfering."
"And the catalepsy?"
"A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare
to hint as much to our specialist. It is a very easy complaint to
imitate. I have done it myself."
"And then?"
"By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion.
Their reason for choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation
was obviously to insure that there should be no other patient in
the waiting-room. It just happened, however, that this hour
coincided with Blessington's constitutional, which seems to show
that they were not very well acquainted with his daily routine. Of
course, if they had been merely after plunder they would at least
have made some attempt to search for it. Besides, I can read in a
man's eye when it is his own skin that he is frightened for. It is
inconceivable that this fellow could have made two such vindic-
tive enemies as these appear to be without knowing of it. I hold
it, therefore, to be certain that he does know who these men are,
and that for reasons of his own he suppresses it. It is just
possible that to-morrow may find him in a more communicative
mood. "
"Is there not one alternative," I suggested, "grotesquely im-
probable, no doubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole
story of the cataleptic Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr.
Trevelyan's, who has, for his own purposes, been in Blessington's
rooms?"
I saw in the gas-light that Holmes wore an amused smile at
this brilliant departure of mine.
"My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first solutions
which occurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate the
doctor's tale. This young man has left prints upon the stair-carpet
which made it quite superfluous for me to ask to see those which
he had made in the room. When I tell you that his shoes were
square-toed instead of being pointed like Blessington's, and were
quite an inch and a third longer than the doctor's, you will
acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to his individuality.
But we may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if we do not
hear something further from Brook Street in the morning."
Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a
dramatic fashion. At half-past seven next morning, in the first
dim glimmer of daylight, I found him standing by my bedside in
hls dressing-gown.
"There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson," said he.
"What's the matter, then?"
"The Brook Street business."
"Any fresh news?"
"Tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up the blind. "Look
at this -- a sheet from a notebook, with 'For God's sake come at
once. P. T.,' scrawled upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor,
was hard put to it when he wrote this. Come along, my dear
fellow, for it's an urgent call."
In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician's
house. He came running out to meet us with a face of horror.
"Oh, such a business!" he cried with his hands to his temples.
"What then?"
"Blessington has committed suicide!"
Holmes whistled.
"Yes, he hanged himself during the night."
We had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what was
evidently his waiting-room.
"I really hardly know what I am doing," he cried. "The
police are already upstairs. It has shaken me most dreadfully."
"When did you find it out?"
"He has a cup of tea taken in to him early every morning.
When the maid entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow
was hanging in the middle of the room. He had tied his cord to
the hook on which the heavy lamp used to hang, and he had
jumped off from the top of the very box that he showed us
yesterday."
Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought.
"With your permission," said he at last, "I should like to go
upstairs and look into the matter."
We both ascended, followed by the doctor.
It was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the
bedroom door. I have spoken of the impression of flabbiness
which this man Blessington conveyed. As he dangled from the
hook it was exaggerated and intensified until he was scarce
human in his appearance. The neck was drawn out like a plucked
chicken's, making the rest of him seem the more obese and
unnatural by the contrast. He was clad only in his long night-
dress, and his swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly
from beneath it. Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector,
who was taking notes in a pocketbook
"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he heartily as my friend entered, "I
am delighted to see you."
"Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes, "you won't think
me an intruder, I am sure. Have you heard of the events which
led up to this affair?"
"Yes, I heard something of them."
"Have you formed any opinion?"
"As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his senses
by fright. The bed has been well slept in, you see. There's his
impression, deep enough. It's about five in the morning, you
know, that suicides are most common. That would be about his
time for hanging himself. It seems to have been a very deliberate
affair."
"I should say that he has been dead about three hours, judging
by the rigidity of the muscles," said I.
"Noticed anything peculiar about the room?" asked Holmes.
"Found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand
stand. Seems to have smoked heavily during the night, too. Here
are four cigar-ends that I picked out of the fireplace."
"Hum!" said Holmes, "have you got his cigar-holder?"
"No, I have seen none."
"His cigar-case, then?"
"Yes, it was in his coat-pocket."
Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it
contained.
"Oh, this is a Havana, and these others are cigars of the
peculiar sort which are imported by the Dutch from their East
Indian colonies. They are usually wrapped in straw, you know,
and are thinner for their length than any other brand." He picked
up the four ends and examined them with his pocket-lens.
"Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two
without," said he. "Two have been cut by a not very sharp
knife, and two have had the ends bitten off by a set of excellent
teeth. This is no suicide, Mr. Lanner. It is a very deeply planned
and cold-blooded murder."
"Impossible!" cried the inspector.
"And why?"
"Why should anyone murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as
by hanging him?"
"That is what we have to find out."
"How could they get in?"
"Through the front door."
"It was barred in the morning."
"Then it was barred after them."
"How do you know?"
"I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I may be able
to give you some further information about it."
He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it
in his methodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on
the inside. and inspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the
chairs, the mantelpiece, the dead body, and the rope were each
in turn examined, until at last he professed himself satisfied, and
with my aid and that of the inspector cut down the wretched
object and laid it reverently under a sheet.
"How about this rope?" he asked.
"It is cut off this," said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coil
from under the bed. "He was morbidly nervous of fire, and
always kept this beside him, so that he might escape by the
window in case the stairs were burning."
"That must have saved them trouble," said Holmes thought-
fully. "Yes, the actual facts are very plain, and I shall be
surprised if by the afternoon I cannot give you the reasons for
them as well. I will take this photograph of Blessington, which I
see upon the mantelpiece, as it may help me in my inquiries."
"But you have told us nothing!" cried the doctor.
"Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of events,"
said Holmes. "There were three of them in it: the young man,
the old man, and a third, to whose identity I have no clue. The
first two, I need hardly remark, are the same who masqueraded
as the Russian count and his son, so we can give a very full
description of them. They were admitted by a confederate inside
the house. If I might offer you a word of advice. Inspector, it
would be to arrest the page. who, as I understand, has only
recently come into your service, Doctor."
"The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan; "the
maid and the cook have just been searching for him."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"He has played a not unimportant part in this drama," said
he. "The three men having ascended the stairs, which they did
on tiptoe, the elder man first, the younger man second, and the
unknown man in the rear --"
"My dear Holmes!" I ejaculated.
"Oh, there could be no question as to the superimposing of
the footmarks. I had the advantage of learning which was which
last night. They ascended, then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the
door of which they found to be locked. With the help of a wire,
however, they forced round the key. Even without the lens you
will perceive, by the scratches on this ward, where the pressure
was applied.
"On entering the room their first proceeding must have been
to gag Mr. Blessington. He may have been asleep, or he may
have been so paralyzed with terror as to have been unable to cry
out. These walls are thick, and it is conceivable that his shriek, if
he had time to utter one, was unheard.
"Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of
some sort was held. Probably it was something in the nature of a
judicial proceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it was
then that these cigars were smoked. The older man sat in that
wicker chair; it was he who used the cigar-holder. The younger
man sat over yonder; he knocked his ash off against the chest of
drawers. The third follow paced up and down. Blessington, I
think, sat upright in the bed, but of that I cannot be absolutely
certain.
"Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him.
The matter was so prearranged that it is my belief that they
brought with them some sort of block or pulley which might
serve as a gallows. That screw-driver and those screws were, as I
conceive, for fixing it up. Seeing the hook, however, they
naturally saved themselves the trouble. Having finished their
work they made off, and the door was barred behind them by
their confederate."
We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of
the night's doings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so
subtle and minute that, even when he had pointed them out to us,
we could scarcely follow him in his reasonings. The inspector
hurried away on thc instant to make inquiries about the page.
while Holmes and I returned to Baker Street for breakfast.
"I'll be back by three," said he when we had finished our
meal. "Both the inspector and the doctor will meet me here at
that hour, and I hope by that time to have cleared up any little
obscurity which the case may still present."
Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarter
to four before my friend put in an appearance. From his expres-
sion as he entered, however, I could see that all had gone well
with him.
"Any news, Inspector?"
"We have got the boy, sir."
"Excellent, and I have got the men."
"You have got them!" we cried, all three.
"Well, at least I have got their identity. This so-called
Blessington is, as I expected, well known at headquarters, and so
are his assailants. Their names are Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat."
"The Worthingdon bank gang," cried the inspector.
"Precisely," said Holmes.
"Then Blessington must have been Sutton."
"Exactly," said Holmes.
"Why, that makes it as clear as crystal," said the inspector.
But Trevelyan and I looked at each other in bewilderment.
"You must surely remember the great Worthingdon bank
business," said Holmes. "Five men were in it -- these four and a
fifth called Cartwright. Tobin, the caretaker, was murdered, and
the thieves got away with seven thousand pounds. This was in
1875. They were all five arrested, but the evidence against them
was by no means conclusive. This Blessington or Sutton, who
was the worst of the gang, turned informer. On his evidence
Cartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteen years
apiece. When they got out the other day, which was some years
before their full term, they set themselves, as you perceive, to
hunt down the traitor and to avenge the death of their comrade
upon him. Twice they tried to get at him and failed; a third time
you see, it came off. Is there anything further which I can
explain, Dr. Trevelyan?"
"I think you have made it all remarkably clear," said the
doctor. "No doubt the day on which he was so perturbed was the
day when he had seen of their release in the newspapers."
"Quite so. His talk about a burglary was the merest blind."
"But why could he not tell you this?"
"Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive character of his
old associates, he was trying to hide his own identity from
everybody as long as he could. His secret was a shameful one
and he could not bring himself to divulge it. However, wretch as
he was, he was still living under the shield of British law, and I
have no doubt, Inspector, that you will see that, though that
shield may fail to guard, the sword of justice is still there to
avenge."
Such were the singular circumstances in connection with the
Resident Patient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night
nothing has been seen of the three murderers by the police, and it
is surmised at Scotland Yard that they were among the passen-
gers of the ill-fated steamer Norah Creina, which was lost some
years ago with all hands upon the Portuguese coast, some leagues
to the north of Oporto. The proceedings against the page broke
down for want of evidence, and the Brook Street Mystery, as it
was called, has never until now been fully dealt with in any
public print.
===============================
A Scandal in Bohemia
To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom
heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she
eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that
he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions,
and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but
admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect
reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as
a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He
never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer.
They were admirable things for the observer -- excellent for draw-
ing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained
teasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely
adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which
might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a
sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power
lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a
nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him,
and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and ques-
tionable memory.
I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us
away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the
home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first
finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to
absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form
of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodg-
ings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating
from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsi-
ness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature.
He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and
occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of
observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those
mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official
police. From time to time I heard some vague account of his
doings: of his summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff
murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson
brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had
accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning
family of Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however,
which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I
knew little of my former friend and companion.
One night -- it was on the twentieth of March, 1888 -- I was
returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to
civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I
passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associ-
ated in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of
the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see
Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordi-
nary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I
looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark
silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly,
eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped
behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his
attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work again.
He had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon
the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell and was shown
up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.
His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad,
I think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly
eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of
cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner.
Then he stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular
introspective fashion.
"Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson, that
you have put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you."
"Seven!" I answered.
"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle
more, I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You
did not tell me that you intended to go into harness."
"Then, how do you know?"
"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been
getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy
and careless servant girl?"
"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would
certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It
is true that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a
dreadful mess, but as I have changed my clothes I can't imagine
how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my
wife has given her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you
work it out."
He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands
together.
"It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me that on the
inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the
leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have
been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round
the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it.
Hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in
vile weather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-
slitting specimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a
gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a
black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a
bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has
secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not
pronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession."
I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained
his process of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons,"
I remarked, "the thing always appears to me to be so ridicu-
lously simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each
successive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you
explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good
as yours."
"Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing
himself down into an armchair. "You see, but you do not
observe. The distinction is clear. For example, you have fre-
quently seen the steps which lead up from the hall to this room."
"Frequently."
"How often?"
"Well, some hundreds of times."
"Then how many are there?"
"How many? I don't know."
"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen.
That is just my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen
steps, because I have both seen and observed. By the way,
since you are interested in these little problems, and since you
are good enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experi-
ences, you may be interested in this." He threw over a sheet of
thick, pink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon
the table. "It came by the last post," said he. "Read it aloud."
The note was undated, and without either signature or address.
