The Adventure of the Six Napoleons

It was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland

Yard, to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were wel-

come to Sherlock Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch

with all that was going on at the police headquarters. In return

for the news which Lestrde would bring, Holmes was always

ready to listen with attention to the details of any case upon

which the detective was engaged, and was able occasionally

without any active interference, to give some hint or suggestion

drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience.

On this particular evening, Lestrade had spoken of the weather

and the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully

at his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.

"Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked.

"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes -- nothing very particular."

"Then tell me about it."

Lestrade laughed.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there is

something on my mind. And yet it is such an absurd business,

that I hesitated to bother you about it. On the other hand,

although it is trivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and I know that

you have a taste for all that is out of the common. But, in my

opinion, it comes more in Dr. Watson's line than ours."

"Disease?" said I.

"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness, too. You wouldn't

think there was anyone living at this time of day who had such a

hatred of Napoleon the First that he would break any image of

him that he could see."

Holmes sank back in his chair.

"That's no business of mine," said he.

"Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man com-

mits burglary in order to break images which are not his own,

that brings it away from the doctor and on to the policeman."

Holmes sat up again.

"Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear the details."

Lestrade took out his official notebook and refreshed his mem-

ory from its pages.

"The first case reported was four days ago," said he. "It was

at the shop of Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of

pictures and statues in the Kennington Road. The assistant had

left the front shop for an instant, when he heard a crash, and

hurrying in he found a plaster bust of Napoleon, which stood

with several other works of art upon the counter, lying shivered

into fragments. He rushed out into the road, but, although sev-

eral passers-by declared that they had noticed a man run out of

the shop, he could neither see anyone nor could he find any

means of identifying the rascal. It seemed to be one of those

senseless acts of Hooliganism which occur from time to time,

and it was reported to the constable on the beat as such. The

plaster cast was not worth more than a few shillings, and the

whole affair appeared to be too childish for any particular

investigation.

"The second case, however, was more serious, and also more

singular. It occurred only last night.

"In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred yards of

Morse Hudson's shop, there lives a well-known medical practi-

tioner, named Dr. Barnicot, who has one of the largest practices

upon the south side of the Thames. His residence and principal

consulting-room is at Kennington Road, but he has a branch

surgery and dispensary at Lower Brixton Road, two miles away.

This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and his

house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the French Em-

peror. Some little time ago he purchased from Morse Hudson

two duplicate plaster casts of the famous head of Napoleon by

the French sculptor, Devine. One of these he placed in his hall in

the house at Kennington Road, and the other on the mantelpiece

of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr. Barnicot came

down this morning he was astonished to find that his house had

been burgled during the night, but that nothing had been taken

save the plaster head from the hall. It had been carried out and

had been dashed savagely against the garden wall, under which

its splintered fragments were discovered."

Holmes rubbed his hands.

"This is certainly very novel," said he.

"I thought it would please you. But I have not got to the end

yet. Dr. Barnicot was due at his surgery at twelve o'clock, and

you can imagine his amazement when, on arriving there, he

found that the window had been opened in the night, and that the

broken pieces of his second bust were strewn all over the room.

It had been smashed to atoms where it stood. In neither case

were there any signs which could give us a clue as to the

criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes,

you have got the facts."

"They are singular, not to say grotesque," said Holmes.

"May I ask whether the two busts smashed in Dr. Barnicot's

rooms were the exact duplicates of the one which was destroyed

in Morse Hudson's shop?"

"They were taken from the same mould."

"Such a fact must tell against the theory that the man who

breaks them is influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon.

Considering how many hundreds of statues of the great Emperor

must exist in London, it is too much to suppose such a coinci-

dence as that a promiscuous iconoclast should chance to begin

upon three specimens of the same bust."

"Well, I thought as you do," said Lestrade. "On the other

hand, this Morse Hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part of

London, and these three were the only ones which had been in

his shop for years. So, although, as you say, there are many

hundreds of statues in London, it is very probable that these

three were the only ones in that district. Therefore, a local

fanatic would begin with them. What do you think, Dr. Watson?"

"There are no limits to the possibilities of monomania," I

answered. "There is the condition which the modern French

psychologists have called the 'idee fixe,' which may be trifling in

character, and accompanied by complete sanity in every other

way. A man who had read deeply about Napoleon, or who had

possibly received some hereditary family injury through the great

war, might conceivably form such an idee fixe and under its

influence be capable of any fantastic outrage."

"That won't do, my dear Watson," said Holmes, shaking his

head, "for no amount of idee fixe would enable your interesting

monomaniac to find out where these busts were situated."

"Well, how do you explain it?"

"I don't attempt to do so. I would only observe that there is a

certain method in the gentleman's eccentric proceedings. For

example, in Dr. Barnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse the

family, the bust was taken outside before being broken, whereas

in the surgery, where there was less danger of an alarm, it was

smashed where it stood. The affair seems absurdly trifling, and

yet I dare call nothing trivial when I reflect that some of my most

classic cases have had the least promising commencement. You

will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business of the Abernetty

family was first brought to my notice by the depth which the

parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day. I can't afford,

therefore, to smile at your three broken busts, Lestrade, and I

shall be very much obliged to you if you will let me hear of any

fresh development of so singular a chain of events."

 

The development for which my friend had asked came in a

quicker and an infinitely more tragic form than he could have

imagined. I was still dressing in my bedroom next morning,

when there was a tap at the door and Holmes entered, a

telegram in his hand. He read it aloud:

 

"Come instantly, 131 Pitt Street, Kensington.

"LESTRADE.

 

"What is it, then?" I asked.

"Don't know -- may be anything. But I suspect it is the sequel

of the story of the statues. In that case our friend the image-

breaker has begun operations in another quarter of London.

There's coffee on the table, Watson, and I have a cab at the

door."

In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a quiet little

backwater just beside one of the briskest currents of London life.

No. 131 was one of a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and

most unromantic dwellings. As we drove up, we found the rail-

ings in front of the house lined by a curious crowd. Holmes

whistled.

"By George! it's attempted murder at the least. Nothing less

will hold the London message-boy. There's a deed of violence

indicated in that fellow's round shoulders and outstretched

neck. What's this, Watson? The top steps swilled down and

the other ones dry. Footsteps enough, anyhow! Well, well,

there's Lestrade at the front window, and we shall soon know

all about it."

The official received us with a very grave face and showed us

into a sitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated el-

derly man, clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up and

down. He was introduced to us as the owner of the house -- Mr.

Horace Harker, of the Central Press Syndicate.

"It's the Napoleon bust business again," said Lestrade. "You

seemed interested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thought perhaps

you would be glad to be present now that the affair has taken a

very much graver turn."

"What has it turned to, then?"

"To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these gentlemen ex-

actly what has occurred?"

The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a most mel-

ancholy face.

"It's an extraordinary thing," said he, "that all my life I have

been collecting other people's news, and now that a real piece of

news has come my own way I am so confused and bothered that

I can't put two words together. If I had come in here as a

journalist, I should have interviewed myself and had two col-

umns in every evening paper. As it is, I am giving away valu-

able copy by telling my story over and over to a string of

different people, and I can make no use of it myself. However,

I've heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and if you'll only

explain this queer business, I shall be paid for my trouble in

telling you the story."

Holmes sat down and listened.

"It all seems to centre round that bust of Napoleon which I

bought for this very room about four months ago. I picked it up

cheap from Harding Brothers, two doors from the High Street

Station. A great deal of my journalistic work is done at night,

and I often write until the early morning. So it was to-day. I was

sitting in my den, which is at the back of the top of the house,

about three o'clock, when I was convinced that l heard some

sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were not repeated, and I

concluded that they came from outside. Then suddenly, about

five minutes later, there came a most horrible yell -- the most

dreadful sound, Mr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It will ring in my

ears as long as I live. I sat frozen with horror for a minute or

two. Then I seized the poker and went downstairs. When I

entered this room I found the window wide open, and I at once

observed that the bust was gone from the mantelpiece. Why any

burglar should take such a thing passes my understanding, for it

was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever.

"You can see for yourself that anyone going out through that

open window could reach the front doorstep by taking a long

stride. This was clearly what the burglar had done, so I went

round and opened the door. Stepping out into the dark, I nearly

fell over a dead man, who was lying there. I ran back for a light,

and there was the poor fellow, a great gash in his throat and the

whole place swimming in blood. He lay on his back, his knees

drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. I shall see him in my

dreams. I had just time to blow on my police-whistle, and then I

must have fainted, for I knew nothing more until I found the

policeman standing over me in the hall."

"Well, who was the murdered man?" asked Holmes.

"There's nothing to show who he was," said Lestrade. "You

shall see the body at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of

it up to now. He is a tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not

more than thirty. He is poorly dressed, and yet does not appear

to be a labourer. A horn-handled clasp knife was lying in a pool

of blood beside him. Whether it was the weapon which did the

deed, or whether it belonged to the dead man, I do not know.

There was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets

save an apple, some string, a shilling map of London, and a

photograph. Here it is."

It was evidently taken by a snapshot from a small camera. It

represented an alert, sharp-featured simian man. with thick eye-

brows and a very peculiar projection of the lower part of the

face, like the muzzle of a baboon.

"And what became of the bust?" asked Holmes, after a

careful study of this picture.

"We had news of it just before you came. It has been found in

the front garden of an empty house in Campden House Road. It

was broken into fragments. I am going round now to see it. Will

you come?"

"Certainly. I must just take one look round." He examined

the carpet and the window. "The fellow had either very long

legs or was a most active man," said he. "With an area beneath,

it was no mean feat to reach that window-ledge and open that

window. Getting back was comparatively simple. Are you com-

ing with us to see the remains of your bust, Mr. Harker?"

The disconsolate journalist had seated himself at a writing-table.

"I must try and make something of it," said he, "though I

have no doubt that the first editions of the evening papers are out

already with full details. It's like my luck! You remember when

the stand fell at Doncaster? Well, I was the only journalist in the

stand, and my journal the only one that had no account of it, for

I was too shaken to write it. And now I'll be too late with a

murder done on my own doorstep."

As we left the room, we heard his pen travelling shrilly over

the foolscap.

The spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was

only a few hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes rested

upon this presentment of the great emperor, which seemed to

raise such frantic and destructive hatred in the mind of the

unknown. It lay scattered, in splintered shards, upon the grass.

Holmes picked up several of them and examined them carefully.

I was convinced, from his intent face and his purposeful manner,

that at last he was upon a clue.

"Well?" asked Lestrade.

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"We have a long way to go yet," said he. "And yet -- and

yet -- well, we have some suggestive facts to act upon. The

possession of this trifling bust was worth more, in the eyes of

this strange criminal, than a human life. That is one point. Then

there is the singular fact that he did not break it in the house, or

immediately outside the house, if to break it was his sole object."

"He was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. He

hardly knew what he was doing."

"Well, that's likely enough. But I wish to call your attention

very particularly to the position of this house, in the garden of

which the bust was destroyed."

Lestrade looked about him.

"It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not be

disturbed in the garden."

"Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the street

which he must have passed before he came to this one. Why did

he not break it there, since it is evident that every yard that he

carried it increased the risk of someone meeting him?"

"I give it up," said Lestrade.

Holmes pointed to the street lamp above our heads.

"He could see what he was doing here, and he could not

there. That was his reason."

"By Jove! that's true," said the detective. "Now that I come

to think of it, Dr. Barnicot's bust was broken not far from his red

lamp. Well, Mr. Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?"

"To remember it -- to docket it. We may come on something

later which will bear upon it. What steps do you propose to take

now, Lestrade?"

"The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is to

identify the dead man. There should be no difficulty about that.

When we have found who he is and who his associates are, we

should have a good start in learning what he was doing in Pitt

Street last night, and who it was who met him and killed him on

the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Don't you think so?"

"No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I should

approach the case."

"What would you do then?"

"Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way. I suggest

that you go on your line and I on mine. We can compare notes

afterwards, and each will supplement the other."

"Very good," said Lestrade.

"If you are going back to Pitt Street, you might see Mr.

Horace Harker. Tell him for me that I have quite made up my

mind, and that it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic,

with Napoleonic delusions, was in his house last night. It will be

useful for his article."

Lestrade stared.

"You don't seriously believe that?"

Holmes smiled.

"Don't I? Well, perhaps I don't. But I am sure that it will

interest Mr. Horace Harker and the subscribers of the Central

Press Syndicate. Now, Watson, I think that we shall find that we

have a long and rather complex day's work before us. I should

be glad, Lestrade, if you could make it convenient to meet us at

Baker Street at six o'clock this evening. Until then I should like

to keep this photograph, found in the dead man's pocket. It is

possible that I may have to ask your company and assistance

upon a small expedition which will have to be undertaken to-

night, if my chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Until

then good-bye and good luck!"

Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street,

where we stopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the

bust had been purchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr.

Harding would be absent until afternoon, and that he was himself

a newcomer, who could give us no information. Holmes's face

showed his disappointment and annoyance.

"Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way,

Watson," he said, at last. "We must come back in the after-

noon, if Mr. Harding will not be here until then. I am, as you

have no doubt surmised, endeavouring to trace these busts to

their source, in order to find if there is not something peculiar

which may account for their remarkable fate. Let us make for

Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he can

throw any light upon the problem."

A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer's establish-

ment. He was a small, stout man with a red face and a peppery

manner.

"Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he. "What we pay

rates and taxes for I don't know, when any ruffian can come in

and break one's goods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot

his two statues. Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot -- that's what I

make it. No one but an anarchist would go about breaking

statues. Red republicans -- that's what I call 'em. Who did I get

the statues from? I don't see what that has to do with it. Welll, if

you really want to know, I got them from Gelder & Co., in

Church Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in the

trade, and have been this twenty years. How many had l?

Three -- two and one are three -- two of Dr. Barnicot's, and one

smashed in broad daylight on my own counter. Do I know that

photograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do, though. Why, it's Beppo.

He was a kind of Italian piece-work man, who made himself

useful in the shop. He could carve a bit, and gild and frame, and

do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heard

nothing of him since. No, I don't know where he came from nor

where he went to. I had nothing against him while he was here.

He was gone two days before the bust was smashed."

"Well, that's all we could reasonably expect from Morse

Hudson," said Holmes, as we emerged from the shop. "We

have this Beppo as a common factor, both in Kennington and in

Kensington, so that is worth a ten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let

us make for Gelder & Co., of Stepney, the source and origin of

the busts. I shall be surprised if we don't get some help down

there."

In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashion-

able London, hotel London, theatrical London, literary London,

commercial London, and, finally, maritime London, till we came

to a riverside city of a hundred thousand souls, where the

tenement houses swelter and reek with the outcasts of Europe.

Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abode of wealthy City

merchants, we found the sculpture works for which we searched.

Outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry.

Inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving or

moulding. The manager, a big blond German, received us civilly

and gave a clear answer to all Holmes's questions. A reference

to his books showed that hundreds of casts had been taken from

a marble copy of Devine's head of Napoleon, but that the three

which had been sent to Morse Hudson a year or so before had

been half of a batch of six, the other three being sent to Harding

Brothers, of Kensington. There was no reason why those six

should be different from any of the other casts. He could suggest

no possible cause why anyone should wish to destroy them -- in

fact, he laughed at the idea. Their wholesale price was six

shillings, but the retailer would get twelve or more. The cast

was taken in two moulds from each side of the face, and then

these two profiles of plaster of Paris were joined together to

make the complete bust. The work was usually done by Italians,

in the room we were in. When finished, the busts were put on a

table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That was all

he could tell us.

But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect

upon the manager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows

knotted over his blue Teutonic eyes.

"Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know him very

well. This has always been a respectable establishment, and the

only time that we have ever had the police in it was over this

very fellow. It was more than a year ago now. He knifed another

Italian in the street, and then he came to the works with the

police on his heels, and he was taken here. Beppo was his

name -- his second name I never knew. Serve me right for engag-

ing a man with such a face. But he was a good workman -- one

of the best."

"What did he get?"

"The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he

is out now, but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have

a cousin of his here, and I daresay he could tell you where he

is."

"No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the cousin -- not a

word, I beg of you. The matter is very important, and the farther

I go with it, the more important it seems to grow. When you

referred in your ledger to the sale of those casts I observed that

the date was June 3rd of last year. Could you give me the date

when Beppo was arrested?"

"I could tell you roughly by the pay-list," the manager an-

swered. "Yes," he continued, after some turning over of pages,

"he was paid last on May 20th."

"Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that I need intrude

upon your time and patience any more." With a last word of

caution that he should say nothing as to our researches, we

turned our faces westward once more.

The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch

a hasty luncheon at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entrance

announced "Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman," and

the contents of the paper showed that Mr. Horace Harker had got

his account into print after all. Two columns were occupied with

a highly sensational and flowery rendering of the whole incident.

Holmes propped it against the cruet-stand and read it while he

ate. Once or twice he chuckled.

"This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this:

 

"It is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference

of opinion upon this case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the

most experienced members of the official force, and Mr.

Sherlock Holmes, the well-known consulting expert, have

each come to the conclusion that the grotesque series of

incidents, which have ended in so tragic a fashion, arise

from lunacy rather than from deliberate crime. No explana-

tion save mental aberration can cover the facts.

 

The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institution. if you only

know how to use it. And now, if you have quite finished, we

will hark back to Kensington and see what the manager of

Harding Brothers has to say on the matter."

The founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp

little person, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a

ready tongue.

"Yes, sir, I have already read the account in the evening

papers. Mr. Horace Harker is a customer of ours. We supplied

him with the bust some months ago. We ordered three busts of

that sort from Gelder & Co., of Stepney. They are all sold now.

To whom? Oh, I daresay by consulting our sales book we could

very easily tell you. Yes, we have the entries here. One to Mr.

Harker you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, of Laburnum

Lodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford, of

Lower Grove Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this face

which you show me in the photograph. You would hardly forget

it, would you, sir, for I've seldom seen an uglier. Have we any

Italians on the staff? Yes, sir, we have several among our

workpeople and cleaners. I daresay they might get a peep at that

sales book if they wanted to. There is no particular reason for

keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it's a very strange

business, and I hope that you will let me know if anything comes

of your inquiries."

Holmes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evi-

dence, and I could see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the

turn which affairs were taking. He made no remark, however

save that, unless we hurried, we should be late for our appoint-

ment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when we reached Baker Street

the detective was already there, and we found him pacing up and

down in a fever of impatience. His look of importance showed

that his day's work had not been in vain.

"Well?" he asked. "What luck, Mr. Holmes?"

"We have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted

one," my friend explained. "We have seen both the retailers and

also the wholesale manufacturers. I can trace each of the busts

now from the beginning."

"The busts!" cried Lestrade. "Well, well, you have your own

methods, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say a

word against them, but I think I have done a better day's work

than you. I have identified the dead man."

"You don't say so?"

"And found a cause for the crime."

"Splendid!"

"We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Saffron Hill

and the Italian quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholic

emblem round his neck. and that, along with his colour, made

me think he was from the South. Inspector Hill knew him the

moment he caught sight of him. His name is Pietro Venucci,

from Naples, and he is one of the greatest cut-throats in Lon-

don. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as you know, is a

secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder. Now,

you see how the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow is

probably an Italian also, and a member of the Mafia. He has

broken the rules in some fashion. Pietro is set upon his track.

Probably the photograph we found in his pocket is the man him-

self, so that he may not knife the wrong person. He dogs the

fellow, he sees him enter a house, he waits outside for him, and

in the scuffle he receives his own death-wound. How is that, Mr.

Sherlock Holmes?"

Holmes clapped his hands approvingly.

"Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!" he cried. "But I didn't quite

follow your explanation of the destruction of the busts."

"The busts! You never can get those busts out of your head.

After all, that is nothing; petty larceny, six months at the most. It

is the murder that we are really investigating, and I tell you that I

am gathering all the threads into my hands."

"And the next stage?"

"Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italian

Quarter, find the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest

him on the charge of murder. Will you come with us?"

"I think not. I fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. I

can't say for certain, because it all depends -- well, it all depends

upon a factor which is completely outside our control. But I have

great hopes -- in fact, the betting is exactly two to one -- that if

you will come with us to-night I shall be able to help you to lay

him by the heels."

"In the Italian Quarter?"

"No, I fancy Chiswick is an address which is more likely to

find him. If you will come with me to Chiswick to-night,

Lestrade, I'll promise to go to the Italian Quarter with you

to-morrow, and no harm will be done by the delay. And now I

think that a few hours' sleep would do us all good, for I do not

propose to leave before eleven o'clock, and it is unlikely that we

shall be back before morning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade, and

then you are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. In

the meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring for an

express messenger, for I have a letter to send and it is imponant

that it should go at once."

Holmes spent the evening in rummaging among the files of the

old daily papers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed.

When at last he descended, it was with triumph in his eyes, but

he said nothing to either of us as to the result of his researches.

For my own part, I had followed step by step the methods by

which he had traced the various windings of this complex case,

and, though I could not yet perceive the goal which we would

reach, I understood clearly that Holmes expected this grotesque

criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts, one

of which, I remembered, was at Chiswick. No doubt the object

of our journey was to catch him in the very act, and I could not

but admire the cunning with which my friend had inserted a

wrong clue in the evening paper, so as to give the fellow the idea

that he could continue his scheme with impunity. I was not

surprised when Holmes suggested that I should take my revolver

with me. He had himself picked up the loaded hunting-crop,

which was his favourite weapon.

A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove

to a spot at the other side of Hammersmith Bridge. Here the

cabman was directed to wait. A short walk brought us to a

secluded road fringed with pleasant houses, each standing in its

own grounds. In the light of a street lamp we read "Laburnum

Villa" upon the gate-post of one of them. The occupants had

evidently retired to rest, for all was dark save for a fanlight over

the hall door, which shed a single blurred circle on to the garden

path. The wooden fence which separated the grounds from the

road threw a dense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it

was that we crouched.

"I fear that you'll have a long wait," Holmes whispered.

"We may thank our stars that it is not raining. I don't think we

can even venture to smoke to pass the time. However, it's a two

to one chance that we get something to pay us for our trouble."

It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as

Holmes had led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and

singular fashion. In an instant, without the least sound to warn us

of his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a lithe, dark

figure, as swift and active as an ape, rushed up the garden path.

We saw it whisk past the light thrown from over the door and

disappear against the black shadow of the house. There was a

long pause, during which we held our breath, and then a very

gentle creaking sound came to our ears. The window was being

opened. The noise ceased, and again there was a long silence.

The fellow was making his way into the house. We saw the

sudden flash of a dark lantern inside the room. What he sought

was evidently not there, for again we saw the flash through

another blind. and then through another.

"Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he

climbs out." Lestrade whispered.

But before we could move. the man had emerged again. As he

came out into the glimmering patch of light, we saw that he

carrled something white under his arm. He looked stealthily all

round him. The silence of the deserted street reassured him.

Turning his back upon us he laid down his burden, and the next

instant there was the sound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatter

and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he was doing that

he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. With

the bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant later

Lestrade and I had him by either wrist, and the handcuffs had

been fastened. As we turned him over I saw a hideous, sallow

face, with writhing, furious features. glaring up at us, and I

knew that it was indeed the man of the photograph whom we had

secured.

But it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes was giving his

attention. Squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in most

carefully examining that which the man had brought from the

house. It was a bust of Napoleon. Iike the one which we had

seen that morning, and it had been broken into similar frag-

ments. Carefully Holmes held each separate shard to the light,

but in no way did it differ from any other shattered piece of

plaster. He had just completed his examination when the hall

lights flew up, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a

jovial, rotund figure in shirt and trousers, presented himseli.

"Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?" said Holmes.

"Yes, sir and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had

the note which you sent by the express messenger, and I did

exactly what you told me. We locked every door on the inside

and awaited developments. Well, I'm very glad to see that you

have got the rascal. I hope, gentlemen, that you will come in and

have some refreshment."

However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe

quarters, so within a few minutes our cab had bcen summoned

and we were all tour upon our way to London. Not a word

would our captive say. but he glared at us from thc shadow of

his matted hair. and once. when my hand seemed within his

reach, he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. We stayed long

enough at the police-station to learn that a search of his clothing

revealed nothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife, the

handle of which bore copious traces of recent blood.

"That's all right," said Lestrade, as we parted. "Hill knows

all these gentry, and he will give a name to him. You'll find that

my theory of the Mafia will work out all right. But I'm sure I am

exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike

way in which you laid hands upon him. I don't quite understand

it all yet."

"I fear it is rather too late an hour for explanations," said

Holmes. "Besides, there are one or two details which are not

finished off, and it is one of those cases which are worth

working out to the very end. If you will come round once more

to my rooms at six o'clock to-morrow, I think I shall be able to

show you that even now you have not grasped the entire meaning

of this business, which presents some features which make it

absolutely original in the history of crime. If ever I permit you to

chronicle any more of my little problems, Watson, I foresee that

you will enliven your pages by an account of the singular

adventure of the Napoleonic busts."

When we met again next evening, Lestrade was furnished with

much information concerning our prisoner. His name, it ap-

peared, was Beppo, second name unknown. He was a well-

known ne'er-do-well among the Italian colony. He had once

been a skilful sculptor and had earned an honest living, but he

had taken to evil courses and had twice already been in jail --

once for a petty theft, and once, as we had already heard, for

stabbing a fellow-countryman. He could talk English perfectly

well. His reasons for destroying the busts were still unknown,

and he refused to answer any questions upon the subject, but the

police had discovered that these same busts might very well have

been made by his own hands, since he was engaged in this class

of work at the establishment of Gelder & Co. To all this infor-

mation, much of which we already knew, Holmes listened with

polite attention, but I, who knew him so well, could clearly see

that his thoughts were elsewhere, and I detected a mixture of

mingled uneasiness and expectation beneath that mask which he

was wont to assume. At last he started in his chair, and his eyes

brightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A minute later we

heard steps upon the stairs, and an elderly red-faced man with

grizzled side-whiskers was ushered in. In his right hand he

carried an old-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placed upon the

table.

"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?"

My friend bowed and smiled. "Mr. Sandeford, of Reading, I

suppose?" said he.

"Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late, but the trains

were awkward. You wrote to me about a bust that is in my

possession."

"Exactly."

"I have your letter here. You said, 'I desire to possess a copy

of Devine's Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds

for the one which is in your possession.' Is that right?"

"Certainly."

"I was very much surprised at your letter, for I could not

imagine how you knew that I owned such a thing."

"Of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation

is very simple. Mr. Harding, of Harding Brothers, said that they

had sold you their last copy, and he gave me your address."

"Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I paid for it?"

"No, he did not."

"Well, I am an honest man, though not a very rich one. I only

gave fifteen shillings for the bust, and I think you ought to know

that before I take ten pounds from you."

"I am sure the scruple does you honour, Mr. Sandeford. But I

have named that price, so I intend to stick to it."

"Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. I brought

the bust up with me, as you asked me to do. Here it is!" He

opened his bag, and at last we saw placed upon our table a

complete specimen of that bust which we had already seen more

than once in fragments.

Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound

note upon the table.

"You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in the

presence of these witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer

every possible right that you ever had in the bust to me. I am a

methodical man, you see, and you never know what turn events

might take afterwards. Thank you, Mr. Sandeford; here is your

money, and I wish you a very good evening."

When our visitor had disappeared, Sherlock Holmes's move-

ments were such as to rivet our attention. He began by taking a

clean white cloth from a drawer and laying it over the table.

Then he placed his newly acquired bust in the centre of the cloth.

Finally, he picked up his hunting-crop and struck Napoleon a

sharp blow on the top of the head. The figure broke into frag-

ments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains. Next

instant, with a loud shout of triumph he held up one splinter, in

which a round, dark object was fixed like a plum in a pudding.

"Gentlemen," he cried, "let me introduce you to the famous

black pearl of the Borgias."

Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a

spontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping, as at the

well-wrought crisis of a play. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's

pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who

receives the homage of his audience. It was at such moments that

for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayed

his human love for admiration and applause. The same singularly

proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain from

popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths by

spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.

"Yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most famous pearl now

existing in the world, and it has been my good fortune, by a

connected chain of inductive reasoning, to trace it from the

Prince of Colonna's bedroom at the Dacre Hotel, where it was

lost, to the interior of this, the last of the six busts of Napoleon

which were manufactured by Gelder & Co., of Stepney. You

will remember, Lestrade, the sensation caused by the disappear-

ance of this valuable jewel, and the vain efforts of the London

police to recover it. I was myself consulted upon the case, but I

was unable to throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the

maid of the Princess, who was an Italian, and it was proved that

she had a brother in London, but we failed to trace any connec-

tion between them. The maid's name was Lucretia Venucci, and

there is no doubt in my mind that this Pietro who was murdered

two nights ago was the brother. I have been looking up the dates

in the old files of the paper, and I find that the disappearance of

the pearl was exactly two days before the arrest of Beppo, for

some crime of violence -- an event which took place in the

factory of Gelder & Co., at the very moment when these busts

were being made. Now you clearly see the sequence of events,

though you see them, of course, in the inverse order to the way

in which they presented themselves to me. Beppo had the pearl

in his possession. He may have stolen it from Pietro, he may

have been Pietro's confederate, he may have been the go-between

of Pietro and his sister. It is of no consequence to us which is the

correct solution.

"The main fact is that he had the pearl, and at that moment,

when it was on his person, he was pursued by the police. He

made for the factory in which he worked, and he knew that he

had only a few minutes in which to conceal this enormously

valuable prize, which would otherwise be found on him when he

was searched. Six plaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the

passage. One of them was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a

skilful workman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped

in the pearl, and with a few touches covered over the aperture

once more. It was an admirable hiding-place. No one could

possibly find it. But Beppo was condemned to a year's imprison-

ment, and in the meanwhile his six busts were scattered over

London. He could not tell which contained his treasure. Only by

breaking them could he see. Even shaking would tell him noth-

ing, for as the plaster was wet it was probable that the pearl

would adhere to it -- as, in fact, it has done. Beppo did not

despair, and he conducted his search with considerable ingenuity

and perseverance. Through a cousin who works with Gelder, he

found out the retail firms who had bought the busts. He managed

to find employment with Morse Hudson, and in that way tracked

down three of them. The pearl was not there. Then, with the

help of some Italian employe, he succeeded in finding out where

the other three busts had gone. The first was at Harker's. There

he was dogged by his confederate, who held Beppo responsible

for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scuffle which

followed."

"If he was his confederate, why should he carry his photo-

graph?" I asked.

"As a means of tracing him, if he wished to inquire about him

from any third person. That was the obvious reason. Well, after

the murder I calculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather

than delay his movements. He would fear that the police would

read his secret, and so he hastened on before they should get

ahead of him. Of course, I could not say that he had not found

the pearl in Harker's bust. I had not even concluded for certain

that it was the pearl, but it was evident to me that he was looking

for something, since he carried the bust past the other houses in

order to break it in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it.

Since Harker's bust was one in three, the chances were exactly

as I told you -- two to one against the pearl being inside it There

remained two busts, and it was obvious that he would go for the

London one first. I warned the inmates of the house, so as to

avoid a second tragedy, and we went down, with the happiest

results. By that time, of course, I knew for certain that it was the

Borgia pearl that we were after. The name of the murdered man

linked the one event with the other. There only remained a single

bust -- the Reading one -- and the pearl must be there. I bought it

in your presence from the owner -- and there it lies."

We sat in silence for a moment.

"Well," said Lestrade, "I've seen you handle a good many

cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don't know that I ever knew a more

workmanlike one than that. We're not jealous of you at Scotland

Yard. No, sir, we are very proud of you, and if you come down

to-morrow, there's not a man, from the oldest inspector to the

youngest constable, who wouldn't be glad to shake you by the

hand."

"Thank you!" said Holmes. "Thank you!" and as he turned

away, it seemed to me that he was more nearly moved by the

softer human emotions than I had ever seen him. A moment later

he was the cold and practical thinker once more. "Put the pearl

in the safe, Watson," said he, "and get out the papers of the

Conk-Singleton forgery case. Good-bye, Lestrade. If any little

problem comes your way, I shall be happy, if I can, to give you

a hint or two as to its solution."

 

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

The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist

 

From the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive, Mr. Sherlock Holmes

was a very busy man. It is safe to say that there was no public

case of any difficulty in which he was not consulted during those

eight years, and there were hundreds of private cases, some of

them of the most intricate and extraordinary character. in which

he played a prominent part. Many startling successes and a few

unavoidable failures were the outcome of this long period of

continuous work. As I have preserved very full notes of all these

cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them it

may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should

select to lay before the public. I shall, however. preserve my

former rule, and give the preference to those cases which derive

their interest not so much from the brutality of the crime as from

the ingenuity and dramatic quality of the solution. For this

reason I will now lay before the reader the facts connected with

Miss Violet Smith. the solitary cyclist of Charlington, and the

curious sequel of our investigation. which culminated in unex-

pected tragedy. It is true that the circumstance did not admit of

any striking illustration of those powers for which my friend was

famous, but there were some points about the case which made it

stand out in those long records of crime from which I gather the

material for these little narratives.

On refering to my notebook for the year 1895, I find that it

was upon Saturday, the 23d of April, that we first heard of Miss

Violet Smilh. Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome

to Holmes, for he was immersed at the moment in a very

abstruse and complicated problem concerning the peculiar perse-

cution to which John Vincent Harden, the well known tobacco

millionaire, had been subjected. My friend, who loved above all

things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything

which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. And yet

without a harshness which was foreign to his nature, it was

impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and

beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and queenly, who presented

herself at Baker Street late in the evening, and implored his

assistance and advice. It was vain to urge that his time was

already fully occupied, for the young lady had come with the

determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing

short of force could get her out of the room until she had done

so. With a resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes

begged the beautiful intruder to take a seat. and to inform us

what it was that was troubling her.

"At least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen eyes

darted ovel her: "so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy."

She glanlced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed

the slight roughening of the side of the sole caused by the

friction of the edge of the pedal.

"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes. and that has

something to do with my visit to you to-day."

My friend took the lady's ungloved hand, and examined it

with as close an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist

would show to a specimen.

"You willl cxcuse me. I am sure. It is my business," said he,

as he dropped it. "I nearly fell into the error of supposing that

you were typewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music.

You observe the spatulate finger-ends, Watson, which is com-

mon to both professions? There is a spirituality about the face,

however" -- she gently turned it towards thc light -- "which the

typewriter does not generate. This lady is a musician."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music."

"In the country, I presume, from your complexion."

"Yes, sir, near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey."

"A beautiful neighbourhood, and full of the most interesting

association. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that

we took Archie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what

has happened to you, near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?"

The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made

the following curious statement:

"My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith, who

conducted the orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother

and I were left without a relation in the world except one uncle

Ralph Smith, who went to Africa twenty-five years ago, and we

have never had a word from him since. When father died, we

were left very poor, but one day we were told that there was an

advertisement in the Times, inquiring for our whereabouts. You

can imagine how excited we were, for we thought that someone

had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose name

was given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr.

Carruthers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from

South Africa. They said that my uncle was a friend of theirs

that he had died some months before in great poverty in Johan-

nesburg, and that he had asked them with his last breath to hunt

up his relations, and see that they were in no want. It seemed

strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when

he was alive should be so careful to look after us when he was

dead, but Mr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my

uncle had just heard of the death of his brother, and so felt

responsible for our fate."

"Excuse me." said Holmes. "When was this interview?"

"Last December -- four months ago."

"Pray proceed."

"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He

was for ever making eyes at me -- a coarse, puffy-faced, red-

moustached young man, with his hair plastered down on each

side of his forehead. I thought that he was perfectly hateful -- and

I was sure that Cyril would not wish me to know such a

person."

"Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes, smiling.

The young lady blushed and laughed.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and

we hope to be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how

did I get talking about him? What I wished to say was that Mr.

Woodley was perfectly odious, but that Mr. Carruthers, who was

a much older man, was more agreeable. He was a dark, sallow,

clean-shaven, silent person, but he had polite manners and a

pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left, and on finding

that we were very poor, he suggested that I should come and

teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. I said that I did not

like to leave my mother, on which he suggested that I should go

home to her every week-end, and he offered me a hundred a

year, which was certainly splendid pay. So it ended by my

accepting, and I went down to Chiltern Grange, about six miles

from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he had

engaged a lady housekeeper, a very respectable, elderly person,

called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. The child was

a dear, and everything promised weli. Mr. Carruthers was very

kind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings

together. Every week-end I went home to my mother in town.

"The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red-

moustached Mr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and

oh! it seemed three months to me. He was a dreadful person -- a

bully to everyone else, but to me something infinitely worse. He

made odious love to me, boasted of his wealth, said that if I

married him I could have the finest diamonds in London, and

finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seized me

in his arms one day after dinner -- he was hideously strong -- and

swore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr.

Carruthers came in and tore him from me, on which he turned

upon his own host, knocking him down and cutting his face open.

That was the end of his visit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers

apologized to me next day, and assured me that I should never

be exposed to such an insult again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley

since.

"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing

which has caused me to ask your advlce to-day. You must know

that every Saturday forenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham

Station, in order to get the 12:22 to town. The road from

Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and at one spot it is particularly

so, for it lies for over a mile between Charlington Heath upon

one side and the woods which lie round Charlington Hall upon the

other. You could not find a more lonely tract of road anywhere,

and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or a peasant, until

you reach the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago I

was passing this place, when I chanced to look back over my

shoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me I saw a man,

also on a bicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a

short, dark beard. I looked back before I reached Farnham, but

the man was gone, so I thought no more about it. But you can

imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes, when, on my return

on the Monday, I saw the same man on the same stretch of road.

My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again,

exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He

always kept his distance and did not molest me in any way, but

still it certainly was very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers,

who seemed interested in what I said, and told me that he had

ordered a horse and trap, so that in future I should not pass over

these lonely roads without some companion.

"The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for

some reason they were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to

the station. That was this morning. You can think that I looked

out when I came to Charlington Heath, and there, sure enough,

was the man, exactly as he had been the two weeks before. He

always kept so far from me that I could not clearly see his face,

but it was certainly someone whom I did not know. He was

dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thing about his

face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day I was not

alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to find

out who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down my ma-

chine, but he slowed down his. Then I stopped altogether, but he

stopped also. Then I laid a trap for him. There is a sharp turning

of the road, and I pedalled very quickly round this, and then I

stopped and waited. I expected him to shoot round and pass me

before he could stop. But he never appeared. Then I went back

and looked round the corner. I could see a mile of road, but he

was not on it. To make it the more extraordinary, there was no

side road at this point down which he could have gone."

Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "This case certainly

presents some features of its own," said he. "How much time

elapsed between your turning the corner and your discovery that

the road was clear?"

"Two or three minutes."

"Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say

that there are no side roads?"

"None."

"Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the other."

"It could not have been on the side of the heath, or I should

have seen him."

"So, by the process of exclusion, we arrive at the fact that he

made his way toward Charlington Hall, which, as I understand

is situated in its own grounds on one side of the road. Anything

else?"

"Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I felt

I should not be happy until I had seen you and had your advice."

Holmes sat in silence for some little time.

"Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?" he

asked at last.

"He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry."

"He would not pay you a surprise visit?"

- "Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know him!"

"Have you had any other admirers?"

"Several before I knew Cyril."

"And since?"

"There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him

an admirer."

"No one else?"

Our fair client seemed a little confused.

"Who was he?" asked Holmes.

"Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it had seemed to me

sometimes that my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal

of interest in me. We are thrown rather together. I play his

accompaniments in the evening. He has never said anything.

He is a perfect gentleman. But a girl always knows."

"Ha!" Holmes looked grave. "What does he do for a living?"

"He is a rich man."

"No carriages or horses?"

"Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. But he goes into the

city two or three times a week. He is deeply interested in South

African gold shares."

"You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith. I

am very busy just now, but I will find time to make some

inquiries into your case. In the meantime, take no step without

letting me know. Good-bye, and I trust that we shall have

nothing but good news from you."

"It is part of the settled order of Nature that such a girl should

have followers," said Holmes, as he pulled at his meditative

pipe. "but for choice not on bicycles in lonely country roads.

Some secretive lover, beyond all doubt. But there are curious

and suggestive details about the case. Watson."

"That he should appear only at that point?"

"Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the tenants

of Charlington Hall. Then, again, how about the connection

between Carruthers and Woodley, since they appear to be men of

such a different type? How came they both to be so keen upon

looking up Ralph Smith's relations? One more point. What sort

of a menage is it which pays double the market price for a

governess but does not keep a horse, although six miles from the

station? Odd, Watson -- very odd!"

"You will go down?"

"No, my dear fellow, you will go down. This may be some

trifling intrigue, and I cannot break my other important research

for the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive early at Farnham;

you will conceal yourself near Charlington Heath; you will ob-

serve these facts for yourself, and act as your own judgment

advises. Then, having inquired as to the occupants of the Hall,

you will come back to me and report. And now, Watson, not

another word of the matter until we have a few solid stepping-

stones on which we may hope to get across to our solution."

We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the

Monday by the train which leaves Waterloo at 9:50, so I started

early and caught the 9:13. At Farnham Station I had no diffi-

culty in being directed to Charlington Heath. It was impossible

to mistake the scene of the young lady's adventure, for the road

runs between the open heath on one side and an old yew hedge

upon the other, surrounding a park which is studded with mag-

nificent trees. There was a main gateway of lichen-studded

stone, each side pillar surmounted by mouldering heraldic em-

blems, but besides this central carriage drive I observed several

points where there were gaps in the hedge and paths leading

through them. The house was invisible from the road, but the

surroundings all spoke of gloom and decay.

The heath was covered with golden patches of flowering

gorse, gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright spring

sunshine. Behind one of these clumps I took up my position, so

as to command both the gateway of the Hall and a long stretch of

the road upon either side. It had been deserted when I leift it, but

now I saw a cyclist riding down it from the opposite direction to

that in which I had come. He was clad in a dark suit, and I saw

that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of the Chdrlington

grounds, he sprang from his machine and led it through a gap in

the hedge, disappearing from my view.

A quarter of an hour passed, and then a second cyclist ap-

peared. This time it was the young lady coming from the station.

I saw her look about her as she came to the Charlington hedge.

An instant later the man emerged from his hiding-place, sprang

upon his cycle, and followed her. In all the broad landscape

those were the only moving figures, the graceful girl sitting very

straight upon her machine, and the man behind her bending low

over his handle-bar with a curiously furtive suggestion in every

movement. She locked back at him and slowed her pace. He

slowed also. She stopped. He at once stopped, too, keeping two

hundred yards behind her. Her next movement was as unex-

pected as it was spirited. She suddenly whisked her wheels round

and dashed straight at him. He was as quick as she, however,

and darted off in desperate flight. Presently she came back up the

road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigning to take

any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also, and

still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from

my sight.

I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so,

for presently the man reappeared, cycling slowly back. He turned

in at the Hall gates, and dismounted from his machine. For some

minutes I could see him standing among the trees. His hands

were raised, and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then he

mounted his cycle and rode away from me down the drive

towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and peered through the

trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old gray building

with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through a

dense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.

However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good

morning's work, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham.

The local house agent could tell me nothing about Charlington

Hall, and referred me to a well known firm in Pall Mall. There I

halted on my way home, and met with courtesy from the repre-

sentative. No, I could not have Charlington Hall for the summer.

I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr.

Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable,

elderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no

more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters which he

could discuss.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report

which I was able to present to him that evening, but it did not

elicit that word of curt praise which I had hoped for and should

have valued. On the contrary. his austere face was even more

severe than usual as he commented upon the things that I had

done and the things that I had not.

"Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You

should have been behind the hedge, then you would have had a

close view of this interesting person. As it is, you were some

hundreds of yards away and can tell me even less than Miss Smith.

She thinks she does not know the man; I am convinced she does.

Why, otherwise, should he be so desperately anxious that she

should not get so near him as to see his features? You describe him

as bending over the handle-bar. Concealment again, you see. You

really have done remarkably badly. He returns to the house, and you

want to find out who he is. You come to a London house agent!"

"What should I have done?" I cried, with some heat.

"Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of

country gossip. They would have told you every name, from the

master to the scullery-maid. Williamson? It conveys nothing to

my mind. If he is an elderly man he is not this active cyclist who

sprints away from that young lady's athletic pursuit. What have

we gained by your expedition? The knowledge that the girl's

story is true. I never doubted it. That there is a connection

between the cyclist and the Hall. I never doubted that either.

That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. Who's the better for

that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can

do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may

make one or two inquiries myself."

Next morning, we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting

shortly and accurately the very incidents which I had seen, but

the pith of the letter lay in the postscript:

 

I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr.

Holmes, when I tell you that my place here has become

difficult, owing to the fact that my employer has proposed

marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelings are most

deep and most honourable. At the same time, my promise is

of course given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also

very gently. You can understand, however, that the situa-

tion is a little strained.

 

"Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters," said

Holmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. "The case cer-

tainly presents more features of interest and more possibility of

development than I had originally thought. I should be none the

worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country, and I am inclined

to run down this afternoon and test one or two theories which I

have formed."

Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination,

for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening, with a cut lip

and a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air

of dissipation which would have made his own person the fitting

object of a Scotland Yard investigation. He was immensely

tickled by his own adventures and laughed heartily as he re-

counted them.

"I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat," said

he. "You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old

British sport of boxing. Occasionally, it is of service; today, for

example, I should have come to very ignominious grief without

it."

I begged him to tell me what had occurred.

"I found that country pub which I had already recommended

to your notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in

the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that I

wanted. Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives alone

with a small staff of servants at the Hall. There is some rumor

that he is or has been a clergyman, but one or two incidents of

his short residence at the Hall struck me as peculiarly unec-

clesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at a clerical

agency, and they tell me that there was a man of that name in

orders, whose career has been a singularly dark one. The land-

lord further informed me that there are usually weekend visitors -- 'a

warm lot, sir' -- at the Hall, and especially one gentleman with a

red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there.

We had got as far as this, when who should walk in but the

gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer in the tap-

room and had heard the whole conversation. Who was l? What

did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had a fine

flow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He

ended a string of abuse by a vicious backhander, which I failed to

entirely avoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a

straight left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me.

Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So ended my country trip,

and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, my day on the

Surrey border has not been much more profitable than your

own."

The Thursday brought us another letter from our client.

 

You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes [said she] to hear

that I am leaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the

high pay cannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my

situation. On Saturday I come up to town, and I do not

intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and so the

dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers,

are now over.