"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight
o'clock [it said], a gentleman who desires to consult you
upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent
services to one of the royal houses of Europe have shown
that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters
which are of an importance which can hardly be exagger-
ated. This account of you we have from all quarters re-
ceived. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not
take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.
"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do you
imagine that it means?"
"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before
one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories,
instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you
deduce from it?"
I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it
was written.
"The man who wrote it was presumably well to do," I
remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes.
"Such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It
is peculiarly strong and stiff."
"Peculiar -- that is the very word," said Holmes. "It is not an
English paper at all. Hold it up to the light."
I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small "g," a "P," and a
large "G" with a small "f" woven into the texture of the paper.
"What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.
"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather."
"Not at all. The 'G' with the small 't' stands for 'Gesell-
schaft,' which is the German for 'Company.' It is a customary
contraction like our 'Co.' 'P,' of course, stands for 'Papier.'
Now for the 'Eg.' Let us glance at our Continental Gazetteer."
He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves. "Eglow,
Eglonitz -- here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking
country -- in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. 'Remarkable as
being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous
glass-factories and paper-mills.' Ha, ha, my boy, what do you
make of that?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue
triumphant cloud from his cigarette.
"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.
"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do
you note the peculiar construction of the sentence -- 'This ac-
count of you we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman
or Russian could not have written that. It is the German who is
so uncourteous to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to dis-
cover what is wanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian
paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And here
he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts."
As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and
grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the
bell. Holmes whistled.
"A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he continued,
glancing out of the window. "A nice little brougham and a pair
of beauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There's money
in this case, Watson, if there is nothing else."
"I think that I had better go, Holmes."
"Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my
Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity
to miss it."
"But your client --"
"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he.
Here he comes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us
your best attention."
A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs
and in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then
there was a loud and authoritative tap.
"Come in!" said Holmes.
A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet
six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His
dress was rich with a richness which would, in England, be
looked upon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were
slashed across the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat,
while the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders
was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a
brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which
extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the
tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric
opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He
carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across
the upper part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones,
a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very
moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From
the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong
character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin
suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy.
"You had my note?" he asked with a deep harsh voice and a
strongly marked German accent. "I told you that I would call."
He looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to
address.
"Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my friend and
colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help
me in my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?"
"You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian
nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a
man of honour and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of
the most extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to
communicate with you alone."
I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed
me back into my chair. "It is both, or none," said he. "You
may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to
me."
The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I must be-
gin," said he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two
years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance.
At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it
may have an influence upon European history."
"I promise," said Holmes.
"And I."
"You will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor.
"The august person who employs me wishes his agent to be
unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title by
which I have just called myself is not exactly my own."
"I was aware of it," said Holmes drily.
"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precau-
tion has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an
immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning
families of Europe. To speak plainly, the matter implicates the
great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia."
"I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes, settling him-
self down in his armchair and closing his eyes.
Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,
lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to
him as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in
Europe. Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impa-
tiently at his gigantic client.
"If your Majesty would condescend to state your case," he
remarked, "I should be better able to advise you."
The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the
room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desper-
ation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the
ground. "You are right," he cried; "I am the King. Why should
I attempt to conceal it?"
"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your Majesty had not
spoken before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm
Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-
Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia."
"But you can understand," said our strange visitor, sitting
down once more and passing his hand over his high white
forehead, "you can understand that I am not accustomed to
doing such business in my own person. Yet the matter was so
delicate that I could not confide it to an agent without putting
myself in his power. I have come incognito from Prague for the
purpose of consulting you."
"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes once
more.
"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a
lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-
known adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt farmiliar
to you."
"Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor," murmured Holmes
without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a
system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things,
so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he
could not at once furnish information. In this case I found her
biography sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and
that of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon
the deep-sea fishes.
"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in
the year 1858. Contralto -- hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna
Imperial Opera of Warsaw -- yes! Retired from operatic stage -- ha!
Living in London -- quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand,
became entangled with this young person, wrote her some
compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters
back."
"Precisely so. But how --"
"Was there a secret marriage?"
"None."
"No legal papers or certificates?"
"None."
"Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person
should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes,
how is she to prove their authenticity?"
"There is the writing."
"Pooh, pooh! Forgery."
"My private note-paper."
"Stolen."
"My own seal."
"Imitated."
"My photograph."
"Bought."
"We were both in the photograph."
"Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed com-
mitted an indiscretion."
"I was mad -- insane."
"You have compromised yourself seriously."
"I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty
now."
"It must be recovered."
"We have tried and failed."
"Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought."
"She will not sell."
"Stolen, then."
"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay
ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she
travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result."
"No sign of it?"
"Absolutely none."
Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem," said he.
"But a very serious one to me," returned the King reproachfully.
"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the
photograph?"
"To ruin me."
"But how?"
"I am about to be married."
"So I have heard."
"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter
of the King of Scandinavia. You may know the stnct principles
of her family. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow
of a doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end."
"And Irene Adler?"
"Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I
know that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a
soul of steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women,
and the mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should
marry another woman, there are no lengths to which she would
not go -- none."
"You are sure that she has not sent it yet?"
"I am sure."
"And why?"
"Because she has said that she would send it on the day when
the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday."
"Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes with a
yawn. "That is very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of
importance to look into just at present. Your Majesty will, of
course, stay in London for the present?"
"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name
of the Count Von Kramm."
"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we
progress."
"Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety."
"Then, as to money?"
"You have carte blanche."
"Absolutely?"
"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my
kingdom to have that photograph."
"And for present expenses?"
The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his
cloak and laid it on the table.
"There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in
notes," he said.
Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and
handed it to him.
"And Mademoiselle's address?" he asked.
"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."
Holmes took a note of it. "One other question," said he.
"Was the photograph a cabinet?"
"It was."
"Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall
soon have some good news for you. And good-night, Watson," he
added, as the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street.
"If you wlll be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three
o'clock I should like to chat this little matter over with you."
At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes
had not yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left
the house shortly after eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down
beside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him,
however long he might be. I was already deeply interested in his
inquiry, for, though it was surrounded by none of the grim and
strange features which were associated with the two crimes
which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and
the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own.
Indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my
friend had on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of
a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a
pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the
quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most inextri-
cable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable success
that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my
head.
It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-
looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed
face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed
as I was to my friend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, I
had to look three times before I was certain that it was indeed he.
With a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in
five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his
hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the
fire and laughed heartily for some minutes.
"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked and laughed
again until he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the
chair.
"What is it?"
"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I
employed my morning, or what I ended by doing."
"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the
habits, and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler."
"Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you,
however. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this morning
in the character of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful
sympathy and freemasonry among horsy men. Be one of them,
and you will know all that there is to know. I soon found
Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back.
but built out in front right up to the road, two stories. Chubb
lock to the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well
furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those
preposterous English window fasteners which a child could open.
Behind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage
window could be reached from the top of the coach-house. I
walked round it and examined it closely from every point of
view, but without noting anything else of interest.
"I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that
there was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the
garden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses,
and received in exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two
fills of shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire
about Miss Adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in
the neighbourhood in whom I was not in the least interested, but
whose biographies I was compelled to listen to."
"And what of Irene Adler?" I asked.
"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part.
She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say
the Serpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at
concerts, drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp
for dinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except when she
sings. Has only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. He is
dark, handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day,
and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner
Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They
had driven him home a dozen times from Serpentine-mews, and
knew all about him. When I had listened to all they had to tell, I
began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once more, and
to think over my plan of campaign.
"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in
the matter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was
the relation between them, and what the object of his repeated
visits? Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? If the
former, she had probably transferred the photograph to his keep-
ing. If the latter, it was less likely. On the issue of this question
depended whether I should continue my work at Briony Lodge,
or turn my attention to the gentleman's chambers in the Temple.
It was a delicate point. and it widened the field of my inquiry.
I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to let you
see my little difficulties. if you are to understand the situation."
"I am following you closely," I answered.
"I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom
cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He
was a remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached
-- evidently the man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in
a great hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past
the maid who opened the door with the air of a man who was
thoroughly at home.
"He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch
glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up
and down, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I
could see nothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more
flurried than before. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a
gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly, 'Drive like
the devil,' he shouted, 'first to Gross & Hankey's in Regent
Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware
Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!'
"Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should
not do well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little
landau, the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his
tie under his ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking
out of the buckles. It hadn't pulled up before she shot out of the
hall door and into it. I only caught a glimpse of her at the
moment, but she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man
might die for.
" 'The Church of St. Monica, John,' she cried, 'and half a
sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.'
"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balanc-
ing whether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind
her landau when a cab came through the street. The driver
looked twice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he
could object. 'The Church of St. Monica,' said I, 'and half a
sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.' It was twenty-five
minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in
the wind.
"My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster, but
the others were there before us. The cab and the landau with
their steaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I
paid the man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul
there save the two whom I had followed and a surpliced clergy-
man, who seemed to be expostulating with them. They were all
three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I lounged up the
side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church.
Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to
me, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could
towards me.
" 'Thank God,' he cried. 'You'll do. Come! Come!'
" 'What then?' I asked.
" 'Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won't be
legal.'
"I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I
was I found myself mumbling responses which were whispered
in my ear. and vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and
generally assisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster,
to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and
there was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the
lady on the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It
was the most preposterous position in which I ever found myself
in my life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing
just now. It seems that there had been some informality about
their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry
them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appear-
ance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the
streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign,
and I mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the
occasion."
"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said l; "and what
then?"
"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as
if the pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate
very prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church
door, however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple,
and she to her own house. 'I shall drive out in the park at five as
usual,' she said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove
away in different directions, and I went off to make my own
arrangements."
"Which are?"
"Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringing
the bell. "I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely
to be busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want
your cooperation."
"I shall be delighted."
"You don't mind breaking the law?"
"Not in the least."
"Nor running a chance of arrest?"
"Not in a good cause."
"Oh, the cause is excellent!"
"Then I am your man."
"I was sure that I might rely on you."
"But what is it you wish?"
"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it
clear to you. Now," he said as he turned hungrily on the simple
fare that our landlady had provided, "I must discuss it while I
eat, for I have not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours
we must be on the scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame,
rather, returns from her drive at seven. We must be at Briony
Lodge to meet her."
"And what then?"
"You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is
to occur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You
must not interfere, come what may. You understand?"
"I am to be neutral?"
"To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small
unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being
conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the
sitting-room window will open. You are to station yourself close
to that open window."
"Yes."
"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you."
"Yes."
"And when I raise my hand -- so -- you will throw into the
room what I give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise
the cry of fire. You quite follow me?"
"Entirely."
"It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a long cigar-
shaped roll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber's smoke-
rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting.
Your task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire,
it will be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then
walk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes.
I hope that I have made myself clear?"
"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch
you, and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry
of fire, and to wait you at the comer of the street."
"Precisely."
"Then you may entirely rely on me."
"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I
prepare for the new role I have to play."
He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few min-
utes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded Noncon-
formist clergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers. his
white tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and
benevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could
have equalled. It was not merely that Holmes changed his cos-
tume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary
with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor,
even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a
specialist in crime.
It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still
wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in
Serpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just
being lighted as we paced up and down in front of Briony
Lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. The house was
just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes's succinct
description, but the locality appeared to be less private than I
expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a quiet
neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group
of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a
scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirt-
ing with a nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who
were lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths.
"You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front
of the house, "this marriage rather simplifies matters. The pho-
tograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are
that she would be as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey
Norton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his princess.
Now the question is, Where are we to find the photograph?"
"Where, indeed?"
"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is
cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's
dress. She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid
and searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made.
We may take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her."
"Where, then?"
"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility.
But I am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secre-
tive, and they like to do their own secreting. Why should she
hand it over to anyone else? She could trust her own guardian-
ship, but she could not tell what indirect or political influence
might be brought to bear upon a business man. Besides, remem-
ber that she had resolved to use it within a few days. It must be
where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own
house."
"But it has twice been burgled."
"Pshaw! They did not know how to look."
"But how will you look?"
"I will not look."
"What then?"
"I will get her to show me."
"But she will refuse."
"She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is
hcr carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."
As he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came
round the curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which
rattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of
the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in
the hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another
loafer, who had rushed up with the same intention. A fierce
quarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen,
who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-
grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was
struck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her
carriage, was the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling
men, who struck savagely at each other with their fists and
sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but just
as he reached her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with
the blood running freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen
took to their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other,
while a number of better-dressed people, who had watched the
scuffle without taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady and
to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her,
had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her superb
figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into
the street.
"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.
"He is dead," cried several voices.
"No, no, there's life in him!" shouted another. "But he'll be
gone before you can get him to hospital."
"He's a brave fellow," said a woman. "They would have had
the lady's purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a
gang, and a rough one, too. Ah, he's breathing now."
"He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?"
"Surely. Bring him into the sitting room. There is a comfort-
able sofa. This way, please!"
Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid
out in the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings
from my post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the
blinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay
upon the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with
compunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but I
know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life
than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was
conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited
upon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery
to Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had
intrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket
from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring
her. We are but preventing her from injuring another.
Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like
a man who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw
open the window. At the same instant I saw him raise his hand
and at the signal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of
"Fire!" The word was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole
crowd of spectators, well dressed and ill -- gentlemen, ostlers,
and servant-maids -- joined in a general shriek of "Fire!" Thick
clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the open
window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment
later the voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a
false alarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way
to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find
my friend's arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of
uproar. He walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes
until we had turned down one of the quiet streets which lead
towards the Edgeware Road.
"You did it very nicely, Doctor," he remarked. "Nothing
could have been better. It is all right."
"You have the photograph?"
"I know where it is."
"And how did you find out?"
"She showed me, as I told you she would."
"I am still in the dark."
"I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing. "The
matter was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone
in the street was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the
evening."
"I guessed as much."
"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint
in the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down. clapped my
hand to my face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old
trick."
"That also I could fathom."
"Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in.
What else could she do? And into her sitting-room. which was
the very room which I suspected. It lay between that and her
bedroom, and I was determined to see which. They laid me on a
couch, I motioned for air, they were compelled to open the
window. and you had your chance."
"How did that help you?"
"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is
on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she
values most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have
more than once taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darling-
ton substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in the
Arnsworth Castle business. A married woman grabs at her baby;
an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to
me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more
precious to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to
secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and
shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded
beautifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel
just above the right bell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I
caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I cried out
that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket,
rushed from the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, and,
making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether
to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman
had come in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed
safer to wait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all."
"And now?" I asked.
"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King
to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will
be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady; but it is
probable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the
photograph. It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it
with his own hands."
"And when will you call?"
"At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall
have a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage
may mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire
to the King without delay."
We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He
was searching his pockets for the key when someone passing
said:
"Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes."
There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the
greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who
had hurried by.
"I've heard that voice before," said Holmes, staring down the
dimly lit street. "Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have
been."
I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon
our toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia
rushed into the room.
"You have really got it!" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes
by either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.
"Not yet."
"But you have hopes?"
"I have hopes."
"Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone."
"We must have a cab."
"No, my brougham is waiting."
"Then that will simplify matters." We descended and started
off once more for Briony Lodge.
"Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.
"Married! When?"
"Yesterday."
"But to whom?"
"To an English lawyer named Norton."
"But she could not love him."
"I am in hopes that she does."
"And why in hopes?"
"Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future an-
noyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love your
Majesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason
why she should interfere with your Majesty's plan."
"It is true. And yet Well! I wish she had been of my own
station! What a queen she would have made!" He relapsed into a
moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in
Serpentine Avenue.
The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman
stood upon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we
stepped from the brougham.
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.
"I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, looking at her
with a questioning and rather startled gaze.
"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She
left this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Char-
ing Cross for the Continent."
"What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin
and surprise. "Do you mean that she has left England?"
"Never to return."
"And the papers?" asked the King hoarsely. "All is lost."
"We shall see." He pushed past the servant and rushed into
the drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furni-
ture was scattered about in every direction, with dismantled
shelves and open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked
them before her flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back
a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a
photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler
herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to "Sherlock
Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for." My friend tore it open
and we all three read it together. It was dated at midnight of the
preceding night and ran in this way:
MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:
You really did it very well. You took me in completely.
Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But then,
when I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I
had been warned against you months ago. I had been told
that if the King employed an agent it would certainly be
you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all
this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even
after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of
such a dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have
been trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing
new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it
gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran up-
stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call them, and
came down just as you departed.
Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that
I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr.
Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you
good-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband.
We both thought the best resource was flight, when
pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the
nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph,
your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a
better man than he. The King may do what he will without
hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it
only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which
will always secure me from any steps which he might take
in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to
possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
Very truly yours,
Irene Norton, nee ADLER.
"What a woman -- oh, what a woman!" cried the King of
Bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. "Did I not tell
you how quick and resolute she was? Would she not have made
an admirable queen? Is it not a pity that she was not on my
level?"
"From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on
a very different level to your Majesty," said Holmes coldly. "I
am sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's
business to a more successful conclusion."
"On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothing
could be more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The
photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire."
"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so."
"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I
can reward you. This ring " He slipped an emerald snake ring
from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.
"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more
highly,'' said Holmes.
''You have but to name it."
''This photograph!''
The King stared at him in amazement.
"Irene's photogMph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it.''
"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in
the matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning."
He bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which
the King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for
his chambers.
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the
kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock
Holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry
over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of
late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to
her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the
woman.
==========================
The Adventure of the Second Stain
I had intended "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange" to be the
last of those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which
I should ever communicate to the public. This resolution of mine
was not due to any lack of material, since I have notes of many
hundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor was it
caused by any waning interest on the part of my readers in the
singular personality and unique methods of this remarkable man.
The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes has
shown to the continued publication of his experiences. So long
as he was in actual professional practice the records of his
successes were of some practical value to him, but since he has
definitely retired from London and betaken himself to study and
bee-farming on the Sussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful
to him, and he has peremptorily requested that his wishes in this
matter should be strictly observed. It was only upon my repre-
senting to him that I had given a promise that "The Adventure of
the Second Stain" should be published when the times were
ripe, and pointing out to him that it is only appropriate that this
long series of episodes should culminate in the most important
international case which he has ever been called upon to handle,
that I at last succeeded in obtaining his consent that a carefully
guarded account of the incident should at last be laid before the
public. If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat vague in
certain details, the public will readily understand that there is an
excellent reason for my reticence.
It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be
nameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found
two visitors of European fame within the walls of our humble
room in Baker Street. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed,
and dominant, was none other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger,
twice Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut, and elegant,
hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with every beauty of
body and of mind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope,
Secretary for European Affairs, and the most rising statesman in
the country. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee,
and it was easy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it
was business of the most pressing importance which had brought
them. The Premier's thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly
over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face
looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The European Secretary
pulled nervously at his moustache and fidgeted with the seals of
his watch-chain.
"When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight
o'clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It
was at his suggestion that we have both come to you."
"Have you informed the police?"
"No, sir," said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisive
manner for which he was famous. "We have not done so, nor is
it possible that we should do so. To inform the police must, in
the long run, mean to inform the public. This is what we
particularly desire to avoid."
"And why. sir?"
"Because the document in question is of such immense impor-
tance that its publication might very easily -- I might almost say
probably -- lead to European complications of the utmost mo-
ment. It is not too much to say that peace or war may hang upon
the issue. Unless its recovery can be attended with the utmost
secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered at all, for all that is
aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contents should be
generally known."
"I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much
obliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under
which this document disappeared."
"That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The
letter -- for it was a letter from a foreign potentate -- was received
six days ago. It was of such importance that I have never left it
in my safe, but I have taken it across each evening to my house
in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a locked
despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. I
actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner and saw
the document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-
box had stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night.
I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to
swear that no one could have entered the room during the night.
And yet I repeat that the paper is gone."
"What time did you dine?"
"Half-past seven."
"How long was it before you went to bed?"
"My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was
half-past eleven before we went to our room."
"Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?"
"No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the house-
maid in the morning, and my valet, or my wife's maid, during
the rest of the day. They are both trusty servants who have been
with us for some time. Besides, neither of them could possibly
have known that there was anything more valuable than the
ordinary departmental papers in my despatch-box."
"Who did know of the existence of that letter?"
"No one in the house."
"Surely your wife knew?"
"No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the
paper this morning."
The Premier nodded approvingly.
"I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public
duty," said he. "I am convinced that in the case of a secret of
this importance it would rise superior to the most intimate do-
mestic ties."
The European Secretary bowed.
"You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I
have never breathed one word to my wife upon this matter."
"Could she have guessed?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed -- nor could
anyone have guessed."
"Have you lost any documents before?"
"No, sir."
"Who is there in England who did know of the existence of
this letter?"
"Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday,
but the pledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting
was increased by the solemn warning which was given by the
Prime Minister. Good heavens, to think that within a few hours I
should myself have lost it!" His handsome face was distorted
with a spasm of despair, and his hands tore at his hair. For a
moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man, impulsive,
ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the aristocratic mask was
replaced, and the gentle voice had returned. "Besides the mem-
bers of the Cabinet there are two, or possibly three, departmental
officials who know of the letter. No one else in England, Mr.
Holmes, I assure you."
"But abroad?"
"I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who
wrote it. I am well convinced that his Ministers -- that the usual
official channels have not been employed."
Holmes considered for some little time.
"Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this docu-
ment is, and why its disappearance should have such momentous
consequences?"
The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the Pre-
mier's shaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown.
"Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue
colour. There is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion.
It is addressed in large, bold handwriting to --"
"I fear, sir," said Holmes, "that, interesting and indeed
essential as these details are, my inquiries must go more to the
root of things. What was the letter?"
"That is a State secret of the utmost importance, and I fear
that I cannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the
aid of the powers which you are said to possess you can find
such an envelope as I describe with its enclosure, you will have
deserved well of your country, and earned any reward which it
lies in our power to bestow."
Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile.
"You are two of the most busy men in the country," said he,
"and in my own small way I have also a good many calls upon
me. I regret exceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter,
and any continuation of this interview would be a waste of
time."
The Premier sprang to his feet with that quick, fierce gleam of
his deep-set eyes before which a Cabinet has cowered. "I am not
accustomed, sir," he began, but mastered his anger and resumed
his seat. For a minute or more we all sat in silence. Then the old
statesman shrugged his shoulders.
"We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are
right, and it is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we
give you our entire confidence."
"I agree with you," said the younger statesman.
"Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour and
that of your colleague, Dr. Watson. I may appeal to your patrio-
tism also, for I could not imagine a greater misfortune for the
country than that this affair should come out."
"You may safely trust us."
"The letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who has
been ruffled by some recent Colonial developments of this coun-
try. It has been written hurriedly and upon his own responsibility
entirely. Inquiries have shown that his Ministers know nothing of
the matter. At the same time it is couched in so unfortunate a
manner, and certain phrases in it are of so provocative a charac-
ter, that its publication would undoubtedly lead to a most danger-
ous state of feeling in this country. There would be such a
ferment, sir, that I do not hesitate to say that within a week of
the publication of that letter this country would be involved in a
great war."
Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to the
Premier.
"Exactly. It was he. And it is this letter -- this letter which
may well mean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the
lives of a hundred thousand men -- which has become lost in this
unaccountable fashion."
"Have you informed the sender?"
"Yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been despatched."
"Perhaps he desires the publication of the letter."
"No, sir, we have strong reason to believe that he already
understands that he has acted in an indiscreet and hot-headed
manner. It would be a greater blow to him and to his country
than to us if this letter were to come out."
"If this is so, whose interest is it that the letter should come
out? Why should anyone desire to steal it or to publish it?"
"There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions of high
international politics. But if you consider the European situation
you will have no difficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole
of Europe is an armed camp. There is a double league which
makes a fair balance of military power. Great Britain holds the
scales. If Britain were driven into war with one confederacy, it
would assure the supremacy of the other confederacy, whether
they joined in the war or not. Do you follow?"
"Very clearly. It is then the interest of the enemies of this
potentate to secure and publish this letter, so as to make a breach
between his country and ours?"
"Yes, sir."
"And to whom would this document be sent if it fell into the
hands of an enemy?"
"To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe. It is probably
speeding on its way thither at the present instant as fast as steam
can take it."
Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his chest and groaned
aloud. The Premier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder.
"It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No one can blame
you. There is no precaution which you have neglected. Now,
Mr. Holmes, you are in full possession of the facts. What course
do you recommend?"