As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the

strained situation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reap-

pearance of that odious man, Mr. Woodley. He was always

hideous, but he looks more awful than ever now, for he

appears to have had an accident, and he is much disfigured.

I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I did not

meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carruthers, who

seemed much excited afterwards. Woodley must be staying

in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here, and yet I

caught a glimpse of him again this morning, slinking about

in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage wild animal

loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I can

say. How can Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a

moment? However, all my troubles will be over on Saturday.

 

"So I trust, Watson, so I trust," said Holmes, gravely. "There

is some deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is

our duty to see that no one molests her upon that last journey. I

think, Watson, that we must spare time to run down together on

Saturday morning and make sure that this curious and inclusive

investigation has no untoward ending."

I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of

the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre

than dangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a

very handsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he has so

little audacity that he not only dared not address her, but even

fled from her approach. he was not a very formidable assailant.

The ruffian Woodley was a very different person, but, except on

one occasion, he had not molested our client, and now he visited

the house of Carruthers without intruding upon her presence. The

man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those week-end

parties at the Hall of which the publican had spoken, but who he

was, or what he wanted, was as obscure as ever. It was the

severity of Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a

revolver into his pocket before leaving our rooms which im-

pressed me with the feeling that tragedy might prove to lurk

behind this curious train of events.

A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and

the heath-covered countryside. with the glowing clumps of flow-

ering gorse, seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were

weary of the duns and drabs and slate grays of London. Holmes

and I walked along the broad, sandy road inhaling the fresh

morning air and rejoicing in the music of the birds and the fresh

breath of the spring. From a rise of the road on the shoulder of

Crooksbury Hill, we could see the grim Hall bristling out from

amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were still

younger than the building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed

down the long tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow

band, between the brown of the heath and the budding green of

the woods. Far away, a black dot, we could see a vehicle

moving in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation of

impatience.

"I have given a margin of half an hour," said he. "If that is

her trap, she must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson,

that she will be past Charlington before we can possibly meet

her."

From the instant that we passed the rise, we could no longer

see the vehicle, but we hastened onward at such a pace that my

sedentary life began to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall

behind. Holmes, however, was always in training, for he had

inexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon which to draw. His

springy step never slowed until suddenly, when he was a hun-

dred yards in front of me, he halted, and I saw him throw up his

hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At the same instant an

empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared

round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.

"Too late, Watson, too late!" cried Holmes, as I ran panting

to his side. "Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train!

It's abduction, Watson -- abduction! Murder! Heaven knows whatl

Block the road! Stop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and

let us see if I can repair the consequences of my own blunder."

We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning

the horse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back

along the road. As we turned the curve, the whole stretch of road

between the Hall and the heath was opened up. I grasped Holmes's

arm.

"That's the man!" I gasped.

A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down

and his shoulders rounded, as he put every ounce of energy that

he possessed on to the pedals. He was flying like a racer.

Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and

pulled up, springing from his machine. That coal-black beard

was in singular contrast to the pallor of his face, and his eyes

were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us and at the

dog-cart. Then a look oF amazement came over his face.

"Halloa! Stop there!" he shouted, holding his bicycle to block

our road. "Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man!" he

yelled, drawing a pistoll from his side pocket. "Pull up, I say

or, by George, I'll put al bullet into your horse."

Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the

cart.

"You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet

Smith?" he said, in his quick, clear way.

"That's what I'm asking you. You're in her dog-cart. You

ought to know where she is."

"We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it. We

drove back to help the young lady."

"Good Lord! Good Lord! What shall I do?" cried the stranger

in an ecstasy of despair. "They've got her, that hell-hound

Woodley and the blackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you

really are her friend. Stand by me and we'll save her, if I have to

leave my carcass in Charllington Wood."

He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap in the

hedge. Holmes followed him, and I, leaving the horse grazing

beside the road, followed Holmes.

"This is where they came through," said he, pointing to the

marks of several feet upon the muddy path. "Halloa! Stop a

minute! Who's this in the bush?"

It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler

with leather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees

drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, but

alive. A glance at his wound told me that it had not penetrated

the bone.

"That's Peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "He drove her.

The beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie: we

can't do him any good, but' we may save her from the worst fate

that can befall a woman."

We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the

trees. We had reached the shrubbery which surrounded the house

when Holmes pulled up.

"They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the

left -- here, beside the laurel bushes. Ah! I said so."

As he spoke, a woman's shrill scream -- a scream which vi-

brated with a frenzy of horror -- burst from the thick, green

clump of bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly on its highest

note with a choke and a gurgle.

"This way! This way! They are in the bowling-alley," cried

the stranger, darting through the bushes. "Ah, the cowardly

dogs! Follow me, gentlemen! Too late! too late! by the living

Jingo!"

We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward

surrounded by ancient trees. On the farther side of it, under the

shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular group of three

people. One was a woman, our client, drooping and faint, a

handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her stood a brutal,

heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legs parted

wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding crop, his whole

attitude suggesive of triumphant bravado. Between them an el-

derly, gray-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light

tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, for

he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared, and slapped the

sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation.

"They're married?" I gasped.

"Come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" He rushed across

the glade, Holmes and I at his heels. As we approached, the lady

staggered against the trunk of the tree for support. Williamson,

the ex-clergyman, bowed to us with mock politeness, and the

bully, Woodley, advanced with a shout of brutal and exultant

laughter.

"You can take your beard off, Bob," said he. "I know you,

right enough. Well, you and your pals have just come in time for

me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley."

Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the

dark beard which had disguised him and threw it on the ground,

disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he

raised his revolver and covered the young ruffian, who was

advancing upon him with his dangerous riding crop swinging in

his hand.

"Yes," said our ally, "I am Bob Carruthers. and I'll see this

woman righted, if I have to swing for it. I told you what I'd do if

you molested her, and, by the Lord! I'll be as good as my

word."

"You're too late. She's my wife."

"No, she's your widow."

His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front

of Woodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell

upon his back, his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dread-

ful mottled pallor. The old man, still clad in his surplice, burst

into such a string of foul oaths as I have never heard, and pulled

out a revolver of his own, but, before he could raise it, he was

looking down the barrel of Holmes's weapon.

"Enough of this," said my friend, coldly. "Drop that pistol!

Watson, pick it up! Hold it to his head! Thank you. You

Carruthers, give me that revolver. We'll have no more violence

Come, hand it over!"

"Who are you, then?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes."

"Good Lord!"

"You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official

police until their arrival. Here, you!" he shouted to a frightened

groom, who had appeared at the edge of the glade. "Come here.

Take this note as hard as you can ride to Farnham." He scrib-

bled a few words upon a leaf from his notebook. "Give it to the

superintendent at the police-station. Until he comes, I must

detain you all under my personal custody."

The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the

tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands. William-

son and Carruthers found themselves carrying the wounded

Woodley into the house, and I gave my arm to the frightened

girl. The injured man was laid on his bed, and at Holmes's

request I examined him. I carried my report to where he sat in

the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his two prisoners before

him.

"He will live," said I.

"What!" cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair. "I'll go

upstairs and finish him first. Do you tell me that that girl, that

angel, is to be tied to Roaring Jack Woodley for life?"

"You need not concern yourself about that," said Holmes.

"There are two very good reasons why she should, under no

circumstances, be his wife. In the first place, we are very safe in

questioning Mr. Williamson's right to solemnize a marriage."

"I have been ordained," cried the old rascal.

"And also unfrocked."

"Once a clergyman, always a clergyman."

"I think not. How about the licence?"

"We had a licence for the marriage. I have it here in my

pocket."

"Then you got it by a trick. But, in any case, a forced

marriage is no marriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you

will discover before you have finished. You'll have time to think

the point out during the next ten years or so, unless I am

mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, you would have done better to

keep your pistol in your pocket."

"I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes, but when I thought of all

the precaution I had taken to shield this girl -- for I loved her,

Mr. Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I knew what love

was -- it fairly drove me mad to think that she was in the power

of the greatest brute and bully in South Africa -- a man whose

name is a holy terror from Kimberley to Johannesburg. Why,

Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever since that girl has

been in my employment I never once let her go past this house

where I knew the rascals were lurking, without following her

on my bicycle, just to see that she came to no harm. I kept

my distance from her, and I wore a beard, so that she should

not recognize me, for she is a good and high-spirited girl,

and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if

she had thought that I was following her about the country

roads."

"Why didn't you tell her of her danger?"

"Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn't

bear to face that. Even if she couldn't love me, it was a great

deal to me just to see her dainty form about the house, and to

hear the sound of her voice."

"Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I

should call it selfishness."

"Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let

her go. Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she

should have someone near to look after her. Then, when the

cable came, I knew they were bound to make a move."

"What cable?"

Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket.

"That's it," said he.

It was short and concise:

 

THE OLD MAN IS DEAD.

"Hum!" said Holmes. "I think I see how things worked, and

I can understand how this message would, as you say, bring

them to a head. But while you wait, you might tell me what you

can."

The old reprobate with thc surplice burst into a volley of bad

language.

"By heaven!" said he, "if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers

I'll serve you as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about

the girl to your heart's content, for that's your own affair, but if

you round on your pals to this plain-clothes copper, it will be the

worst day's work that ever you did."

"Your reverence need not be excited," said Holmes, lighting

a cigarette. "The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask

is a few details for my private curiosity. However, if there's any

difficulty in your telling me, I'll do the talking, and then you

will see how far you have a chance of holding back your secrets.

In the first place, three of you came from South Africa on this

game -- you Williamson, you Carruthers, and Woodley."

"Lie number one," said the old man; "I never saw either of

them until two months ago, and I have never been in Africa in

my life, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr.

Busybody Holmes!"

"What he says is true," said Carruthers

"Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our own

homemade article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa.

You had reason to believe he would not live long. You found out

that his niece would inherit his fortune. How's that -- eh?"

Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore.

"She was next of kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the

old fellow would make no will."

"Couldn't read or write, " said Carruthers.

"So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl

The idea was that one of you was to marry her, and the other

have a share of the plunder. For some reason, Woodley was

chosen as the husband. Why was that?"

"We played cards for her on the voyage. He won."

"I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there

Woodley was to do the courting. She recognized the drunken

brute that he was, and would have nothing to do with him.

Meanwhile, your arrangement was rather upset by the fact that

you had yourself fallen in love with the lady. You could no

longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her?"

"No, by George. I couldn't!"

"There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and

began to make his own plans independently of you."

"It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we can

tell this gentleman," cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. "Yes,

we quarreled, and he knocked me down. I am level with him on

that, anyhow. Then I lost sight of him. That was when he picked

up with this outcast padre here. I found that they had set up

housekeeping together at this place on the line that she had to

pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after that, for I knew

there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them from time to

time, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days

ago Woodley came up to my house with this cable, which

showed that Ralph Smith was dead. He asked me if I would

stand by the bargain. I said I would not. He asked me if I would

marry the girl myself and give him a share. I said I would

willingly do so, but that she would not have me. He said, 'Let us

get her married first, and after a week or two she may see things

a bit different.' I said I would have nothing to do with violence.

So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard that he

was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving

me this week-end, and I had got a trap to take her to the station,

but I was so uneasy in my mind that I followed her on my

bicycle. She had got a statt, however, and before I could catch

her, the mischief was done. The first thing I knew about it was

when I saw you two gentlemen driving back in her dog-cart."

Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate.

"I have been very obtuse, Watson," said he. "When in your

report you said that you had seen the cyclist as you thought

arrange his necktie in the shrubbery, that alone should have told

me all. However, we may congratulate ourselves upon a curious

and, in some respects, a unique case. I perceive three of the

county constabulary in the drive, and I am glad to see that the

little ostler is able to keep pace with them, so it is likely that

neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be permanently

damaged by their morning's adventures. I think, Watson, that in

your medical capacity, you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell

her that if she is sufficiently recovered, we shall be happy to

escort her to her mother's home. If she is not quite convalescent,

you will find that a hint that we were about to telegraph to a

young electrician in the Midlands would probably complete the

cure. As to you, Mr. Carruthers, I think that you have done what

you could to make amends for your share in an evil plot. There

is my card, sir, and if my evidence can be of help in your trial, it

shall be at your disposal."

 

In the whirl of our incessant activity, it has often been difficult

for me, as the reader has probably observed, to round off my

narratives, and to give those final details which the curious might

expect. Each case has been the prelude to another, and the crisis

once over, the actors have passed for ever out of our busy lives.

I find, however, a short note at the end of my manuscript dealing

with this case, in which I have put it upon record that Miss

Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune, and that she is

now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior partner of Morton &

Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians. Williamson and

Woodley were both tried for abduction and assault, the former

getting seven years and the latter ten. Of the fate of Carruthers, I

have no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed

very gravely by the court, since Woodley had the reputation of

being a most dangerous ruffian, and I think that a few months

were sufficient to satisfy the demands of justice.

 

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

The Aduenture of the Speckled Band

 

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I

have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend

Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large

number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as

he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of

wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation

which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic.

Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which

presented more singular features than that which was associated

with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke

Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my

association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bache-

lors in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them

upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the

time, from which I have only been freed during the last month

by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given.

It is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I

have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the

death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter

even more terrible than the truth.

It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning

to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of

my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the

mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I

blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little

resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

"Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the

common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up,

she retorted upon me, and I on you."

"What is it, then -- a fire?"

"No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a

considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me.

She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies

wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and

knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is

something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should

it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to

follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call

you and give you the chance."

"My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything."

I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his

plofessional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions,

as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis

wlth which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to

him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few

minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A

lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in

the window, rose as we entered.

"Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name

is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate,

Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before

myself. Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good

sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a

cup of hot coffee, for I observe that you are shivering."

"lt is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a

low voice, changing her seat as requested.

"What, then?"

"It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as

she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable

state of agitation, her face all drawn and gray, with restless

frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features

and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot

with premature gray, and her expression was weary and haggard.

Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-

comprehensive glances.

"You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward

and patting her forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have

no doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see."

"You know me, then?"

"No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the

palm of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet

you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before

you reached the station."

The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my

companion.

"There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling.

"The left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less

than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no

vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and

then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver."

"Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,"

said she. "I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead

at twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I

can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I

have no one to turn to -- none, save only one, who cares for me,

and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you,

Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom

you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I

had your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help

me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense

darkness which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power

to reward you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I

shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at

least you shall not find me ungrateful."

Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small

case-book, which he consulted.

"Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was

concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time,

Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote

the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to

reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to

defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which

suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us

everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the

matter."

"Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation

lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions

depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial

to another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to

look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as

the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can

read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have

heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold

wickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk

amid the dangers which encompass me."

"I am all attention, madam."

"My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfa-

ther, who is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families

in England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border

of Surrey."

Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said

he.

"The family was at one time among the richest in England,

and the estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the

north, and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however,

four successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposi-

tion, and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler

in the days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of

ground, and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed

under a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his exis-

tence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but

his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to

the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which

enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta,

where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he

established a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused by

some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat

his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sen-

tence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and

afterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.

"When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs.

Stoner, the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal

Artillery. My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only

two years old at the time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a

considerable sum of money -- not less than lOOO pounds a year -- and

this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with

him, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be

allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after

our return to England my mother died -- she was killed eight

years ago in a railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then

abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in London

and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke

Moran. The money which my mother had left was enough for all

our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.

"But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this

time. Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our

neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of

Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in

his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious

quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper

approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the

family, and in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, been

intensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of

disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the police-

court, until at last he became the terror of the village, and the

folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense

strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.

"Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into

a stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I

could gather together that I was able to avert another public

exposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gypsies,

and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the

few acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family

estate, and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents,

wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has

a passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by

a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a

baboon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by

the villagers almost as much as their master.