Holmes shook his head mournfully.
"You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered there
will be war?"
"I think it is very probable."
"Then, sir, prepare for war."
"That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes."
"Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable that it was taken
after eleven-thirty at night, since I understand that Mr. Hope and
his wife were both in the room from that hour until the loss was
found out. It was taken, then, yesterday evening between seven-
thirty and eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour, since
whoever took it evidently knew that it was there and would
naturally secure it as early as possible. Now, sir, if a document
of this importance were taken at that hour, where can it be now?
No one has any reason to retain it. It has been passed rapidly on
to those who need it. What chance have we now to overtake or
even to trace it? It is beyond our reach."
The Prime Minister rose from the settee.
"What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel that
the matter is indeed out of our hands."
"Let us presume, for argument's sake, that the document was
taken by the maid or by the valet --"
"They are both old and tried servants."
"I understand you to say that your room is on the second
floor, that there is no entrance from without, and that from
within no one could go up unobserved. It must, then, be some-
body in the house who has taken it. To whom would the thief
take it? To one of several international spies and secret agents
whose names are tolerably familiar to me. There are three who
may be said to be the heads of their profession. I will begin my
research by going round and finding if each of them is at his
post. If one is missing -- especially if he has disappeared since
last night -- we will have some indication as to where the docu-
ment has gone."
"Why should he be missing?" asked the European Secretary.
"He would take the letter to an Embassy in London, as likely as
not."
"I fancy not. These agents work independently, and their
relations with the Embassies are often strained."
The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.
"I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so
valuable a prize to headquarters with his own hands. I think that
your course of action is an excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we
cannot neglect all our other duties on account of this one misfor-
tune. Should there be any fresh developments during the day we
shall communicate with you, and you will no doubt let us know
the results of your own inquiries."
The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room.
When our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipe
in silence and sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. I had
opened the morning paper and was immersed in a sensational
crime which had occurred in London the night before, when my
friend gave an exclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his pipe
down upon the mantelpiece.
"Yes," said he, "there is no better way of approaching it.
The situation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we
could be sure which of them has taken it, it is just possible that it
has not yet passed out of his hands. After all, it is a question of
money with these fellows, and I have the British treasury behind
me. If it's on the market I'll buy it -- if it means another penny
on the income-tax. It is conceivable that the fellow might hold it
back to see what bids come from this side before he tries his luck
on the other. There are only those three capable of playing so
bold a game -- there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and Eduardo
Lucas. I will see each of them."
I glanced at my morning paper.
"Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?"
"Yes."
"You will not see him."
"Why not?"
"He was murdered in his house last night."
My friend has so often astonished me in the course of our
adventures that it was with a sense of exultation that I realized
how completely I had astonished him. He stared in amazement,
and then snatched the paper from my hands. This was the
paragraph which I had been engaged in reading when he rose
from his chair.
MURDER IN WESTMINSTER
A crime of mysterious character was committed last night
at 16 Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned and se-
cluded rows of eighteenth century houses which lie between
the river and the Abbey, almost in the shadow of the great
Tower of the Houses of Parliament. This small but select
mansion has been inhabited for some years by Mr. Eduardo
Lucas, well known in society circles both on account of his
charming personality and because he has the well-deserved
reputation of being one of the best amateur tenors in the
country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man, thirty-four years
of age, and his establishment consists of Mrs. Pringle, an
elderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet. The former
retires early and sleeps at the top of the house. The valet
was out for the evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith.
From ten o'clock onward Mr. Lucas had the house to
himself. What occured during that time has not yet tran-
spired, but at a quarter to twelve Police-constable Barrett,
passing along Godolphin Street, observed that the door of
No. 16 was ajar. He knocked, but received no answer.
Perceiving a light in the front room, he advanced into the
passage and again knocked, but without reply. He then
pushed open the door and entered. The room was in a state
of wild disorder, the furniture being all swept to one side,
and one chair lying on its back in the centre. Beside this
chair, and still grasping one of its legs, lay the unfortunate
tenant of the house. He had been stabbed to the heart and
must have died instantly. The knife with which the crime
had been committed was a curved Indian dagger, plucked
down from a trophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of
the walls. Robbery does not appear to have been the motive
of the crime, for there had been no attempt to remove the
valuable contents of the room. Mr. Eduardo Lucas was so
well known and popular that his violent and mysterious fate
will arouse painful interest and intense sympathy in a wide-
spread circle of friends.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of this?" asked Holmes,
after a long pause.
"It is an amazing coincidence."
"A coincidence! Here is one of the three men whom we had
named as possible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent
death during the very hours when we know that that drama was
being enacted. The odds are enormous against its being coinci-
dence. No figures could express them. No, my dear Watson, the
two events are connected -- must be connected. It is for us to find
the connection."
"But now the official police must know all."
"Not at all. They know all they see at Godolphin Street. They
know -- and shall know -- nothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only we
know of both events, and can trace the relation between them.
There is one obvious point which would, in any case, have
turned my suspicions against Lucas. Godolphin Street, Westmin-
ster, is only a few minutes' walk from Whitehall Terrace. The
other secret agents whom I have named live in the extreme West
End. It was easier, therefore, for Lucas than for the others to
establish a connection or receive a message from the European
Secretary's household -- a small thing, and yet where events are
compressed into a few hours it may prove essential. Halloa! what
have we here?"
Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady's card upon her salver.
Holmes glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over to
me.
"Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will be kind enough
to step up," said he.
A moment later our modest apartment, already so distin-
guished that morning, was further honoured by the entrance of
the most lovely woman in London: I had often heard of the
beauty of the youngest daughter of the Duke of Belminster, but
no description of it, and no contemplation of colourless photo-
graphs, had prepared me for the subtle, delicate charm and the
beautiful colouring of that exquisite head. And yet as we saw it
that autumn morning, it was not its beauty which would be the
first thing to impress the observer. The cheek was lovely but it
was paled with emotion, the eyes were bright, but it was the
brightness of fever, the sensitive mouth was tight and drawn in
an effort after self-command. Terror -- not beauty -- was what
sprang first to the eye as our fair visitor stood framed for an
instant in the open door.
"Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?"
"Yes, madam, he has been here."
"Mr. Holmes, I implore you not to tell him that I came
here." Holmes bowed coldly, and motioned the lady to a chair.
"Your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. I beg
that you will sit down and tell me what you desire, but I fear
that I cannot make any unconditional promise."
She swept across the room and seated herself with her back to
the window. It was a queenly presence -- tall, graceful, and
intensely womanly.
"Mr. Holmes," she said -- and her white-gloved hands clasped
and unclasped as she spoke -- "I will speak frankly to you in
the hopes that it may induce you to speak frankly in return.
There is complete confidence between my husband and me on
all matters save one. That one is politics. On this his lips are
sealed. He tells me nothing. Now, I am aware that there was a
most deplorable occurrence in our house last night. I know that
a paper has disappeared. But because the matter is political my
husband refuses to take me into his complete confidence. Now it
is essential -- essential, I say -- that I should thoroughly under-
stand it. You are the only other person, save only these politi-
cians, who knows the true facts. I beg you then, Mr. Holmes, to
tell me exactly what has happened and what it will lead to. Tell
me all, Mr. Holmes. Let no regard for your client's interests
keep you silent, for I assure you that his interests, if he would
only see it, would be best served by taking me into his complete
confidence. What was this paper which was stolen?"
"Madam, what you ask me is really impossible."
She groaned and sank her face in her hands.
"You must see that this is so, madam. If your husband thinks
fit to keep you in the dark over this matter, is it for me, who has
only learned the true facts under the pledge of professional
secrecy, to tell what he has withheld? It is not fair to ask it. It is
him whom you must ask."
"I have asked him. I come to you as a last resource. But
without your telling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you may
do a great service if you would enlighten me on one point."
"What is it, madam?"
"Is my husband's political career likely to suffer through this
incident?"
"Well, madam, unless it is set right it may certainly have a
very unfonunate effect."
"Ah!" She drew in her breath sharply as one whose doubts
are resolved.
"One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression which
my husband dropped in the first shock of this disaster I under-
stood that terrible public consequences might arise from the loss
of this document."
"If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it."
"Of what nature are they?"
"Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than I can
possibly answer."
"Then I will take up no more of your time. I cannot blame
you, Mr. Holmes, for having refused to speak more freely, and
you on your side will not, I am sure, think the worse of me
because I desire, even against his will, to share my husband's
anxieties. Once more I beg that you will say nothing of my
visit.
She looked back at us from the door, and I had a last impres-
sion of that beautiful haunted face, the startled eyes, and the
drawn mouth. Then she was gone.
"Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department," said Holmes
with a smile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in
the slam of the front door. "What was the fair lady's game?
What did she really want?"
"Surely her own statement is clear and her anxiety very
natural. "
"Hum! Think of her appearance, Watson -- her manner, her
suppressed excitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in asking
queshons. Remember that she comes of a caste who do not
lightly show emotion."
"She was certainly much moved."
"Remember also the curious earnestness with which she as-
sured us that it was best for her husband that she should know
all. What did she mean by that? And you must have observed,
Watson, how she manoeuvred to have the light at her back. She
did not wish us to read her expression."
"Yes, she chose the one chair in the room."
"And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable. You
remember the woman at Margate whom I suspected for the same
reason. No powder on her nose -- that proved to be the correct
solution. How can you build on such a quicksand? Their most
trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary
conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling tongs. Good-
morning, Watson."
"You are off?"
"Yes, I will while away the morning at Godolphin Street with
our friends of the regular establishment. With Eduardo Lucas lies
the solution of our problem, though I must admit that I have not
an inkling as to what form it may take. It is a capital mistake to
theorize in advance of the facts. Do you stay on guard, my good
Watson, and receive any fresh visitors. I'll join you at lunch if I
am able."
All that day and the next and the next Holmes was in a mood
which his friends would call taciturn, and others morose. He ran
out and ran in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his
violin, sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches at irregular hours,
and hardly answered the casual questions which I put to him. It
was evident to me that things were not going well with him or
his quest. He would say nothing of the case, and it was from the
papers that I learned the particulars of the inquest, and the arrest
with the subsequent release of John Mitton, the valet of the
deceased. The coroner's jury brought in the obvious Wilful
Murder, but the parties remained as unknown as ever. No motive
was suggested. The room was full of articles of value, but none
had been taken. The dead man's papers had not been tampered
with. They were carefully examined, and showed that he was a
keen student of international politics, an indefatigable gossip, a
remarkable linguist, and an untiring letter writer. He had been on
intimate terms with the leading politicians of several countries.
But nothing sensational was discovered among the documents
which filled his drawers. As to his relations with women, they
appeared to have been promiscuous but superficial. He had many
acquaintances among them, but few friends, and no one whom
he loved. His habits were regular, his conduct inoffensive. His
death was an absolute mystery and likely to remain so.
As to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet, it was a council of
despair as an alternative to absolute inaction. But no case could
be sustained against him. He had visited friends in Hammersmith
that night. The alibi was complete. It is true that he started home
at an hour which should have brought him to Westminster before
the time when the crime was discovered, but his own explanation
that he had walked part of the way seemed probable enough in
view of the fineness of the night. He had actually arrived at
twelve o'clock, and appeared to be overwhelmed by the unex-
pected tragedy. He had always been on good terms with his
master. Several of the dead man's possessions -- notably a small
case of razors -- had been found in the valet's boxes, but he
explained that they had been presents from the deceased, and the
housekeeper was able to corroborate the story. Mitton had been
in Lucas's employment for three years. It was noticeable that
Lucas did not take Mitton on the Continent with him. Sometimes
he visited Paris for three months on end, but Mitton was left in
charge of the Godolphin Street house. As to the housekeeper,
she had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her master
had a visitor he had himself admitted him.
So for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as I could
follow it in the papers. If Holmes knew more, he kept his own
counsel, but, as he told me that Inspector Lestrade had taken him
into his confidence in the case, I knew that he was in close touch
with every development. Upon the fourth day there appeared a
long telegram from Paris which seemed to solve the whole
question.