"You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia

and I had no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay

with us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house.

She was but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had

already begun to whiten, even as mine has."

"Your sister is dead, then?"

"She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish

to speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I

have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own

age and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's

maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow,

and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this

lady's house. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and

met there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became

engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement when my

sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but

wlthin a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the

wedding, the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of

my only companion."

Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his

eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened

hls lids now and glanced across at his visitor.

"Pray be precise as to details," said he.

"It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful

time is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have

already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The

bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms

being in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms the

first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third my

own. There is no communication between them, but they all

open out into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?"

"Perfectly so."

"The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That

fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we

knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled

by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom

to smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine,

where she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching

wedding. At eleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused

at the door and looked back.

" 'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone

whistle in the dead of the night?'

" 'Never,' said I.

" 'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in

your sleep?'

" 'Certainly not. But why?'

" 'Because during the last few nights I have always, about

three in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light

sleeper, and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came

from perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I

thought that I would just ask you whether you had heard it.'

" 'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gypsies in the

plantation.'

" 'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that

you did not hear it also.'

" 'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.'

" 'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She

smiled back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I

heard her key turn in the lock."

"Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lock

yourselves in at night?"

"Always."

"And why?"

"I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah

and a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors

were locked."

"Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement."

"I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending

misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect,

were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind

two souls which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The

wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splash-

ing against the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the

gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I

knew that it was my sister's voice. I sprang from my bed,

wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I

opened my door I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my

sister described, and a few moments later a clanging sound, as if

a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran down the passage, my

sister's door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its hinges.

I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to

issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister

appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands

groping for help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of

a drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that

moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the

ground. She writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs

were dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had not

recognized me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out

in a voice which I shall never forget, 'Oh, my God! Helen! It

was the band! The speckled band!' There was something else

which she would fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger

into the air in the direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh

convulsion seized her and choked her words. I rushed out,

calling loudly for my stepfather, and I met him hastening from

his room in his dressing-gown. When he reached my sister's side

she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her

throat and sent for medical aid from the village, all efforts were

in vain, for she slowly sank and died without having recovered

her consciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved

sister."

One moment," said Holmes, "are you sure about this whis-

tle and metallic sound? Could you swear to it?"

"That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It

is my strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash

of the gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have

been deceived."

"Was your sister dressed?"

"No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found

the charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box."

"Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her

when the alarm took place. That is important. And what conclu-

sions did the coroner come to?"

"He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott's

conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was

unable to find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence

showed that the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and

the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad

iron bars, which were secured every night. The walls were

carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid all round,

and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same

result. The chimney is wide, but is barred up by four large

staples. It is certain, therefore, that my sister was quite alone

when she met her end. Besides, there were no marks of any

violence upon her."

"How about poison?"

"The doctors examined her for it, but without success."

"What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?"

"It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock,

though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine."

"Were there gypsies in the plantation at the time?"

"Yes, there are nearly always some there."

"Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band -- a

speckled band?"

"Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of

delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of

people, perhaps to these very gypsies in the plantation. I do not

know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them

wear over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective

which she used."

Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being

satisfied.

"These are very deep waters," said he; "pray go on with your

narrative."

"Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until

lately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend,

whom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to

ask my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage -- Percy

Armitage -- the second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water,

near Reading. My stepfather has offered no opposition to the

match, and we are to be married in the course of the spring. Two

days ago some repairs were started in the west wing of the

building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that I have

had to move into the chamber in which my sister died, and to

sleep in the very bed in which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill

of terror when last night, as I lay awake, thinking over her

terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low

whistle which had been the herald of her own death. I sprang up

and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was

too shaken to go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as

soon as it was daylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the

Crown Inn, which is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from

whence I have come on this morning with the one object of

seeing you and asking your advice."

"You have done wisely," said my friend. "But have you told

me all?"

"Yes, all."

"Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your

stepfather."

"Why, what do you mean?"

For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which

fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee. Five little livid

spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon

the white wrist.

"You have been cruelly used," said Holmes.

The lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist.

"He is a hard man," she said, "and perhaps he hardly knows

his own strength."

There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his

chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.

"This is a very deep business," he said at last. "There are a

thousand details which I should desire to know before I decide

upon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If

we were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for

us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your

stepfather?"

"As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon

some most important business. It is probable that he will be

away all day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We

have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could

easily get her out of the way."

"Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?"

"By no means."

"Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?"

"I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I

am in town. But I shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as

to be there in time for your coming."

"And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself

some small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and

breakfast?"

"No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have

confided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you

again this afternoon." She dropped her thick black veil over her

face and glided from the room.

"And what do you think of it all, Watson?" asked Sherlock

Holmes, leaning back in his chair.

"It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business."

"Dark enough and sinister enough."

"Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls

are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impass-

able, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she

met her mysterious end."

"What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what

of the very peculiar words of the dying woman?"

"I cannot think."

"When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the pres-

ence of a band of gypsies who are on intimate terms with this old

doctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that the

doctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage,

the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss

Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been

caused by one of those metal bars that secured the shutters

falling back into its place, I think that there is good ground to

think that the mystery may be cleared along those lines."

"But what, then, did the gypsies do?"

"I cannot imagine."

"I see many objections to any such theory."

"And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going

to Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are

fatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of

the devil!"

The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the

fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a

huge man had framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a

peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural,

having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high

gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he

that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the- doorway, and

his breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large

face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the

sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to

the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high,

thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a

fierce old bird of prey.

"Which of you is Holmes?" asked this apparition.

"My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said my

companion quietly.

"I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran."

"Indeed, Doctor," said Holmes blandly. "Pray take a seat."

"I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been

here. I have traced her. What has she been saying to you?"

"It is a little cold for the time of the year," said Holmes.

"What has she been saying to you?" screamed the old man

furiously.

"But I have heard that the crocuses promise well," continued

my companion imperturbably.

"Ha! You put me off, do you?" said our new visitor, taking a

step forward and shaking his hunting-crop. "I know you, you

scoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the

meddler."

My friend smiled.

"Holmes, the busybody!"

His smile broadened.

"Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!"

Holmes chuckled heartily. "Your conversation is most enter-

taining," said he. "When you go out close the door, for there is

a decided draught."

"I will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddle

with my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced

her! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here." He stepped

swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with

his huge brown hands.

"See that you keep yourself out of my grip," he snarled, and

hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the

room.

"He seems a very amiable person," said Holmes, laughing.

"I am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have

shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his

own." As he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a

sudden effort, straightened it out again.

"Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the

official detective force! This incident gives zest to our investiga-

tion, however, and I only trust that our little friend will not

suffer from her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her.

And now, Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I

shall walk down to Doctors' Commons, where I hope to get

some data which may help us in this matter."

 

It was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned

from his excursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper,

scrawled over with notes and figures.

"I have seen the will of the deceased wife," said he. "To

determine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the

present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The

total income, which at the time of the wife's death was little

short of 1100 pounds, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices,

not more than 750 pounds. Each daughter can claim an income of

250 pounds, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that if both

girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance,

while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious

extent. My morning's work has not been wasted, since it has

proved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in the

way of anything of the sort. And now, Watson, this is too

serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is aware that we

are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we

shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very much

obliged if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. An

Eley's No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen who can

twist steel pokers into knots. That and a tooth-brush are, I think

all that we need."

At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for

Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove

for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey laries. It was a

perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the

heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out

their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell

of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange contrast

between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest

upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in the front of

the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and

his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought.

Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and

pointed over the meadows

"Look there!" said he.

A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thick-

ening mto a grove at the highest point. From amid the branches

there jutted out the gray gables and high roof-tree of a very old

mansion.

"Stoke Moran?" said he.

"Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,"

remarked the driver.

"There is some building going on there," said Holmes; "that

is where we are going."

"There's the village," said the driver, pointing to a cluster of

roofs some distance to the left; "but if you want to get to the

house, you'll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the

foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is walking."

"And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner," observed Holmes,

shading his eyes. "Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest."

We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way

to Leatherhead.

"I thought it as well," said Holmes as we climbed the stile,

"that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or

on some definite business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon,

Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as our word."

Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with

a face which spoke her joy. "I have been waiting so eagerly for

you," she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. "All has turned

out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely

that he will be back before evening."

"We have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaint-

ance," said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what

had occurred. Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.

"Good heavens!" she cried, "he has followed me, then."

"So it appears."

"He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from

him. What will he say when he returns?"

"He must guard himself, for he may find that there is some-

one more cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock

yourself up from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you

away to your aunt's at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use

of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are

to examine."

The building was of gray, lichen-blotched stone, with a high

central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab,

thrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows

were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof

was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in

little better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively

modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke

curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the

family resided. Some scaffolding had been erected against the

end wall, and the stone-work had been broken into, but there

were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit.

Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and

examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows.

"This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to

sleep, the centre one to your sister's, and the one next to the

main building to Dr. Roylott's chamber?"

"Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one."

"Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there

does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end

wall."

"There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me

from my room."

"Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow

wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There

are windows in it, of course?"

 

"Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass

through."

"As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were

unapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kind-

ness to go into your room and bar your shutters?"

Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination

through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the

shutter open, but without success. There was no slit through

which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his lens

he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into

the massive masonry. "Hum!" said he, scratching his chin in

some perplexity, "my theory certainly presents some difficulties.

No one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well, we

shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter."

A small slde door led into the whitewashed corridor from

which the three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine

the third chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in

which Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had

met with her fate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling

and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A

brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white-

counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand

side of the window. These articles, with two small wicker-work

chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of

Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and the panelling

of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and

discoloured that it may have dated from the original building of

the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat

sllent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and

down, taking in every detail of the apartment.

"Where does that bell communicate with?" he asked at last

pointing to a thick belt-rope which hung down beside the bed,

the tassel actually lying upon the pi]low.

"It goes to the housekeeper's room."

"It looks newer than the other things?"

"Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago."

"Your sister asked for it, I suppose?"

"No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get

what we wanted for ourselves."

"Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull

there. You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy

myself as to this floor." He threw himself down upon his face

with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and

forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards.

Then he dld the same with the wood-work with which the

chamber was panelled. Finally he walked over to the bed and

spent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and

down the wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave

it a brisk tug.

"Why, it's a dummy," said he.

"Won't it ring?"

"No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting.

You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where

the little opening for the ventilator is."

"How very absurd! I never noticed that before."

"Very strange!" muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. "There

are one or two very singular points about this room. For exam-

ple, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into

another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have

communicated with the outside air!"

"That is also quite modern," said the lady.

"Done about the same time as the bell-rope?" remarked

Holmes.

"Yes, there were severa} little changes carried out about that

time."

"They seem to have been of a most interesting character --

dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With

your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches

into the inner apartment."

Dr. Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger than that of his

stepdaughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small

wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character an

armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wail, a

round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which

met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each

and all of them with the keenest interest.

"What's in here?" he asked, tapping the safe.

"My stepfather's business papers."

"Oh! you have seen inside, then?"

"Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of

papers."

"There isn't a cat in it, for example?"

"No. What a strange idea!"

"Well, look at this!" He took up a small saucer of milk which

stood on the top of it.

"No; we don't keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a

baboon."

"Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet

a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I

daresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine."

He squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the

seat of it with the greatest attention.

"Thank you. That is quite settled," said he, rising and putting

his lens in his pocket. "Hello! Here is something interesting!"

The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash

hung on one corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled

upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.

"What do you make of that, Watson?"

"It's a common enough lash. But I don't know why if should

be tied."

"That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it's a wicked

world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the

worst of all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner,

and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn."

I had never seen my friend's face so grim or his brow so dark

as it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation.

We had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither

Miss Stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts

before he roused himself from his reverie.

"It is very essential, Miss Stoner," said he, "that you should

absolutely follow my advice in every respect."

"I shall most certainly do so."

"The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may

depend upon your compliance."

"I assure you that I am in your hands."

"In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night

in your room."

Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.

"Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the

village inn over there?"

"Yes, that is the Crown."

"Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?"

"Certainly."

"You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a

headache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you

hear him retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your

window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us,

and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely

to want into the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt

that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one

night."

"Oh, yes, easily."

"The rest you will leave in our hands."

"But what will you do?"

"We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investi-

gate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you."

"I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your

mind," said Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion's

sleeve.

"Perhaps I have."

"Then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of my

sister's death."

"I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak."

"You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct,

and if she died from some sudden fright."

"No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some

more tangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you

for if Dr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in

vain. Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told

you you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the

dangers that threaten you."

Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bed-

room and sitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper

floor, and from our window we could command a view of the

avenue gate, and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor

House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his

huge form looming up beside the little figure of the lad who

drove him. The boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the

heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor's

voice and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at

him. The trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a

sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one

of the sitting-rooms.

"Do you know, Watson," said Holmes as we sat together in

the gathering darkness, "I have really some scruples as to taking

you to-night. There is a distinct element of danger."

"Can I be of assistance?"

"Your presence might be invaluable."

"Then I shall certainly come."

"It is very kind of you."

"You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these

rooms than was visible to me."

"No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I

imagine that you saw all that I did."

"I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose

that could answer I confess is more than I can imagine."

"You saw the ventilator, too?"

"Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to

have a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a

rat could hardly pass through."

"I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came

to Stoke Moran."

"My dear Holmes!"

"Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that

her sister could smell Dr. Roylott's cigar. Now, of course that

suggested at once that there must be a communication between

the two rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have

been remarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. I deduced a

ventilator."

"But what harm can there be in that?"

"Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A

ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the

bed dies. Does not that strike you?"

"I cannot as yet see any connection."

"Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?"

"No."

"It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened

like that before?"

"I cannot say that I have."

"The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the

same relative position to the ventilator and to the rope -- or so we

may call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull."

"Holmes," I cried, "I seem to see dimly what you are hinting

at. We are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible

crime."

"Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go

wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has

knowledge. Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their

profession. This man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson,

that we shall be able to strike deeper still. But we shall have

horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness' sake let us

have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to some-

thing more cheerful."

 

* * *

 

About nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished,

and all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours

passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of

eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.

"That is our signal," said Holmes, springing to his feet; "it

comes from the middle window."

As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the land-

lord, explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaint-

ance, and that it was possible that we might spend the night

there. A moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind

blowing in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of

us through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.

There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unre-

paired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way

among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about

to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel

bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted

child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and

then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.

"My God!" I whispered; "did you see it?"

Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed

like a vise upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a

low laugh and put his lips to my ear.

"It is a nice household," he murmured. "That is the baboon."

I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected.

There was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our

shoulders at any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind

when, after following Holmes's example and slipping off my

shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom. My companion noise-

lessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and

cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had seen it in the

daytime. Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his

hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all

that I could do to distinguish the words:

"The least sound would be fatal to our plans."

I nodded to show that I had heard.

"We must sit without light. He would see it through the

ventilator."

I nodded again.

"Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have

your pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side

of the bed, and you in that chair."

I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.

Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed

upon the bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and

the stump of a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we

were left in darkness.

How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a

sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my

companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same

state of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut

off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.

From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once

at our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us

that the cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear

the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every

quarter of an hour. How long they seemed, those quarters!

Twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat

waiting silently for whatever might befall.

Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the

direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was

succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal.

Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle

sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though

the smell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining

ears. Then suddenly another sound became audible -- a very gen-

tle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping

continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes

sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with

his cane at the bell-pull.

"You see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see it?"

But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the

light I heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing

into my weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was

at which my friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see

that his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing.-

He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator

when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most

horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder

and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled

in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the

village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the

sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I stood

gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had

died away into the silence from which it rose.

"What can it mean?" I gasped.

"It means that it is all over," Holmes answered. "And per-

haps, after all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will

enter Dr. Roylott's room."

With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the

corridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply

from within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his

heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.

It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood

a dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant

beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar.

Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott

clad in a long gray dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding

beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers.

Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we

had noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward and his

eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the

ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with

brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his

head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.

"The band! the speckled band!" whispered Holmes.

I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began

to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat

diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.

"It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the deadliest snake in

India. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence

does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into

the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back

into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place

of shelter and let the county police know what has happened."

 

As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead

man's lap, and throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he

drew it from its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length,

threw it into the iron safe, which he closed upon it.

 

Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,

of Stoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a

narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling

how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we con-

veyed her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at

Harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the

conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing

with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn of the

case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next

day.

"I had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusion

which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to

reason from insufficient data. The presence of the gypsies, and

the use of the word 'band,' which was used by the poor girl, no

doubt to explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried

glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me

upon an entirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I

instantly reconsidered my position when, however, it became

clear to me that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the

room could not come either from the window or the door. My

attention was speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you,

to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the

bed. The discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was

clamped to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the

rope was there as a bridge for something passing through the

hole and coming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly

occurred to me, and when I coupled it with my knowledge that

the doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from India, I

felt that I was probably on the right track. The idea of using a

form of poison which could not possibly be discovered by any

chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a clever and

ruthless man who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity with

which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point

of view, be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner,

indeed, who could distinguish the two little dark punctures which

would show where the poison fangs had done their work. Then I

thought of the whistle. Of course he must recall the snake before

the morning light revealed it to the victim. He had trained it,

probably by the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him

when summoned. He would put it through this ventilator at the

hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl

down the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the

occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but

sooner or later she must fall a victim.

"I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his

room. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in

the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary

in order that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the safe,

the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to

finally dispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic

clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfa-

ther hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occu-

pant. Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which

I took in order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature

hiss as I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the

light and attacked it."

"With the result of driving it through the ventilator."

"And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master

at the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and

roused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it

saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr.

Grimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot say that it is likely to

weigh very heavily upon my conscience."

 

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

The Stock-Broker's Clerk

 

Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the

Paddington district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased

it, had at one time an excellent general practice; but his age, and

an affliction of the nature of St. Vitus's dance from which he

suffered, had very much thinned it. The public not unnaturally

goes on the principle that he who would heal others must him-

self be whole, and looks askance at the curative powers of the

man whose own case is beyond the reach of his drugs. Thus as

my predecessor weakened his practice declined, until when I

purchased it from him it had sunk from twelve hundred to little

more than three hundred a year. I had confidence, however, in

my own youth and energy and was convinced that in a very few

years the concern would be as flourishing as ever.

For three months after taking over the practice I was kept very

closely at work and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for

I was too busy to visit Baker Street, and he seldom went

anywhere himself save upon professional business. I was sur-

prised, therefore, when, one morning in June, as I sat reading

the British Medical Journal after breakfast, I heard a ring at the

bell, followed by the high, somewhat strident tones of my old

companion's voice.

"Ah, my dear Watson," said he, striding into the room, "I

am very delighted to see you! I trust that Mrs. Watson has entirely

recovered from all the little excitements connected with our

adventure of the Sign of Four."

"Thank you, we are both very well," said I, shaking him

warmly by the hand.

"And I hope, also," he continued, sitting down in the rocking-

chair, "that the cares of medical practice have not entirely

obliterated the interest which you used to take in our little

deductive problems."

"On the contrary," I answered, "it was only last night that I

was looking over my old notes, and classifying some of our past

results."

"I trust that you don't consider your collection closed."

"Not at all. I should wish nothing better than to have some

more of such experiences."

"To-day, for example?"

"Yes, to-day, if you like."

"And as far off as Birmingham?"

"Certainly, if you wish it."

"And the practice?"

"I do my neighbour's when he goes. He is always ready to

work off the debt."

"Ha! nothing could be better," said Holmes, leaning back in

his chair and looking keenly at me from under his half-closed

lids. "I perceive that you have been unwell lately. Summer colds

are always a little trying."

"I was confined to the house by a severe chill for three days

last week. I thought, however, that I had cast off every trace of

it."

"So you have. You look remarkably robust."

"How, then, did you know of it?"

"My dear fellow, you know my methods."

"You deduced it, then?"

"Certainly."

"And from what?"

"From your slippers."

I glanced down at the new patent-leathers which I was wear-

ing. "How on earth --" I began, but Holmes answered my

question before it was asked.

"Your slippers are new," he said. "You could not have had

them more than a few weeks. The soles which you are at this

moment presenting to me are slightly scorched. For a moment I

thought they might have got wet and been burned in the drying.

But near the instep there is a small circular wafer of paper with

the shopman's hieroglyphics upon it. Damp would of course

have removed this. You had, then, been sitting with your feet

outstretched to the fire, which a man would hardly do even in so

wet a June as this if he were in his full health."

Like all Holmes's reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itself

when it was once explained. He read the thought upon my

features, and his smile had a tinge of bitterness.

"I am afraid that I rather give myself away when I explain."

said he. "Results without causes are much more impressive.

You are ready to come to Birmingham. then?"

"Certainly. What is the case?"

"You shall hear it all in the train. My client is outside in a

four-wheeler. Can you come at once?"

"In an instant." I scribbled a note to my neighbour, rushed

upstairs to explain the matter to my wife, and joined Holmes

upon the doorstep.

"Your neighbour is a doctor." said he, nodding at the brass

plate.

"Yes, he bought a practice as I did."

"An old-established one?"

"Just the same as mine. Both have been ever since the houses

were built."

"Ah! then you got hold of the best of the two."

"I think I did. But how do you know?"

"By the steps, my boy. Yours are worn three inches deeper

than his. But this gentleman in the cab is my client, Mr. Hall

Pycroft. Allow me to introduce you to him. Whip your horse up,

cabby, for we have only just time to catch our train."

The man whom I found myself facing was a well-built, fresh-

complexioned young fellow, with a frank, honest face and a

slight, crisp, yellow moustache. He wore a very shiny top-hat

and a neat suit of sober black, which made him look what he

was -- a smart young City man, of the class who have been

labelled cockneys, but who give us our crack volunteer regi-

ments, and who turn out more fine athletes and sportsmen than

any body of men in these islands. His round, ruddy face was

naturally full of cheeriness, but the corners of his mouth seemed

to me to be pulled down in a half-comical distress. It was not,

however, until we were in a first-class carriage and well started

upon our journey to Birmingham that I was able to learn what

the trouble was which had driven him to Sherlock Holmes.

"We have a clear run here of seventy minutes," Holmes

remarked. "I want you, Mr. Hall Pycroft, to tell my friend your

very interesting experience exactly as you have told it to me, or

with more detail if possible. It will be of use to me to hear the

succession of events again. It is a case, Watson, which may

prove to have something in it, or may prove to have nothing, but

which, at least, presents those unusual and outre features which

are as dear to you as they are to me. Now, Mr. Pycroft. I shall

not interrupt you again."

Our young companion looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.

"The worst of the story is." said he. "that I show myself up

as such a confounded fool. Of course it may work out all right.

and I don't see that I could have done otherwise; but if I have

lost my crib and get nothing in exchange I shall feel what a soft

Johnny I have been. I'm not very good at telling a story, Dr.

Watson, but it is like this with me:

"I used to have a billet at Coxon & Woodhouse's, of Draper

Gardens, but they were let in early in the spring through the

Venezuelan loan, as no doubt you remember, and came a nasty

cropper. I have been with them five years. and old Coxon gave

me a ripping good testimonial when the smash came. but of

course we clerks were all turned adrift, the twenty-seven of us. I

tried here and tried there, but there were lots of other chaps on

the same lay as myself, and it was a perfect frost for a long time.

I had been taking three pounds a week at Coxon's, and I had

saved about seventy of them, but I soon worked my way through

that and out at the other end. I was fairly at the end of my tether

at last, and could hardly find the stamps to answer the advertise-

ments or the envelopes to stick them to. I had worn out my

boots paddling up office stairs, and I seemed just as far from

getting a billet as ever.

"At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson & Williams's, the great

stock-broking firm in Lombard Street. I dare say E. C. is not

much in your line, but I can tell you that this is about the richest

house in London. The advertisement was to be answered by

letter only. I sent in my testimonial and application, but without

the least hope of getting it. Back came an answer by return,

saying that if I would appear next Monday I might take over my

new duties at once, provided that my appearance was satisfac-

tory. No one knows how these things are worked. Some people

say that the manager just plunges his hand into the heap and

takes the first that comes. Anyhow it was my innings that time,

and I don't ever wish to feel better pleased. The screw was a

pound a week rise, and the duties just about the same as at

Coxon's.

"And now I come to the queer part of the business. I was in

diggings out Hampstead way, 17 Potter's Terrace. Well, I was

sitting doing a smoke that very evening after I had been prom-

ised the appointment, when up came my landlady with a card

which had 'Arthur Pinner, Financial Agent,' printed upon it. I

had never heard the name before and could not imagine what he

wanted with me, but of course I asked her to show him up. In he

walked, a middle-sized dark-haired, dark-eyed. black-bearded

man. with a touch of the sheeny about his nose. He had a brisk

kind of way with him and spoke sharply, like a man who knew

the value of time.

" 'Mr. Hall Pycroft, I believe?' said he.

" 'Yes, sir,' I answered, pushing a chair towards him.

" 'Lately engaged at Coxon & Woodhouse's?'

" 'Yes, sir.'

" 'And now on the staff of Mawson's.'

" 'Quite so.'

" 'Well.' said he, 'the fact is that I have heard some really

extraordinary stories about your financial ability. You remember

Parker, who used to be Coxon's manager. He can never say

enough about it.'

"Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had always been

pretty sharp in the office, but I had never dreamed that I was

talked about in the City in this fashion.

" 'You have a good memory?' said he.

" 'Pretty fair,' I answered modestly.

" 'Have you kept in touch with the market while you have-

been out of work?' he asked.

" 'Yes. I read the stock-exchange list every morning.'

" 'Now that shows real application!' he cried. 'That is the

way to prosper! You won't mind my testing you, will you? Let

me see. How are Ayrshires?'

" 'A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five and

seven-eighths.'

" 'And New Zealand consolidated?'

" 'A hundred and four.'

" 'And British Broken Hills?'

" 'Seven to seven-and-six.'

" 'Wonderful!' he cried with his hands up. 'This quite fits in

with all that I had heard. My boy, my boy, you are very much

too good to be a clerk at Mawson's!'

"This outburst rather astonished me, as you can think. 'Well,'

said I, 'other people don't think quite so much of me as you

seem to do, Mr. Pinner. I had a hard enough fight to get this

berth, and I am very glad to have it.'

" 'Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are not in your

true sphere. Now, I'll tell you how it stands with me. What I

have to offer is little enough when measured by your ability, but

when compared with Mawson's it's light to dark. Let me see.

When do you go to Mawson's?'

" 'On Monday.'

" 'Ha, ha! I think I would risk a little sporting flutter that you

don't go there at all.'

" 'Not go to Mawson's'?'

" 'No, sir. By that day you will be the business manager of

the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, with a hun-

dred and thirty-four branches in the towns and villages of France,

not counting one in Brussels and one in San Remo.'

"This took my breath away. 'I never heard of it.' said I.

" 'Very likely not. It has been kept very quiet, for the capital

was all privately subscribed, and it's too good a thing to let the

public into. My brother, Harry Pinner, is promoter, and joins the

board after allotment as managing director. He knew I was in the

swim down here and asked me to pick up a good man cheap. A

young, pushing man with plenty of snap about him. Parker spoke

of you, and that brought me here to-night. We can only offer you

a beggarly five hundred to start with.'

" 'Five hundred a year!' I shouted.

" 'Only that at the beginning; but you are to have an over-

riding commission of one per cent on all business done by your

agents, and you may take my word for it that this will come to

more than your salary.'

" 'But I know nothing about hardware.'

" 'Tut, my boy, you know about figures.'

"My head buzzed, and I could hardly sit still in my chair. But

suddenly a little chill of doubt came upon me.

" 'I must be frank with yoli,' said I. 'Mawson only gives me

two hundred, but Mawson is safe. Now, really, I know so little

about your company that --'

" 'Ah, smart, smart!' he cried in a kind of ecstasy of delight.

'You are the very man for us. You are not to be talked over, and

quite right, too. Now, here's a note for a hundred pounds, and if

you think that we can do business you may just slip it into your

pocket as an advance upon your salary.'

" 'That is very handsome,' said I. 'When should I take over

my new duties?'

" 'Be in Birmingham to-morrow at one,' said he. 'I have a

note in my pocket here which you will take to my brother. You

will find him at 126B Corporation Street. where the temporary

offices of the company are situated. Of course he must confirm

your engagement, but between ourselves it will be all right.'

" 'Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude, Mr.

Pinner,' said I.

" 'Not at all, my boy. You have only got your deserts. There

are one or two small things -- mere formalities -- which I must

arrange with you. You have a bit of paper beside you there.

Kindly write upon it "I am perfectly willing to act as business

manager to the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, at

a minimum salary of 500 pounds." '

"I did as he asked. and he put the paper in his pocket.

" 'There is one other detail,' said he. 'What do you intend to

do about Mawson's?'

"I had forgotten all about Mawson's in my joy. 'I'll write and

resign,' said I.

" 'Precisely what I don't want you to do. I had a row over

you with Mawson's manager. I had gone up to ask him about

you, and he was very offensive; accused me of coaxing you

away from the service of the firm, and that sort of thing. At last I

fairly lost my temper. "If you want good men you should pay

them a good price," said I.

" ' "He would rather have our small price than your big

one," said he.

" ' "I'll lay you a fiver," said I, "that when he has my offer

you'll never so much as hear from him again."

" ' "Done!" said he. "We picked him out of the gutter, and

he won't leave us so easily." Those were his very words.'

" 'The impudent scoundrel!' I cried. 'I've never so much as

seen him in my life. Why should I consider him in any way? I

shall certainly not write if you would rather I didn't.'

" 'Good! That's a promise,' said he, rising from his chair.

'Well, I'm delighted to have got so good a man for my brother.

Here's your advance of a hundred pounds, and here is the letter.

Make a note of the address. 126B Corporation Street, and re-

member that one o'clock to-morrow is your appointment. Good-

night, and may you have all the fortune that you deserve!'

"That's just about all that passed between us, as near as I can

remember. You can imagine, Dr. Watson, how pleased I was at

such an extraordinary bit of good fortune. I sat up half the night

hugging myself over it, and next day I was off to Birmingham

in a train that would take me in plenty time for my appointment.

I took my things to a hotel in New Street, and then I made my

way to the address which had been given me.

"It was a quarter of an hour before my time, but I thought that

would makc no difference. 126B was a passage between two

large shops, which led to a winding stone stair, from which there

were many flats, let as offices to companies or professional men.

The names of the occupants were painted at the bottom on the

wall, but there was no such name as the Franco-Midland

Hardware Company, Limited. I stood for a few minutes with my

heart in my boots, wondering whether the whole thing was an

elaborate hoax or not, when up came a man and addressed me. He

was very like the chap I had seen the night before, the same

figure and voice, but he was clean-shaven and his hair was

lighter.

" 'Are you Mr. Hall Pycroft?' he asked.

" 'Yes,' said I.

" 'Oh! I was expecting you, but you are a trifle before your

time. I had a note from my brother this morning in which he

sang your praises very loudly.'

" 'I was just looking for the offices when you came.'