A discovery has just been made by the Parisian police
[said the Daily Telegraph] which raises the veil which hung
round the tragic fate of Mr. Eduardo Lucas, who met his
death by violence last Monday night at Godolphin Street,
Westminster. Our readers will remember that the deceased
gentleman was found stabbed in his room, and that some
suspicion attached to his valet, but that the case broke down
on an alibi. Yesterday a lady, who has been known as
Mme. Henri Fournaye, occupying a small villa in the Rue
Austerlitz, was reported to the authorities by her servants as
being insane. An examination showed she had indeed de-
veloped mania of a dangerous and permanent form. On
inquiry, the police have discovered that Mme. Henri Fournaye
only returned from a journey to London on Tuesday last,
and there is evidence to connect her with the crime at
Westminster. A comparison of photographs has proved
conclusively that M. Henri Fournaye and Eduardo Lucas
were really one and the same person, and that the deceased
had for some reason lived a double life in London and
Paris. Mme. Fournaye, who is of Creole origin, is of an
extremely excitable nature, and has suffered in the past
from attacks of jealousy which have amounted to frenzy. It
is conjectured that it was in one of these that she committed
the terrible crime which has caused such a sensation in
London. Her movements upon the Monday night have not
yet been traced, but it is undoubted that a woman answering
to her description attracted much attention at Charing Cross
Station on Tuesday morning by the wildness of her appear-
ance and the violence or her gestures. It is probable, there-
fore, that the crime was either committed when insane, or
that its immediate effect was to drive the unhappy woman
out of her mind. At present she is unable to give any
coherent account of the past, and the doctors hold out no
hopes of the reestablishment of her reason. There is evi-
dence that a woman, who might have been Mme. Fournaye,
was seen for some hours upon Monday night watching the
house in Godolphin Street.
"What do you think of that, Holmes?" I had read the account
aloud to him, while he finished his breakfast.
"My dear Watson," said he, as he rose from the table and
paced up and down the room, "you are most long-suffering, but
if I have told you nothing in the last three days, it is because
there is nothing to tell. Even now this report from Paris does not
help us much."
"Surely it is final as regards the man's death."
"The man's death is a mere incident -- a trivial episode -- in
comparison with our real task, which is to trace this document
and save a European catastrophe. Only one important thing has
happened in the last three days, and that is that nothing has
happened. I get reports almost hourly from the government, and
it is certain that nowhere in Europe is there any sign of trouble.
Now, if this letter were loose -- no, it can't be loose -- but if it
isn't loose, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it held back?
That's the question that beats in my brain like a hammer. Was it
indeed, a coincidence that Lucas should meet his death on the
night when the letter disappeared? Did the letter ever reach him?
If so, why is it not among his papers? Did this mad wife of his
carry it off with her? If so, is it in her house in Paris? How could
I search for it without the French police having their suspicions
aroused? It is a case, my dear Watson, where the law is as
dangerous to us as the criminals are. Every man's hand is against
us, and yet the interests at stake are colossal. Should I bring it to
a successful conclusion, it will certainly represent the crowning
glory of my career. Ah, here is my latest from the front!" He
glanced hurriedly at the note which had been handed in. "Hal-
loa! Lestrade seems to have observed something of interest. Put
on your hat, Watson, and we will stroll down together to
Westminster."
It was my first visit to the scene of the crime -- a high, dingy,
narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like the century
which gave it birth. Lestrade's bulldog features gazed out at us
from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when a big
constable had opened the door and let us in. The room into
which we were shown was that in which the crime had been
committed, but no trace of it now remained save an ugly,
irregular stain upon the carpet. This carpet was a small square
drugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse
of beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square blocks, highly
polished. Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weap-
ons, one of which had been used on that tragic night. In the
window was a sumptuous writing-desk, and every detail of the
apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and the hangings, all pointed to
a taste which was luxurious to the verge of effeminacy.
"Seen the Paris news?" asked Lestrade.
Holmes nodded.
"Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time.
No doubt it's just as they say. She knocked at the door -- surprise
visit, I guess, for he kept his life in water-tight compartments -- he
let her in, couldn't keep her in the street. She told him how she
had traced him, reproached him. One thing led to another, and
then with that dagger so handy the end soon came. It wasn't all
done in an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept over
yonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold her
off with it. We've got it all clear as if we had seen it."
Holmes raised his eyebrows.
"And yet you have sent for me?"
"Ah, yes, that's another matter -- a mere trifle, but the sort of
thing you take an interest in -- queer, you know, and what you
might call freakish. It has nothing to do with the main fact --
can't have, on the face of it."
"What is it, then?"
"Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very
careful to keep things in their position. Nothing has been moved.
Officer in charge here day and night. This morning, as the man
was buried and the investigation over -- so far as this room is
concerned -- we thought we could tidy up a bit. This carpet. You
see, it is not fastened down, only just laid there. We had
occasion to raise it. We found --"
"Yes? You found -- "
Holmes's face grew tense with anxiety.
"Well, I'm sure you would never guess in a hundred years
what we did find. You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a great
deal must have soaked through, must it not?"
"Undoubtedly it must."
"Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain on
the white woodwork to correspond."
"No stain! But there must --"
"Yes, so you would say. But the fact remains that there
isn't."
He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it
over, he showed that it was indeed as he said.
"But the under side is as stained as the upper. It must have
left a mark."
Lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famous
expert.
"Now, I'll show you the explanation. There is a second stain,
but it does not correspond with the other. See for yourself." As
he spoke he turned over another portion of the carpet, and there,
sure enough, was a great crimson spill upon the square white
facing of the old-fashioned floor. "What do you make of that,
Mr. Holmes?"
"Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did correspond,
but the carpet has been turned round. As it was square and
unfastened it was easily done."
"The official police don't need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell them
that the carpet must have been turned round. That's clear enough,
for the stains lie above each other -- if you lay it over this way.
But what I want to know is, who shifted the carpet, and why?"
I could see from Holmes's rigid face that he was vibrating
with inward excitement.
"Look here, Lestrade," said he, "has that constable in the
passage been in charge of the place all the time?"
"Yes, he has."
"Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don't do it
before us. We'll wait here. You take him into the back room.
You'll be more likely to get a confession out of him alone. Ask
him how he dared to admit people and leave them alone in this
room. Don't ask him if he has done it. Take it for granted. Tell
him you know someone has been here. Press him. Tell him that a
full confession is his only chance of forgiveness. Do exactly
what I tell you!"
"By George, if he knows I'll have it out of him!" cried
Lestrade. He darted into the hall, and a few moments later his
bullying voice sounded from the back room.
"Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes with frenzied eagerness.
All the demoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless
manner burst out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget
from the floor, and in an instant was down on his hands and
knees clawing at each of the squares of wood beneath it. One
turned sideways as he dug his nails into the edge of it. It hinged
back like the lid of a box. A small black cavity opened beneath
it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into it and drew it out with a
bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It was empty.
"Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!" The wooden lid
was replaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straight
when Lestrade's voice was heard in the passage. He found
Holmes leaning languidly against the mantelpiece, resigned and
patient, endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible yawns.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I can see that you
are bored to death with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed,
all right. Come in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear
of your most inexcusable conduct."
The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room.
"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure. The young woman came to
the door last evening -- mistook the house, she did. And then we
got talking. It's lonesome, when you're on duty here all day."
"Well, what happened then?"
"She wanted to see where the crime was done -- had read
about it in the papers, she said. She was a very respectable,
well-spoken young woman, sir, and I saw no harm in letting her
have a peep. When she saw that mark on the carpet. down she
dropped on the floor, and lay as if she were dead. I ran to the
back and got some water, but I could not bring her to. Then I
went round the corner to the Ivy Plant for some brandy, and by
the time I had brought it back the young woman had recovered
and was off -- ashamed of herself, I daresay, and dared not face
me."
"How about moving that drugget?"
"Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly, when I came back.
You see, she fell on it and it lies on a polished floor with nothing
to keep it in place. I straightened it out afterwards."
"It's a lesson to you that you can't deceive me, Constable
MacPherson," said Lestrade, with dignity. "No doubt you thought
that your breach of duty could never be discovered, and yet a
mere glance at that drugget was enough to convince me that
someone had been admitted to the room. It's lucky for you my
man, that nothing is missing, or you would find yourseif in
Queer Street. I'm sorry to have called you down over such a
petty business, Mr. Holmes, but I thought the point of the
second stain not corresponding with the first would interest
you."
"Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this woman only been
here once, constable?"
"Yes, sir, only once."
"Who was she?"
"Don't know the name, sir. Was answering an advertisement
about typewriting and came to the wrong number -- very pleas-
ant, genteel young woman, sir."
"Tall? Handsome?"
"Yes, sir, she was a well-grown young woman. I suppose you
might say she was handsome. Perhaps some would say she was
very handsome. 'Oh, officer, do let me have a peep!' says she.
She had pretty, coaxing ways, as you might say, and I thought
there was no harm in letting her just put her head through the
door.
"How was she dressed?"
"Quiet, sir -- a long mantle down to her feet."
"What time was it?"
"It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting the
lamps as I came back with the brandy."
"Very good," said Holmes. "Come, Watson, I think that we
have more important work elsewhere."
As we left the house Lestrade remained in the front room
while the repentant constable opened the door to let us out.
Holmes turned on the step and held up something in his hand.
The constable stared intently.
"Good Lord, sir!" he cried, with amazement on his face.
Holmes put his finger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast
pocket, and burst out laughing as we turned down the street.
"Excellent!" said he. "Come, friend Watson, the curtain rings
up for the last act. You will be relieved to hear that there will be
no war, that the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope will suffer
no setback in his brilliant career, that the indiscreet Sovereign
will receive no punishment for his indiscretion, that the Prime
Minister will have no European complication to deal with, and
that with a little tact and management upon our part nobody will
be a penny the worse for what might have been a very ugly
incident."
My mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary man.
"You have solved it!" I cried.
"Hardly that, Watson. There are some points which are as
dark as ever. But we have so much that it will be our own fault if
we cannot get the rest. We wiil go straight to Whitehall Terrace
and bring the matter to a head."
When we arrived at the residence of the European Secretary it
was for Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes in-
quired. We were shown into the morning-room.
"Mr. Holmes!" said the lady, and her face was pink with her
indignation. "This is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon
your part. I desired, as I have explained, to keep my visit to you
a secret, lest my husband should think that I was intruding into
his affairs. And yet you compromise me by coming here and so
showing that there are business relations between us."
"Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible alternative. I have
been commissioned to recover this immensely important paper. I
must therefore ask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in
my hands."
The lady sprang to her feet, with the colour all dashed in an
instant from her beautiful face. Her eyes glazed -- she tottered -- I
thought that she would faint. Then with a grand effort she rallied
from the shock, and a supreme astonishment and indignation
chased every other expression from her features.
"You -- you insult me, Mr. Holmes."
"Come, come, madam, it is useless. Give up the letter."
She darted to the bell.
"The butler shall show you out."
"Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all my earnest
efforts to avoid a scandal will be frustrated. Give up the letter
and all will be set right. If you will work with me I can arrange
everything. If you work against me I must expose you."
She stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure, her eyes fixed
upon his as if she would read his very soul. Her hand was on the
bell, but she had forborne to ring it.
"You are trying to frighten me. It is not a very manly thing,
Mr. Holmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. You say that
you know something. What is it that you know?"
"Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself there if you
fall. I will not speak until you sit down. Thank you."
"I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes."
"One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your visit to Eduardo
Lucas, of your giving him this document, of your ingenious
return to the room last night, and of the manner in which you
took the letter from the hiding-place under the carpet."
She stared at him with an ashen face and gulped twice before
she could speak.
"You are mad, Mr. Holmes -- you are mad!" she cried, at
last.
He drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. It was
the face of a woman cut out of a portrait.
"I have carried this because I thought it might be useful,"
said he. "The policeman has recognized it."
She gave a gasp, and her head dropped back in the chair.
"Come, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. The matter may still
be adjusted. I have no desire to bring trouble to you. My duty
ends when I have returned the lost letter to your husband. Take
my advice and be frank with me. It is your only chance."
Her courage was admirable. Even now she would not own
defeat.
"I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are under some
absurd illusion."
Holmes rose from his chair.
"I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done my best for
you. I can see that it is all in vain."
He rang the bell. The butler entered.
"Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?"
"He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one."
Holmes glanced at his watch.
"Still a quarter of an hour," said he. "Very good, I shall
wait."
The butler had hardly closed the door behind him when Lady
Hilda was down on her knees at Holmes's feet, her hands
outstretched, her beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears.
"Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!" she pleaded, in a
frenzy of supplication. "For heaven's sake, don't tell him! I love
him so! I would not bring one shadow on his life, and this I
know would break his noble heart."
Holmes raised the lady. "I am thankful, madam, that you
have come to your senses even at this last moment! There is not
an instant to lose. Where is the letter?"
She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out
a long blue envelope.
"Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to heaven I had never seen
it!"
"How can we return it?" Holmes muttered. "Quick, quick,
we must think of some way! Where is the despatch-box?"
"Still in his bedroom."
"What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here!"
A moment later she had appeared with a red flat box in her
hand.
"How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes,
of course you have. Open it!"
From out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn a small key.
The box flew open. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes thrust the
blue envelope deep down into the heart of them, between the
leaves of some other document. The box was shut, locked, and
returned to the bedroom.
"Now we are ready for him," said Holmes. "We have still
ten minutes. I am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda. In return
you will spend the time in telling me frankly the real meaning of
this extraordinary affair."
"Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything," cried the lady. "Oh,
Mr. Holmes, I would cut off my right hand before I gave him a
moment of sorrow! There is no woman in all London who loves
her husband as I do, and yet if he knew how I have acted -- how I
have been compelled to act -- he would never forgive me. For his
own honour stands so high that he could not forget or pardon a
lapse in another. Help me, Mr. Holmes! My happiness, his
happiness, our very lives are at stake!"
"Quick, madam, the time grows short!"
"It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet letter
written before my marriage -- a foolish letter, a letter of an
impulsive, loving girl. I meant no harm, and yet he would have
thought it criminal. Had he read that letter his confidence would
have been forever destroyed. It is years since I wrote it. I had
thought that the whole matter was forgotten. Then at last I heard
from this man, Lucas, that it had passed into his hands, and that
he would lay it before my husband. I implored his mercy. He
said that he would return my letter if I would bring him a certain
document which he described in my husband's despatch-box. He
had some spy in the office who had told him of its existence. He
assured me that no harm could come to my husband. Put your-
self in my position, Mr. Holmes! What was I to do?"
"Take your husband into your confidence."
"I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the one side
seemed certain ruin, on the other, terrible as it seemed to take
my husband's paper, still in a matter of politics I could not
understand the consequences, while in a matter of love and trust
they were only too clear to me. I did it, Mr. Holmes! I took an
impression of his key. This man, Lucas, furnished a duplicate. I
opened his despatch-box, took the paper, and conveyed it to
Godolphin Street."
"What happened there, madam?"
"I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed
him into his room, leaving the hall door ajar behind me, for I
feared to be alone with the man. I remember that there was a
woman outside as I entered. Our business was soon done. He
had my letter on his desk, I handed him the document. He gave
me the letter. At this instant there was a sound at the door. There
were steps in the passage. Lucas quickly turned back the drug-
get, thrust the document into some hiding-place there, and cov-
ered it over.
"What happened after that is like some fearful dream. I have a
vision of a dark, frantic face, of a woman's voice, which screamed
in French, 'My waiting is not in vain. At last, at last I have
found you with her!' There was a savage struggle. I saw him
with a chair in his hand, a knife gleamed in hers. I rushed from
the horrible scene, ran from the house, and only next morning in
the paper did I learn the dreadful result. That night I was happy,
for I had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the future would
bring.
"It was the next morning that I realized that I had only
exchanged one trouble for another. My husband's anguish at the
loss of his paper went to my heart. I could hardly prevent myself
from there and then kneeling down at his feet and telling him
what I had done. But that again would mean a confession of the
past. I came to you that morning in order to understand the full
enormity of my offence. From the instant that I grasped it my
whole mind was turned to the one thought of getting back my
husband's paper. It must still be where Lucas had placed it, for it
was concealed before this dreadful woman entered the room. If it
had not been for her coming, I should not have known where his
hiding-place was. How was I to get into the room? For two days
I watched the place, but the door was never left open. Last night
I made a last attempt. What I did and how I succeeded, you have
already learned. I brought the paper back with me, and thought
of destroying it, since I could see no way of returning it without
confessing my guilt to my husband. Heavens, I hear his step
upon the stair!"
The European Secretary burst excitedly into the room.
"Any news, Mr. Holmes, any news?" he cried.
"I have some hopes."
"Ah, thank heaven!" His face became radiant. "The Prime
Minister is lunching with me. May he share your hopes? He has
nerves of steel, and yet I know that he has hardly slept since this
terrible event. Jacobs, will you ask the Prime Minister to come
up? As to you, dear, I fear that this is a matter of politics. We
will join you in a few minutes in the dining-room."
The Prime Minister's manner was subdued, but I could see by
the gleam of his eyes and the twitchings of his bony hands that
he shared the excitement of his young colleague.
"I understand that you have something to report, Mr. Holmes?"
"Purely negative as yet," my friend answered. "I have in-
quired at every point where it might be, and I am sure that there
is no danger to be apprehended."
"But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot live forever
on such a volcano. We must have something definite."
"I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I am here. The more
I think of the matter the more convinced I am that the letter has
never left this house."
"Mr. Holmes!"
"If it had it would certainly have been public by now."
"But why should anyone take it in order to keep it in his
house?"
"I am not convinced that anyone did take it."
"Then how could it leave the despatch-box?"
"I am not convinced that it ever did leave the despatch-box."
"Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed. You have my
assurance that it left the box."
"Have you examined the box since Tuesday morning?"
"No. It was not necessary."
"You may conceivably have overlooked it."
"Impossible, I say."
"But I am not convinced of it. I have known such things to
happen. I presume there are other papers there. Well, it may
have got mixed with them."
"It was on the top."
"Someone may have shaken the box and displaced it."
"No, no, I had everything out."
"Surely it is easily decided, Hope," said the Premier. "Let us
have the despatch-box brought in."
The Secretary rang the bell.
"Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is a farcical
waste of time, but still, if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall
be done. Thank you, Jacobs, put it here. I have always had the
key on my watch-chain. Here are the papers, you see. Letter
from Lord Merrow, report from Sir Charles Hardy, memoran-
dum from Belgrade, note on the Russo-German grain taxes,
letter from Madrid, note from Lord Flowers -- Good heavens!
what is this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!"
The Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand.
"Yes, it is it -- and the letter is intact. Hope, I congratulate
you."
"Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my heart. But
this is inconceivable -- impossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wiz-
ard, a sorcerer! How did you know it was there?"
"Because I knew it was nowhere else."
"I cannot believe my eyes!" He ran wildly to the door.
"Where is my wife? I must tell her that all is well. Hilda!
Hilda!" we heard his voice on the stairs.
The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling eyes.
"Come, sir," said he. "There is more in this than meets the
eye. How came the letter back in the box?"
Holmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny of those
wonderful eyes.
"We also have our diplomatic secrets," said he and, picking
up his hat, he turned to the door.
============================
Silver Blaze
"I am afraid, Watson that I shall have to go," said Holmes as
we sat down together to our breakfast one morning.
"Go! Where to?"
"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had
not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was
the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of
England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the
room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charg-
ing and recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and
absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions
of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be
glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he
was, I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was
brooding. There was but one problem before the public which
could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular
disappearance of the favourite for the Wessex Cup, and the
tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly an-
nounced his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama, it
was only what I had both expected and hoped for.
"I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not
be in the way," said I.
"My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me
by coming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for
there are points about the case which promise to make it an
absolutely unique one. We have, I think, just time to catch our
train at Paddington, and I will go further into the matter upon our
journey. You would oblige me by bringing with you your very
excellent field-glass."
And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in
the corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for
Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed
in his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle
of fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had
left Reading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them
under the seat and offered me his cigar-case.
"We are going well," said he, looking out of the window and
glancing at his watch. "Our rate at present is fifty-three and a
half miles an hour."
"I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I.
"Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty
yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that
you have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker
and the disappearance of Silver Blaze?"
"I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to
say."
"It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should
be used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of
fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so com-
plete, and of such personal importance to so many people that
we are suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and
hypothesis. The difficulty is to detach the framework of fact -- of
absolute undeniable fact -- from the embellishments of theorists
and reporters. Then, having established ourselves upon this sound
basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and
what are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns.
On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel
Ross, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who
is looking after the case, inviting my cooperation."
"Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday
morning. Why didn't you go down yesterday?"
"Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson -- which is, I am
afraid, a more common occurrence than anyone would think
who only knew me through your memoirs. The fact is that I
could not believe it possible that the most remarkable horse in
England could long remain concealed, especially in so sparsely
inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to hour
yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and that his
abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however,
another morning had come and I found that beyond the arrest of
young Fitzroy Simpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was
time for me to take action. Yet in some ways I feel that yester-
day has not been wasted."
"You have formed a theory, then?"
"At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I
shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so
much as stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect
your cooperation if I do not show you the position from which
we start."
I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while
Holmes, leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking
off the points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of
the events which had led to our journey.
"Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy stock and
holds as brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in
his fifth year and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the
turf to Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner. Up to the time of the
catastrophe he was the first favourite for the Wessex Cup, the
betting being three to one on him. He has always, however, been
a prime favourite with the racing public and has never yet
disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of
money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that
there were many people who had the strongest interest in pre-
venting Silver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next
Tuesday.
"The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland, where
the colonel's training-stable is situated. Every precaution was
taken to guard the favourite. The trainer, John Straker, is a
retired jockey who rode in Colonel Ross's colours before he
became too heavy for the weighing-chair. He has served the
colonel for five years as jockey and for seven as trainer, and has
always shown himself to be a zealous and honest servant. Under
him were three lads, for the establishment was a small one,
containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up each
night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three
bore excellent characters. John Straker, who is a married man
lived in a small villa about two hundred yards from the stables.
He has no children, keeps one maidservant, and is comfortably
off. The country round is very lonely, but about half a mile to
the north there is a small cluster of villas which have been built
by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others who
may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies
two miles to the west, while across the moor, also about two
miles distant, is the larger training establishment of Mapleton,
which belongs to Lord Backwater and is managed by Silas
Brown. In every other direction the moor is a complete wilder-
ness, inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. Such was the
general situation last Monday night when the catastrophe occurred.
"On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered
as usual, and the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. Two of
the lads walked up to the trainer's house, where they had supper
in the kitchen, while the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard.
At a few minutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down
to the stables his supper, which consisted of a dish of curried
mutton. She took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the
stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty should drink
nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was very
dark and the path ran across the open moor.
"Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables when a
man appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As
she stepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern
she saw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in
a gray suit of tweeds, with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters and
carried a heavy stick with a knob to it. She was most impressed,
however, by the extreme pallor of his face and by the nervous-
ness of his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather over
thirty than under it.
" 'Can you tell me where I am?' he asked. 'I had almost
made up my mind to sleep on the moor when I saw the light of
your lantern.'
" 'You are close to the King's Pyland training stables,' said
she.
" 'Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!' he cried. 'I understand
that a stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is
his supper which you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that
you would not be too proud to earn the price of a new dress,
would you?' He took a piece of white paper folded up out of his
waistcoat pocket. 'See that the boy has this to-night, and you
shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy.'
"She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner and ran
past him to the window through which she was accustomed to
hand the meals. It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at
the small table inside. She had begun to tell him of what had
happened when the stranger came up again.
" 'Good-evening,' said he, looking through the window. 'I
wanted to have a word with you.' The girl has sworn that as he
spoke she noticed the corner of the little paper packet protruding
from his closed hand.
" 'What business have you here?' asked the lad.
" 'It's business that may put something into your pocket.'
said the other. 'You've two horses in for the Wessex Cup --
Silver Blaze and Bayard. Let me have the straight tip and you
won't be a loser. Is it a fact that at the weights Bayard could give
the other a hundred yards in five furlongs, and that the stable
have put their money on him?'
" 'So, you're one of those damned touts!' cried the lad. 'I'll
show you how we serve them in King's Pyland.' He sprang up
and rushed across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled
away to the house, but as she ran she looked back and saw that
the stranger was leaning through the window. A minute later,
however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound he was gone,
and though he ran all round the buildings he failed to find any
trace of him."
"One moment," I asked. "Did the stable-boy, when he ran
out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?"
"Excellent, Watson, excellent!" murmured my companion.