" 'We have not got our name up yet, for we only secured

these temporary premises last week. Come up with me, and we

will talk the matter over.'

"I followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and there,

right under the slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little

rooms, uncarpeted and uncurtained, into which he led me. I had

thought of a great office with shining tables and rows of clerks,

such as I was used to, and I daresay I stared rather straight at the

two deal chairs and one little table, which with a ledger and a

waste-paper basket, made up the whole furniture.

" 'Don't be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft,' said my new ac-

quaintance, seeing the length of my face. 'Rome was not built in

a day, and we have lots of money at our backs, though we don't

cut much dash yet in offices. Pray sit down, and let me have

your letter.'

"I gave it to him, and he read it over very carefully.

" 'You seem to have made a vast impression upon my brother

Arthur,' said he, 'and I know that he is a pretty shrewd judge.

He swears by London, you know; and I by Birmingham; but this

time I shall follow his advice. Pray consider yourself definitely

engaged.'

" 'What are my duties?' I asked.

" 'You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which

will pour a flood of English crockery into the shops of a hundred

and thirty-four agents in France. The purchase will be completed

in a week, and meanwhile you will remain in Birmingham and

make yourself useful.'

" 'How?'

"For answer, he took a big red book out of a drawer.

" 'This is a directory of Paris,' said he, 'with the trades after

the names of the people. I want you to take it home with you

and to mark off all the hardware-sellers, with their addresses. It

would be of the greatest use to me to have them.'

" 'Surely, there are classified lists?' I suggested.

" 'Not reliable ones. Their system is different from ours. Stick at

it, and let me have the lists by Monday, at twelve. Good-day,

Mr. Pycroft. If you continue to show zeal and intelligence you

will find the company a good master.'

"I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, and

with very conflicting feelings in my breast. On the one hand, I

was definitely engaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket;

on the other, the look of the offices, the absence of name on the

wall, and other of the points which would strike a business man

had left a bad impression as to the position of my employers.

However, come what might, I had my money, so l settled down

to my task. All Sunday I was kept hard at work, and yet by

Monday I had only got as far as H. I went round to my

employer, found him in the same dismantled kind of room, and

was told to keep at it until Wednesday, and then come again. On

Wednesday it was still unfinished, so I hammered away until

Friday -- that is, yesterday. Then I brought it round to Mr. Harry

Pinner.

" 'Thank you very much,' said he, 'I fear that I underrated

the difficulty of the task. This list will be of very material

assistance to me.'

" 'It took some time,' said I.

" 'And now,' said he, 'I want you to make a list of the

furniture shops, for they all sell crockery.'

" 'Very good.'

" 'And you can come up to-morrow evening at seven and let

me know how you are getting on. Don't overwork yourself. A

couple of hours at Day's Music Hall in the evening would do

you no harm after your labours.' He laughed as he spoke, and I

saw with a thrill that his second tooth upon the left-hand side had

been very badly stuffed with gold."

Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and I stared

with astonishment at our client.

"You may well look surprised, Dr. Watson, but it is this

way," said he: "When I was speaking to the other chap in

London, at the time that he laughed at my not going to Maw-

son's, I happened to notice that his tooth was stuffed in this very

identical fashion. The glint of the gold in each case caught my

eye, you see. When I put that with the voice and figure being the

same, and only those things altered which might be changed by a

razor or a wig, I could not doubt that it was the same man. Of

course you expect two brothers to be alike, but not that they

should have the same tooth stuffed in the same way. He bowed

me out, and I found myself in the street, hardly knowing whether

I was on my head or my heels. Back I went to my hotel, put my

head in a basin of cold water, and tried to think it out. Why had

he sent me from London to Birmingham? Why had he got there

before me? And why had he written a letter from himself to

himself? It was altogether too much for me, and I could make no

sense of it. And then suddenly it struck me that what was dark to

me might be very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just time

to get up to town by the night train to see him this morning, and

to bring you both back with me to Birmingham."

There was a pause after the stock-broker's clerk had concluded

his surprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye

at me, leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet

critical face, like a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of

a comet vintage.

"Rather fine, Watson, is it not?" said he. "There are points

in it which please me. I think that you will agree with me that an

interview with Mr. Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices

of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, would be a

rather interesting experience for both of us."

"But how can we do it?" I asked.

"Oh, easily enough," said Hall Pycroft cheerily. "You are

two friends of mine who are in want of a billet, and what could

be more natural than that I should bring you both round to the

managing direetor?"

"Quite so, of course," said Holmes. "I should like to have a

look at the gentleman and see if I can make anything of his little

game. What qualities have you, my friend, which would make

your services so valuable? Or is it possible that --" He began

biting his nails and staring blankly out of the window, and we

hardly drew another word from him until we were in New Street.

At seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of

us, down Corporation Street to the company's offices.

"It is no use our being at all before our time," said our client.

"He only comes there to see me, apparently, for the place is

deserted up to the very hour he names."

"That is suggestive," remarked Holmes.

"By Jove, I told you so!" cried the clerk. "That's he walking

ahead of us there."

He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was

bustling along the other side of the road. As we watched him he

looked across at a boy who was bawling out the latest edition of

the evening paper, and, running over among the cabs and busses,

he bought one from him. Then, clutching it in his hand, he

vanished through a doorway.

"There he goes!" cried Hall Pycroft. "These are the compa-

ny's offices into which he has gone. Come with me, and I'll fix

it up as easily as possible."

Following his lead, we ascended five stories, until we found

ourselves outside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped.

A voice within bade us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished

room such as Hall Pycroft had described. At the single table sat

the man whom we had seen in the street, with his evening paper

spread out in front of him, and as he looked up at us it seemed to

me that I had never looked upon a face which bore such marks of

grief, and of something beyond grief -- of a horror such as comes

to few men in a lifetime. His brow glistened with perspiration,

his cheeks were of the dull, dead white of a fish's belly, and his

eyes were wild and staring. He looked at his clerk as though he

failed to recognize him, and I could see by the astonishment

depicted upon our conductor's face that this was by no means the

usual appearance of his employer.

"You look ill, Mr. Pinner!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, I am not very well," answered the other, making

obvious efforts to pull himself together and licking his dry lips

before he spoke. "Who are these gentlemen whom you have

brought with you?"

"One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr.

Price, of this town," said our clerk glibly. "They are friends of

mine and gentlemen of experience, but they have been out of a

place for some little time, and they hoped that perhaps you might

find an opening for them in the company's employment."

"Very possibly! very possibly!" cried Mr. Pinner with a

ghastly smile. "Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able to do

something for you. What is your particular line, Mr. Harris?"

"I am an accountant," said Holmes.

"Ah, yes, we shall want something of the sort. And you. Mr.

Price? "

"A clerk," said I.

"I have every hope that the company may accommodate you.

I will let you know about it as soon as we come to any conclu-

sion. And now I beg that you will go. For God's sake leave me

to myself!"

These last words were shot out of him, as though the con-

straint which he was evidently setting upon himself had sud-

denly and utterly burst asunder. Holmes and I glanced at each

other, and Hall Pycroft took a step towards the table.

"You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by appointment to

receive some directions from you," said he.

"Certainly, Mr. Pycroft, certainly," the other resumed in a

calmer tone. "You may wait here a moment and there is no

reason why your friends should not wait with you. I will be

entirely at your service in three minutes, if I might trespass upon

your patience so far." He rose with a very courteous air, and,

bowing to us, he passed out through a door at the farther end of

the room, which he closed behind him.

"What now?" whispered Holmes. "Is he giving us the slip?"

"Impossible," answered Pycroft.

"Why so?"

"That door leads into an inner room."

"There is no exit?"

"None."

"Is it furnished?"

"It was empty yesterday."

"Then what on earth can he be doing? There is something

which I don't understand in this matter. If ever a man was three

parts mad with terror, that man's name is Pinner. What can have

put the shivers on him?"

"He suspects that we are detectives," I suggested.

"That's it," cried Pycroft.

Holmes shook his head. "He did not turn pale. He was pale

when we entered the room," said he. "It is just possible that --"

His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direc-

tion of the inner door.

"What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?" cried

the clerk.

Again and much louder came the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed

expectantly at the closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his

face turn rigid, and he leaned forward in intense excitement.

Then suddenly came a low guggling, gargling sound, and a brisk

drumming upon woodwork. Holmes sprang frantically across the

room and pushed at the door. It was fastened on the inner side.

Following his example, we threw ourselves upon it with all our

weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and down came the

door with a crash. Rushing over it, we found ourselves in the

inner room. It was empty.

But it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At one

corner, the corner nearest the room which we had left, there was

a second door. Holmes sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat

and waistcoat were lying on the floor, and from a hook behind

the door, with his own braces round his neck, was hanging the

managing director of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company.

His knees were drawn up, his head hung at a dreadful angle to

his body, and the clatter of his heels against the door made the

noise which had broken in upon our conversation. In an instant I

had caught him round the waist, and held him up while Holmes

and Pycroft untied the elastic bands which had disappeared

between the livid creases of skin. Then we carried him into the

other room, where he lay with a clay-coloured face, puffing his

purple lips in and out with every breath -- a dreadful wreck of all

that he had been but five minutes before.

"What do you think of him, Watson?" asked Holmes.

I stooped over him and examined him. His pulse was feeble

and intermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a

little shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of

ball beneath.

"It has been touch and go with him," said I, "but he'll live

now. Just open that window, and hand me the water carafe." I

undid his collar, poured the cold water over his face, and raised

and sank his arms until he drew a long, natural breath. "It's only

a question of time now," said I as I turned away from him.

Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trousers'

pockets and his chin upon his breast.

"I suppose we ought to call the police in now," said he.

"And yet I confess that I'd like to give them a complete case

when they come."

"It's a blessed mystery to me," cried Pycroft, scratching his

head. "Whatever they wanted to bring me all the way up here

for, and then --"

"Pooh! All that is clear enough," said Holmes impatiently.

"It is this last sudden move."

"You understand the rest, then?"

"I think that it is fairly obvious. What do you say, Watson?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I must confess that I am out of my

depths," said I.

"Oh, surely if you consider the events at first they can only

point to one conclusion."

"What do you make of them?"

"Well, the whole thing hinges upon two points. The first is

the making of Pycroft write a declaration by which he entered

the service of this preposterous company. Do you not see how

very suggestive that is?"

"I am afraid I miss the point."

"Well, why did they want him to do it? Not as a business

matter, for these arrangements are usually verbal, and there was

no earthly business reason why this should be an exception.

Don't you see, my young friend, that they were very anxious to

obtain a specimen of your handwriting, and had no other way of

doing it?"

"And why?"

"Quite so. Why? When we answer that we have made some

progress with our little problem. Why? There can be only one

adequate reason. Someone wanted to learn to imitate your writ-

ing and had to procure a specimen of it first. And now if we pass

on to the second point we find that each throws light upon the

other. That point is the request made by Pinner that you should

not resign your place, but should leave the manager of this

important business in the full expectation that a Mr. Hall Pycroft,

whom he had never seen, was about to enter the office upon the

Monday morning."

"My God!" cried our client, "what a blind beetle I have

been!"

"Now you see the point about the handwriting. Suppose that

someone turned up in your place who wrote a completely differ-

ent hand from that in which you had applied for the vacancy, of

course the game would have been up. But in the interval the

rogue had learned to imitate you, and his position was therefore

secure, as I presume that nobody in the office had ever set eyes

upon you.

"Not a soul," groaned Hall Pycroft.

"Very good. Of course it was of the utmost importance to

prevent you from thinking better of it, and also to keep you from

coming into contact with anyone who might tell you that your

double was at work in Mawson's office. Therefore they gave

you a handsome advance on your salary, and ran you off to the

Midllands, where they gave you enough work to do to prevent

your going to London, where you might have burst their little

game up. That is all plain enough."

"But why should this man pretend to be his own brother?"

"Well, that is pretty clear also. There are evidently only two

of them in it. The other is impersonating you at the office. This

one acted as your engager, and then found that he could not find

you an employer without admitting a third person into his plot.

That he was most unwilling to do. He changed his appearance as

far as he could, and trusted that the likeness, which you could

not fail to observe, would be put down to a family resemblance.

But for the happy chance of the gold stuffing, your suspicions

would probably never have been aroused."

Hall Pycroft shook his clenched hands in the air. "Good

Lord!" he cried, "while I have been fooled in this way, what

has this other Hall Pycroft been doing at Mawson's? What

should we do, Mr. Holmes? Tell me what to do."

"We must wire to Mawson's."

"They shut at twelve on Saturdays."

"Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or attendant --"

"Ah, yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of

the value of the securities that they hold. I remember hearing it

talked of in the City."

"Very good, we shall wire to him and see if all is well, and if

a clerk of your name is working there. That is clear enough, but

what is not so clear is why at sight of us one of the rogues should

instantly walk out of the room and hang himself."

"The paper!" croaked a voice behind us. The man was sitting

up, blanched and ghastly, with returning reason in his eyes, and

hands which rubbed nervously at the broad red band which still

encircled his throat.

"The paper! Of course!" yelled Holmes in a paroxysm of

excitement. "Idiot that I was! I thought so much of our visit that

the paper never entered my head for an instant. To be sure, the

secret must lie there." He flattened it out upon the table, and a

cry of triumph burst from his lips. "Look at this, Watson," he

cried. "It is a London paper, an early edition of the Evening

Standard. Here is what we want. Look at the headlines: 'Crime

in the City. Murder at Mawson & Williams's. Gigantic At-

tempted Robbery. Capture of the Criminal.' Here, Watson, we

are all equally anxious to hear it, so kindly read it aloud to

us."

It appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one

event of importance in town, and the account of it ran in this

way:

 

"A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death

of one man and the capture of the criminal, occurred this

afternoon in the City. For some time back Mawson &

Williams, the famous financial house, have been the guard-

ians of securities which amount in the aggregate to a sum of

considerably over a million sterling. So conscious was the

manager of the responsibility which devolved upon him in

consequence of the great interests at stake that safes of the

very latest construction have been employed, and an armed

watchman has been left day and night in the building. It

appears that last week a new clerk named Hall Pycroft was

engaged by the firm. This person appears to have been none

other than Beddington, the famous forger and cracksman,

who, with his brother, has only recently emerged from a

five years' spell of penal servitude. By some means, which

are not yet clear, he succeeded in winning, under a false

name, this official position in the office, which he utilized

in order to obtain mouldings of various locks, and a thor-

ough knowledge of the position of the strongroom and the

safes.

"It is customary at Mawson's for the clerks to leave at

midday on Saturday. Sergeant Tuson, of the City police,

was somewhat surprised, therefore, to see a gentleman with

a carpet-bag come down the steps at twenty minutes past

one. His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant followed

the man, and with the aid of Constable Pollock succeeded,

after a most desperate resistance, in arresting him. It was at

once clear that. a daring and gigantic robbery had been

committed. Nearly a hundred thousand pounds' worth of

American railway bonds, with a large amount of scrip in

mines and other companies, was discovered in the bag. On

examining the premises the body of the unfortunate watch-

man was found doubled up and thrust into the largest of the

safes, where it would not have been discovered until Mon-

day morning had it not been for the prompt action of

Sergeant Tuson. The man's-skull had been shattered by a

blow from a poker delivered from behind. There could be

no doubt that Beddington had obtained entrance by pretend-

ing that he had left something behind him, and having

murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and

then made off with his booty. His brother, who usually

works with him, has not appeared in this job as far as can at

present be ascertained, although the police are making ener-

getic inquiries as to his whereabouts."

 

"Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that

direction," said Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled

up by the window. "Human nature is a strange mixture, Watson.