"The importance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a
special wire to Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The
boy locked the door before he left it. The window, I may add,
was not large enough for a man to get through.
"Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he
sent a message to the trainer and told him what had occurred.
Straker was excited at hearing the account, although he does not
seem to have quite realized its true significance. It left him,
however, vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in
the morning, found that he was dressing. In reply to her inquir-
ies, he said that he could not sleep on account of his anxiety
about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the
stables to see that all was well. She begged him to remain at
home, as she could hear the rain pattering against the window,
but in spite of her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh
and left the house.
"Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning to find that her
husband had not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called
the maid, and set off for the stables. The door was open; inside,
huddled together upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of
absolute stupor, the favourite's stall was empty, and there were
no signs of his trainer.
"The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the
harness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing
during the night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was
obviously under the influence of some powerful drug, and as no
sense could be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while
the two lads and the two women ran out in search of the
absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for some
reason taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending
the knoll near the house, from which all the neighbouring moors
were visible, they not only could see no signs of the missing
favourite, but they perceived something which warned them that
they were in the presence of a tragedy.
"About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker's
overcoat was flapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond
there was a bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the
bottom of this was found the dead body of the unfortunate
trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage blow from some
heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where there
was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp
instrument. It was clear, however, that Straker had defended
himself vigorously against his assailants, for in his right hand he
held a small knife, which was clotted with blood up to the
handle, while in his left he clasped a red and black silk cravat,
which was recognized by the maid as having been worn on the
preceding evening by the stranger who had visited the stables.
Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as
to the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the
same stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his
curried mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchman.
As to the missing horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud
which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that he had been there
at the time of the struggle. But from that morning he has
disappeared, and although a large reward has been offered, and
all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news has come of
him. Finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of his
supper left by the stable-lad contained an appreciable quantity of
powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the
same dish on the same night without any ill effect.
"Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise,
and stated as baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the
police have done in the matter.
"Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is
an extremely competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagi-
nation he might rise to great heights in his profession. On his
arrival he promptly found and arrested the man upon whom
suspicion naturally rested. There was little difficulty in finding
him, for he inhabited one of those villas which I have men-
tioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson. He was a
man of excellent birth and education, who had squandered a
fortune upon the turf. and who lived now by doing a little quiet
and genteel book-making in the sporting clubs of London. An
examination of his betting-book shows that bets to the amount of
five thousand pounds had been registered by him against the
favourite. On being arrested he volunteered the statement that he
had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of getting some informa-
tion about the King's Pyland horses, and also about Desborough,
the second favourite, which was in charge of Silas Brown at the
Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted as
described upon the evening before, but declared that he had no
sinister designs and had simply wished to obtain first-hand infor-
mation. When confronted with his cravat he turned very pale and
was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand of the
murdered man. His wet clothing showed that he had been out in
the storm of the night before, and his stick, which was a penang-
lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon as might, by
repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to which the
trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no wound
upon his person, while the state of Straker's knife would show
that one at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him.
There you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give
me any light I shall be infinitely obliged to you."
I had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which
Holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Though
most of the facts were familiar to me, I had not sufficiently
appreciated their relative importance, nor their connection to
each other.
"Is it not possible," I suggested, "that the incised wound
upon Straker may have been caused by his own knife in the
convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury?"
"It is more than possible; it is probable," said Holmes. "In
that case one of the main points in favour of the accused
disappears."
"And yet," said I, "even now I fail to understand what the
theory of the police can be."
"I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave
objections to it," returned my companion. "The police imagine,
I take it, that this Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and
having in some way obtained a duplicate key, opened the stable
door and took out the horse, with the intention, apparently, of
kidnapping him altogether. His bridle is missing, so that Simp-
son must have put this on. Then, having left the door open
behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor when
he was either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally
ensued. Simpson beat out the trainer's brains with his heavy
stick without receiving any injury from the small knife which
Straker used in self-defence, and then the thief either led the
horse on to some secret hiding-place, or else it may have bolted
during the struggle, and be now wandering out on the moors.
That is the case as it appears to the police, and improbable as it
is, all other explanations are more improbable still. However, I
shall very quickly test the matter when I am once upon the spot,
and until then I cannot really see how we can get much further
than our present position."
It was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock,
which lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge
circle of Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the
station -- the one a tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard and
curiously penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small, alert
person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, with
trim little side-whiskers and an eyeglass. The latter was Colonel
Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory; a
man who was rapidly making his name in the English detective
service.
"I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes,"
said the colonel. "The inspector here has done all that could
possibly be suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in
trying to avenge poor Straker and in recovering my horse."
"Have there been any fresh developments?" asked Holmes.
"I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress,"
said the inspector. "We have an open carriage outside, and as
you would no doubt like to see the place before the light fails,
we might talk it over as we drive."
A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau and
were rattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector
Gregory was full of his case and poured out a stream of remarks,
while Holmes threw in an occasional question or interjection.
Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tilted
over his eyes, while I listened with interest to the dialogue of the
two detectives. Gregory was formulating his theory, which was
almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the train.
"The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson," he
remarked, "and I believe myself that he is our man. At the same
time I recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and
that some new development may upset it."
"How about Straker's knife?"
"We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded
himself in his fall."
"My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we
came down. If so, it would tell against this man Simpson."
"Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a
wound. The evidence against him is certainly very strong. He
had a great interest in the disappearance of the favourite. He lies
under suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy; he was un-
doubtedly out in the storm; he was armed with a heavy stick, and
his cravat was found in the dead man's hand. I really think we
have enough to go before a jury."
Holmes shook his head. "A clever counsel would tear it all to
rags," said he. "Why should he take the horse out of the stable?
If he wished to injure it, why could he not do it there? Has a
duplicate key been found in his possession? What chemist sold
him the powdered opium? Above all, where could he, a stranger
to the district, hide a horse, and such a horse as this? What is his
own explanation as to the paper which he wished the maid to
give to the stable-boy?"
"He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his
purse. But your other difficulties are not so formidable as they
seem. He is not a stranger to the district. He has twice lodged at
Tavistock in the summer. The opium was probably brought from
London. The key, having served its purpose, would be hurled
away. The horse may be at the bottom of one of the pits or old
mines upon the moor."
"What does he say about the cravat?"
"He acknowledges that it is his and declares that he had lost
it. But a new element has been introduced into the case which
may account for his leading the horse from the stable."
Holmes pricked up his ears.
"We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies
encamped on Monday night within a mile of the spot where the
murder took place. On Tuesday they were gone. Now, presum-
ing that there was some understanding between Simpson and
these gypsies, might he not have been leading the horse to them
when he was overtaken, and may they not have him now?"
"It is certainly possible."
"The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also
examined every stable and outhouse in Tavistock, and for a
radius of ten miles."
"There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?"
"Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not ne-
glect. As Desborough, their horse, was second in the betting,
they had an interest in the disappearance of the favourite. Silas
Brown, the trainer, is known to have had large bets upon the
event, and he was no friend to poor Straker. We have, however,
examined the stables, and there is nothing to connect him with
the affair."
"And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests
of the Mapleton stables?"
"Nothing at all."
Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation
ceased. A few minutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little
red-brick villa with overhanging eaves which stood by the road.
Some distance off, across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled
outbuilding. In every other direction the low curves of the moor,
bronze-coloured from the fading ferns, stretched away to the
sky-line, broken only by the steeples of Tavistock, and by a
cluster of houses away to the westward which marked the Mapleton
stables. We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who
continued to lean back with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front
of him, entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. It was only when
I touched his arm that he roused himself with a violent start and
stepped out of the carriage.
"Excuse me," said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had
looked at him in some surprise. "I was day-dreaming." There
was a gleam in his eyes and a suppressed excitement in his
manner which convinced me, used as I was to his ways, that his
hand was upon a clue, though I could not imagine where he had
found it.
"Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the
crime, Mr. Holmes?" said Gregory.
"I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go into
one or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, I
presume?"
"Yes, he lies upstairs. The inquest is to-morrow."
"He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?"
"I have always found him an excellent servant."
"I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in his
pockets at the time of his death, Inspector?"
"I have the things themselves in the sitting-room if you would
care to see them."
"I should be very glad." We all filed into the front room and
sat round the central table while the inspector unlocked a square
tin box and lald a small heap of things before us. There was a
box of vestas, two inches of tallow candle. an A D P brier-root
pipe, a pouch of sealskin with half an ounce of long-cut Caven-
dish, a silver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold,
an aluminum pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled
knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss & Co.,
London.
"This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting it up and
examining it minutely. "I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it,
that it is the one which was found in the dead man's grasp.
Watson, this knife is surely in your line?"
"It is what we call a cataract knife," said I.
"I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate
work. A strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough
expedition, especially as it would not shut in his pocket."
"The tip was guarded by a disc of cork which we found
beside his body," said the inspector. "His wife tells us that the
knife had lain upon the dressing-table, and that he had picked it
up as he left the room. It was a poor weapon, but perhaps the
best that he could lay his hands on at the moment."
"Very possibly. How about these papers?"
"Three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts. One of
them is a letter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a
milliner's account for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by
Madame Lesurier, of Bond Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs.
Straker tells us that Derbyshire was a friend of her husband's
and that occasionally his letters were addressed here."
"Madame Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes," re-
marked Holmes, glancing down the account. "Twenty-two guin-
eas is rather heavy for a single costume. However, there appears
to be nothing more to learn, and we may now go down to the
scene of the crime."
As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been
waiting in the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand
upon the inspector's sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and
eager, stamped with the print of a recent horror.
"Have you got them? Have you found them?" she panted.
"No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from
London to help us, and we shall do all that is possible."
"Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little
time ago, Mrs. Straker?" said Holmes.
"No, sir; you are mistaken."
"Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a
costume of dove-coloured silk with ostrich-feather trimming."
"I never had such a dress, sir," answered the lady.
"Ah, that quite settles it," said Holmes. And with an apology
he followed the inspector outside. A short walk across the moor
took us to the hollow in which the body had been found. At the
brink of it was the furze-bush upon which the coat had been
hung.
"There was no wind that night, I understand," said Holmes.
"None, but very heavy rain."
"In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-
bush, but placed there."
"Yes, it was laid across the bush."
"You fill me with interest. I perceive that the ground has been
trampled up a good deal. No doubt many feet have been here
since Monday night."
"A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we
have all stood upon that."
"Excellent."
"In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one
of Fitzroy Simpson's shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver
Blaze."
"My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!" Holmes took the
bag, and, descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into
a more central position. Then stretching himself upon his face
and leaning his chin upon his hands, he made a careful study of
the trampled mud in front of him. "Hullo!" said he suddenly.
"What's this?" It was a wax vesta, half burned, which was so
coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip of wood.
"I cannot think how I came to overlook it," said the inspector
with an expression of annoyance.
"It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I
was looking for it."
"What! you expected to find it?"
"I thought it not unlikely."
He took the boots from the bag and compared the impressions
of each of them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered
up to the rim of the hollow and crawled about among the ferns
and bushes.
"I am afraid that there are no more tracks," said the inspec-
tor. "I have examined the ground very carefully for a hundred
yards in each direction."
"Indeed!" said Holmes, rising. "I should not have the imper-
tinence to do it again after what you say. But I should like to
take a little walk over the moor before it grows dark that I may
know my ground to-morrow, and I think that I shall put this
horseshoe into my pocket for luck."
Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my
companion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at
his watch. "I wish you would come back with me, Inspector,"
said he. "There are several points on which I should like your
advice, and especially as to whether we do not owe it to the
public to remove our horse's name from the entries for the cup."
"Certainly not," cried Holmes with decision. "I should let
the name stand."
The colonel bowed. "I am very glad to have had your opin-
ion, sir," said he. "You will find us at poor Straker's house
when you have finished your walk, and we can drive together
into Tavistock."
He turned back with the inspector, while Holmes and I walked
slowly across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind
the stable of Mapleton, and the long sloping plain in front of us
was tinged with gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where
the faded ferns and brambles caught the evening light. But the
glories of the landscape were all wasted upon my companion,
who was sunk in the deepest thought.
"It's this way, Watson," said he at last. "We may leave the
question of who killed John Straker for the instant and confine
ourselves to finding out what has become of the horse. Now,
supposing that he broke away during or after the tragedy, where
could he have gone to? The horse is a very gregarious creature.
If left to himself his instincts would have been either to return to
King's Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should he run wild
upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And
why should gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out
when they hear of trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by
the police. They could not hope to sell such a horse. They would
run a great risk and gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is
clear."
"Where is he, then?"
"I have already said that he must have gone to King's Pyland
or to Mapleton. He is not at King's Pyland. Therefore he is at
Mapleton. Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what
it leads us to. This part of the moor, as the inspector remarked,
is very hard and dry. But it falls away towards Mapleton, and
you can see from here that there is a long hollow over yonder,
which must have been very wet on Monday night. If our suppo-
sition is correct, then the horse must have crossed that, and there
is the point where we should look for his tracks."
We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a
few more minutes brought us to the hollow in question. At
Holmes's request I walked down the bank to the right, and he to
the left, but I had not taken fifty paces before I heard him give a
shout and saw him waving his hand to me. The track of a horse
was plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the
shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted the impression.
"See the value of imagination," said Holmes. "It is the one
quality which Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have
happened, acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justi-
fied. Let us proceed."
We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a
mile of dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we
came on the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only
to pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was
Holmes who saw them first, and he stood pointing with a look of
triumph upon his face. A man's track was visible beside the
horse's.
"The horse was alone before," I cried.
"Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?"
The double track turned sharp off and took the direction of
King's Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along
after it. His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little
to one side and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back
again in the opposite direction.
"One for you, Watson," said Holmes when I pointed it out.
"You have saved us a long walk, which would have brought us
back on our own traces. Let us follow the return track."
We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which
led up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a
groom ran out from them.
"We don't want any loiterers about here," said he.
"I only wished to ask a question," said Holmes, with his
finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket. "Should I be too early
to see your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five
o'clock to-morrow morning?"
"Bless you, sir, if anyone is about he will be, for he is always
the first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your questions for
himself. No, sir, no, it is as much as my place is worth to let
him see me touch your money. Afterwards, if you like."
As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had
drawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out
from the gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.
"What's this, Dawson!" he cried. "No gossiping! Go about
your business! And you, what the devil do you want here?"
"Ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir," said Holmes in
the sweetest of voices.
"I've no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no strangers
here. Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels."
Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the train-
er's ear. He started violently and flushed to the temples.
"It's a lie!" he shouted. "An infernal lie!"
"Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it
over in your parlour?"
"Oh, come in if you wish to."
Holmes smiled. "I shall not keep you more than a few min-
utes, Watson." said he. "Now. Mr. Brown. I am quite at your
disposal."
It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays
before Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen
such a change as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that
short time. His face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone
upon his brow, and his hands shook until the hunting-crop
wagged like a branch in the wind. His bullying, overbearing
manner was all gone too, and he cringed along at my compan-
ion's side like a dog with its master.
"Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done," said he.
"There must be no mistake," said Holmes, looking round at
him. The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.
"Oh, no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I
change it first or not?"
Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. "No,
don't," said he, "I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now,
or --"
"Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!"
"Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow."
He turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which
the other held out to him, and we set off for King's Pyland.
"A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak
than Master Silas Brown I have seldom met with," remarked
Holmes as we trudged along together.
"He has the horse, then?"
"He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly
what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced
that I was watching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly
square toes in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly
corresponded to them. Again, of course no subordinate would
have dared to do such a thing. I described to him how, when
according to his custom he was the first down, he perceived a
strange horse wandering over the moor. How he went out to it,
and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead
which has given the favourite its name, that chance had put in
his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which
he had put his money. Then I described how his first impulse
had been to lead him back to King's Pyland, and how the devil
had shown him how he could hide the horse until the race was
over, and how he had led it back and concealed it at Mapleton.
When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only of
saving his own skin."
"But his stables had been searched?"
"Oh, an old horse-faker like him has many a dodge."
"But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now
since he has every interest in injuring it?"
"My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He
knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe."
"Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be
likely to show much mercy in any case."
"The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my
own methods and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the
advantage of being unofficial. I don't know whether you ob-
served it, Watson, but the colonel's manner has been just a trifle
cavalier to me. I am inclined now to have a little amusement at
his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse."
"Certainly not without your permission."
"And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the
question of who killed John Straker."
"And you will devote yourself to that?"
"On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night
train."
I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only been
a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an
investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incom-
prehensible to me. Not a word more could I draw from him until
we were back at the trainer's house. The colonel and the inspec-
tor were awaiting us in the parlour.
"My friend and I return to town by the night-express," said
Holmes. "We have had a charming little breath of your beautiful
Dartmoor air."
The inspector opened his eyes, and the colonel's lip curled in
a sneer.
"So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker,"
said he.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There are certainly grave
difficulties in the way," said he. "I have every hope, however,
that your horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will
have your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of
Mr. John Straker?"
The inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to
him.
"My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask
you to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should
like to put to the maid."
"I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London
consultant," said Colonel Ross bluntly as my friend left the
room. "I do not see that we are any further than when he
came."
"At least you have his assurance that your horse will run,"
said I.
"Yes, I have his assurance," said the colonel with a shrug of
his shoulders. "I should prefer to have the horse."
I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when
he entered the room again.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready for Tavistock."
As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the
door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for
he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.
"You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "Who
attends to them?"
"I do, sir."
"Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?"
"Well, sir, not of much account, but three of them have gone
lame, sir."
I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuck-
led and rubbed his hands together.
"A long shot, Watson, a very long shot," said he, pinching
my arm. "Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this
singular epidemic among the sheep. Drive on, coachman!"
Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor
opinion which he had formed of my companion's ability, but I
saw by the inspector's face that his attention had been keenly
aroused.
"You consider that to be important?" he asked.
"Exceedingly so."
"Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my
attention?"
"To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time."
"The dog did nothing in the night-time."
"That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock Holmes.
Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound
for Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Rloss
met us by appointment outside the station, and we drove in his
drag to the course beyond the town. His face was grave, and his
manner was cold in the extreme.
"I have seen nothing of my horse," said he.
"I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?"
asked Holmes.
The colonel was very angry. "I have been on the turf for
twenty years and never was asked such a question as that be-
fore," said he. "A child would know Silver Blaze with his white
forehead and his mottled off-foreleg."
"How is the betting?"
"Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got
fifteen to one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and
shorter, until you can hardly get three to one now."
"Hum!" said Holmes. "Somebody knows something, that is
clear."
As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grandstand I
glanced at the card to see the entries.
Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs. each h ft with 1000 sovs.
added, for four and five year olds. Second, 300 pounds. Third,
200 pounds. New course (one mile and five furlongs).
1 . Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket.
2. Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black
jacket.
3. Lord Backwater's Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves.
4. Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket.
5. Duke of Balmoral's Iris. Yellow and black stripes.
6. Lord Singleford's Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves.
"We scratched our other one and put all hopes on your
word," said the colonel. "Why, what is that? Silver Blaze
favourite?"
"Five to four against Silver Blaze!" roared the ring. "Five to
four against Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough!
Five to four on the field!"
"There are the numbers up," I cried. "They are all six
there."
"All six there? Then my horse is running," cried the colonel
in great agitation. "But I don't see him. My colours have not
passed."
"Only five have passed. This must be he."
As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing
enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-
known black and red of the colonel.
"That's not my horse," cried the owner. "That beast has not
a white hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr.
Holmes?"
"Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my friend
imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-
glass. "Capital! An excellent start!" he cried suddenly. "There
they are, coming round the curve!"
From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the
straight. The six horses were so close together that a carpet
could have covered them, but halfway up the yellow of the
Mapleton stable showed to the front. Before they reached us,
however, Desborough's bolt was shot, and the colonel's horse,
coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six lengths
before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral's Iris making a bad
third.
"It's my race, anyhow," gasped the colonel, passing his hand
over his eyes. "I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of
it. Don't you think that you have kept up your mystery long
enough, Mr. Holmes?"
"Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go
round and have a look at the horse together. Here he is," he
continued as we made our way into the weighing enclosure,
where only owners and their friends find admittance. "You have
only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will
find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever."
"You take my breath away!"
"I found him in the hands of a faker and took the liberty of
running him just as he was sent over."
"My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit
and well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand
apologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a
great service by recovering my horse. You would do me a
greater still if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John
Straker."
"I have done so," said Holmes quietly.
The colonel and I stared at him in amazement. "You have got
him! Where is he, then?"
"He is here."
"Here! Where?"
"In my company at the present moment."
The colonel flushed angrily. "I quite recognize that I am
under obligations to you, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but I must
regard what you have just said as either a very bad joke or an
insult."
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "I assure you that I have not associ-
ated you with the crime, Colonel," said he. "The real murderer
is standing immediately behind you." He stepped past and laid
his hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred.
"The horse!" cried both the colonel and myself.
"Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was
done in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was
entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell,
and as I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a
lengthy explanation until a more fitting time."
We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening
as we whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was
a short one to Colonel Ross as well as to myself as we listened to
our companion's narrative of the events which had occurred at the
Dartmoor training-stables upon that Monday night, and the means
by which he had unravelled them.
"I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had formed
from the newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet
there were indications there, had they not been overlaid by other
details which concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire
with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit,
although, of course, I saw that the evidence against him was by
no means complete. It was while I was in the carriage, just as
we reached the trainer's house, that the immense significance of
the curried mutton occurred to me. You may remember that I
was distrait and remained sitting after you had all alighted. I
was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have
overlooked so obvious a clue."
"I confess," said the colonel, "that even now I cannot see how
it helps us."
"It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered
opium is by no means tasteless. The flavour is not disagreeable,
but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the
eater would undoubtedly detect it and would probably eat no
more. A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise
this taste. By no possible supposition could this stranger, Fitzroy
Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainer's family
that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to
suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium
upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which
would disguise the flavour. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simp-
son becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centres
upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have
chosen curried mutton for supper that night. The opium was
added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for the
others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Which of
them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeing them?
"Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance
of the silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably
suggests others. The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog
was kept in the stables, and yet, though someone had been in
and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse
the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnight visitor was
someone whom the dog knew well.
"I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John
Straker went down to the stables in the dead of the night and
took out Silver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest one,
obviously, or why should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I
was at a loss to know why. There have been cases before now
where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by laying
against their own horses through agents and then preventing
them from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey.
Sometimes it is some surer and subtler means. What was it here?
I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a
conclusion.
"And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular
knife which was found in the dead man's hand, a knife which
certainly no sane man would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr.
Watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most
delicate operations known in surgery. And it was to be used for a
delicate operation that night. You must know, with your wide
experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to
make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse's ham, and to do
it subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so
treated would develop a slight lameness, which would be put
down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never
to foul play."
"Villain! Scoundrel!" cried the colonel.
"We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to
take the horse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would
have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the
prick of the knife. It was absolutely necessary to do it in the
open air."
"I have been blind!" cried the colonel. "Of course that was
why he needed the candle and struck the match."
"Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortu-
nate enough to discover not only the method of the crime but
even its motives. As a man of the world, Colonel, you know that
men do not carry other people's bills about in their pockets. We
have most of us quite enough to do to settle our own. I at once
concluded that Straker was leading a double life and keeping a
second establishment. The nature of the bill showed that there
was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes.
Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that
they can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I
questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing it,
and, having satisfied myself that it had never reached her, I
made a note of the milliner's address and felt that by calling
there with Straker's photograph I could easily dispose of the
mythical Derbyshire.
"From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the
horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in
his flight had dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it
up -- with some idea, perhaps, that he might use it in securing the
horse's leg. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and
had struck a light; but the creature, frightened at the sudden
glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling that some
mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had
struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of
the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task,
and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it
clear?"
"Wonderful!" cried the colonel. "Wonderful! You might
have been there!"
"My final shot was, I confess. a very long one. It struck me
that so astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate
tendon-nicking without a little practise. What could he practise
on? My eyes fell upon the sheep. and I asked a question which,
rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct.
"When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who
had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of
Derbyshire. who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality
for expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had
plunged him over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this
miserable plot."
"You have explained all but one thing," cried the colonel.
"Where was the horse?"
"Ah, it bolted. and was cared for by one of your neighbours.
We must have an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is
Clapham Junction. if I am not mistaken, and we shall be in
Victoria in less than ten minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in
our rooms, Colonel. I shall be happy to give you any other
details which might interest you."
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