You see that even a villain and murderer can inspire such

affection that his brother turns to suicide when he learns that his

neck is forfeited. However, we have no choice as to our action.

The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr. Pycroft, if you will

have the kindness to step out for the police."

 

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

The Adventure of the Three Students

 

It was in the year '95 that a combination of events, into which I

need not enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself to spend

some weeks in one of our great university towns, and it was

during this time that the small but instructive adventure which I

am about to relate befell us. It will be obvious that any details

which would help the reader exactly to identify the college or the

criminal would be injudicious and offensive. So painful a scan-

dal may well be allowed to die out. With due discretion the

incident itself may, however, be described, since it serves to

illustrate some of those qualities for which my friend was re-

markable. I will endeavour, in my statement, to avoid such terms

as would serve to limit the events to any particular place, or give

a clue as to the people concerned.

We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a

library where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious

researches in early English charters -- researches which led to

results so striking that they may be the subject of one of my

future narratives. Here it was that one evening we received a

visit from an acquaintance, Mr. Hilton Soames, tutor and lec-

turer at the College of St. Luke's. Mr. Soames was a tall, spare

man, of a nervous and excitable temperament. I had always

known him to be restless in his manner, but on this particular

occasion he was in such a state of uncontrollable agitation that it

was clear something very unusual had occurred.

"I trust, Mr. Holmes, that you can spare me a few hours of

your valuable time. We have had a very painful incident at St.

Luke's, and really, but for the happy chance of your being in

town, I should have been at a loss what to do."

"I am very busy just now, and I desire no distractions," my

friend answered. "I should much prefer that you called in the aid

of the police."

"No, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly impossible.

When once the law is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and this

is just one of those cases where, for the credit of the college, it is

most essential to avoid scandal. Your discretion is as well known

as your powers, and you are the one man in the world who can

help me. I beg you, Mr. Holmes, to do what you can."

My friend's temper had not improved since he had been

deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without

his scrapbooks, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was

an uncomfortable man. He shrugged his shoulders in ungracious

acquiescence, while our visitor in hurried words and with much

excitable gesticulation poured forth his story.

"I must explain to you, Mr. Holmes, that to-morrow is the

first day of the examination for the Fortescue Scholarship. I am

one of the examiners. My subject is Greek, and the first of the

papers consists of a large passage of Greek translation which the

candidate has not seen. This passage is printed on the examina-

tion paper, and it would naturally be an immense advantage if

the candidate could prepare it in advance. For this reason, great

care is taken to keep the paper secret.

"To-day, about three o'clock, the proofs of this paper arrived

from the printers. The exercise consists of half a chapter of

Thucydides. I had to read it over carefully, as the text must be

absolutely correct. At four-thirty my task was not yet completed.

I had, however, promised to take tea in a friend's rooms, so I

left the proof upon my desk. I was absent rather more than an

hour.

"You are aware, Mr. Holmes, that our college doors are

double -- a green baize one within and a heavy oak one without.

As I approached my outer door, I was amazed to see a key in it.

For an instant I imagined that I had left my own there, but on

feeling in my pocket I found that it was all right. The only

duplicate which existed, so far as I knew, was that which

belonged to my servant, Bannister -- a man who has looked after

my room for ten years, and whose honesty is absolutely above

suspicion. I found that the key was indeed his, that he had

entered my room to know if I wanted tea, and that he had very

carelessly left the key in the door when he came out. His visit to

my room must have been within a very few minutes of my

leaving it. His forgetfulness about the key would have mattered

little upon any other occasion, but on this one day it has pro-

duced the most deplorable consequences.

"The moment I looked at my table, I was aware that someone

had rummaged among my papers. The proof was in three long

slips. I had left them all together. Now, I found that one of them

was lying on the floor, one was on the side table near the

window, and the third was where I had left it."

Holmes stirred for the first time.

"The first page on the floor, the second in the window, the

third where you left it," said he.

"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. You amaze me. How could you possi-

bly know that?"

"Pray continue your very interesting statement."

"For an instant I imagined that Bannister had taken the unpar-

donable liberty of examining my papers. He denied it, however,

with the utmost earnestness, and I am convinced that he was

speaking the truth. The alternative was that someone passing had

observed the key in the door, had known that I was out, and had

entered to look at the papers. A large sum of money is at stake,

for the scholarship is a very valuable one, and an unscrupulous

man might very well run a risk in order to gain an advantage

over his fellows.

"Bannister was very much upset by the incident. He had

nearly fainted when we found that the papers had undoubtedly

been tampered with. I gave him a little brandy and left him

collapsed in a chair, while I made a most careful examination of

the room. I soon saw that the intruder had left other traces of his

presence besides the rumpled papers. On the table in the window

were several shreds from a pencil which had been sharpened. A

broken tip of lead was lying there also. Evidently the rascal had

copied the paper in a great hurry, had broken his pencil, and had

been compelled to put a fresh point to it."

"Excellent!" said Holmes, who was recovering his good-

humour as his attention became more engrossed by the case.

"Fortune has been your friend."

"This was not all. I have a new writing-table with a fine

surface of red leather. I am prepared to swear, and so is Bannis-

ter, that it was smooth and unstained. Now I found a clean cut in

it about three inches long -- not a mere scratch, but a positive cut.

Not only this, but on the table I found a small ball of black

dough or clay, with specks of something which looks like saw-

dust in it. I am convinced that these marks were left by the man

who rifled the papers. There were no footmarks and no other

evidence as to his identity. I was at my wit's end, when suddenly

the happy thought occurred to me that you were in the town, and

I came straight round to put the matter into your hands. Do help

me, Mr. Holmes. You see my dilemma. Either I must find the

man or else the examination must be postponed until fresh papers

are prepared, and since this cannot be done without explanation,

there will ensue a hideous scandal, which will throw a cloud not

only on the college, but on the university. Above all things, I

desire to settle the matter quietly and discreetly."

"I shall be happy to look into it and to give you such advice

as I can," said Holmes, rising and putting on his overcoat.

"The case is not entirely devoid of interest. Had anyone visited

you in your room after the papers came to you?"

"Yes, young Daulat Ras, an Indian student, who lives on the

same stair, came in to ask me some particulars about the exami-

nation."

"For which he was entered?"

"Yes."

"And the papers were on your table?"

"To the best of my belief, they were rolled up."

"But might be recognized as proofs?"

"Possibly."

"No one else in your room?"

"No."

"Did anyone know that these proofs would be there?"

"No one save the printer."

"Did this man Bannister know?"

"No, certainly not. No one knew."

"Where is Bannister now?"

"He was very ill, poor fellow. I left him collapsed in the

chair. I was in such a hurry to come to you."

"You left your door open?"

"I locked up the papers first."

"Then it amounts to this, Mr. Soames: that, unless the Indian

student recognized the roll as being proofs, the man who tam-

pered with them came upon them accidentally without knowing

that they were there."

"So it seems to me."

Holmes gave an enigmatic smile.

"Well," said he. "let us go round. Not one of your cases.

Watson -- mental, not physical. All right; come if you want to.

Now, Mr. Soames -- at your disposal!"

The sitting-room of our client opened by a long, low, latticed

window on to the ancient lichen-tinted court of the old college.

A Gothic arched door led to a worn stone staircase. On the

ground floor was the tutor's room. Above were three students,

one on each story. It was already twilight when we reached the

scene of our problem. Holmes halted and looked earnestly at the

window. Then he approached it, and, standing on tiptoe with his

neck craned, he looked into the room.

"He must have entered through the door. There is no opening

except the one pane," said our learned guide.

"Dear me!" said Holmes, and he smiled in a singular way as

he glanced at our companion. "Well, if there is nothing to be

learned here, we had best go inside."

The lecturer unlocked the outer door and ushered us into his

room. We stood at the entrance while Holmes made an examina-

tion of the carpet.

"I am afraid there are no signs here," said he. "One could

hardly hope for any upon so dry a day. Your servant seems to

have quite recovered. You left him in a chair, you say. Which

chair?"

"By the window there."

"I see. Near this little table. You can come in now. I have

finished with the carpet. Let us take the little table first. Of

course, what has happened is very clear. The man entered and

took the papers, sheet by sheet, from the central table. He

carried them over to the window table, because from there he

could see if you came across the courtyard, and so could effect

an escape."

"As a matter of fact, he could not," said Soames, "for I

entered by the side door."

"Ah, that's good! Well, anyhow, that was in his mind. Let

me see the three strips. No finger impressions -- no! Well he

carried over this one first, and he copied it. How long wouid it

take him to do that, using every possible contraction? A quarter

of an hour, not less. Then he tossed it down and seized the next.

He was in the midst of that when your return caused him to make

a very hurried retreat -- very hurried, since he had not time to

replace the papers which would tell you that he had been there.

You were not aware of any hurrying feet on the stair as you

entered the outer door?"

"No, I can't say I was."

"Well, he wrote so furiously that he broke his pencil, and

had, as you observe, to sharpen it again. This is of interest,

Watson. The pencil was not an ordinary one. It was above the

usual size, with a soft lead, the outer colour was dark blue, the

maker's name was printed in silver lettering, and the piece

remaining is only about an inch and a half long. Look for such a

pencil, Mr. Soames, and you have got your man. When I add

that he possesses a large and very blunt knife, you have an

additional aid."

Mr. Soames was somewhat overwhelmed by this flood of

information. "I can follow the other points," said he, "but

really, in this matter of the length --"

Holmes held out a small chip with the letters NN and a space

of clear wood after them.

"You see?"

"No, I fear that even now --"

"Watson, I have always done you an injustice. There are

others. What could this NN be? It is at the end of a word. You

are aware that Johann Faber is the most common maker's name.

Is it not clear that there is just as much of the pencil left as

usually follows the Johann?" He held the small table sideways to

the electric light. "I was hoping that if the paper on which he

wrote was thin, some trace of it might come through upon this

polished surface. No, I see nothing. I don't think there is any-

thing more to be learned here. Now for the central table. This

small pellet is, I presume, the black, doughy mass you spoke of.

Roughly pyramidal in shape and hollowed out, I perceive. As

you say, there appear to be grains of sawdust in it. Dear me, this

is very interesting. And the cut -- a positive tear, I see. It began

with a thin scratch and ended in a jagged hole. I am much

indebted to you for directing my attention to this case, Mr.

Soames. Where does that door lead to?"

"To my bedroom."

"Have you been in it since your adventure?"

"No, I came straight away for you."

"I should like to have a glance round. What a charming,

old-fashioned room! Perhaps you will kindly wait a minute, until

I have examined the floor. No, I see nothing. What about this

curtain? You hang your clothes behind it. If anyone were forced

to conceal himself in this room he must do it there, since the bed

is too low and the wardrobe too shallow. No one there, I

suppose?"

As Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from some little

rigidity and alertness of his attitude, that he was prepared for an

emergency. As a matter of fact, the drawn curtain disclosed

nothing but three or four suits of clothes hanging from a line of

pegs. Holmes turned away, and stooped suddenly to the floor.

"Halloa! What's this?" said he.

It was a small pyramid of black, putty-like stuff, exactly like

the one upon the table of the study. Holmes held it out on his

open palm in the glare of the electric light.

"Your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as

well as in your sitting-room, Mr. Soames."

"What could he have wanted there?"

"I think it is clear enough. You came back by an unexpected

way, and so he had no warning until you were at the very door.

What could he do? He caught up everything which would betray

him, and he rushed into your bedroom to conceal himself."

"Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, do you mean to tell me that, all

the time I was talking to Bannister in this room, we had the man

prisoner if we had only known it?"

"So I read it."

"Surely there is another alternative, Mr. Holmes. I don't

know whether you observed my bedroom window?"

"Lattice-paned, lead framework, three separate windows, one

swinging on hinge, and large enough to admit a man."

"Exactly. And it looks out on an angle of the courtyard so as

to be partly invisible. The man might have effected his entrance

there, left traces as he passed through the bedroom, and finally,

finding the door open, have escaped that way."

Holmes shook his head impatiently.

"Let us be practical," said he. "I understand you to say that

there are three students who use this stair, and are in the habit of

passing your door?"

"Yes, there are."

"And they are all in for this examination?"

"Yes."

"Have you any reason to suspect any one of them more than

the others?"

Soames hesitated.

"It is a very delicate question." said he. "One hardly likes to

throw suspicion where there are no proofs."

"Let us hear the suspicions. I will look after the proofs."

"I will tell you, then, in a few words the character of the three

mcn who inhabit these rooms. The lower of the three is Gilchrist,

a fine scholar and athletc, plays in the Rugby team and the

cricket team for the college, and got his Blue for the hurdles and

the long jump. He is a fine, manly fellow. His father was the

notorious Sir Jabez Gilchrist, who ruined himself on the turf. My

scholar has been left very poor, but he is hard-working and

industrious. He will do well.

"The second floor is inhabited by Daulat Ras, the Indian. He

is a quiet, inscrutable fellow; as most of those Indians are. He is

well up in his work, though his Greek is his weak subject. He is

steady and methodical.

"The top floor belongs to Miles McLaren. He is a brilliant

fellow when he chooses to work -- one of the brightest intellects

of the university; but he is wayward, dissipated, and unprinci-

pled. He was nearly expelled over a card scandal in his first

year. He has been idling all this term, and he must look forward

with dread to the examination."

"Then it is he whom you suspect?"

"I dare not go so far as that. But, of the three, he is perhaps the

least unlikely."

"Exactly. Now, Mr. Soames, let us have a look at your

servant, Bannister."

He was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven, grizzly-haired fel-

low of fifty. He was still suffering from this sudden disturbance

of the quiet routine of his life. His plump face was twitching

with his nervousness, and his fingers could not keep still.

"We are investigating this unhappy business, Bannister," said

his master.

"Yes, sir."

"I understand," said Holmes, "that you left your key in the

door?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was it not very extraordinary that you should do this on the

very day when there were these papers inside?"

"It was most unfortunate. sir. But I have occasionally done

the same thing at other times."

"When did you enter the room?"

It was about half-past four. That is Mr. Soames's tea time."

"How long did you stay?"

"When I saw that he was absent. I withdrew at once."

"Did you look at these papers on the table?"

"No, sir certainly not."

"How came you to leave the key in the door?"

"I had the tea-tray in my hand. I thought I would come back

for the key. Then I forgot."

"Has the outer door a spring lock?"

"No, sir."

"Then it was open all the time?"

"Yes, sir."

"Anyone in the room could get out?"

"Yes, sir."

"When Mr. Soames returned and called for you, you were

very much disturbed?"

"Yes, sir. Such a thing has never happened during the many

years that I have been here. I nearly fainted, sir."

"So I understand. Where were you when you began to feel

bad?"

"Where was I, sir? Why, here, near the door."

"That is singular, because you sat down in that chair over

yonder near the corner. Why did you pass these other chairs?"

"I don't know, sir, it didn't matter to me where I sat."

"I really don't think he knew much about it, Mr. Holmes. He

was looking very bad -- quite ghastly."

"You stayed here when your master left?"

"Only for a minute or so. Then I locked the door and went to

my room."

"Whom do you suspect?"

"Oh, I would not venture to say, sir. I don't believe there is

any gentleman in this university who is capable of profiting by

such an action. No, sir, I'll not believe it."

"Thank you, that will do," said Holmes. "Oh, one more

word. You have not mentioned to any of the three gentlemen

whom you attend that anything is amiss?"

"No, sir -- not a word."

"You haven't seen any of them?"

"No, sir."

"Very good. Now, Mr. Soames, we will take a walk in the

quadrangle, if you please."

Three yellow squares of light shone above us in the gathering

gloom.

"Your three birds are all in their nests," said Holmes, looking

up. "Halloa! What's that? One of them seems restless enough."

It was the Indian, whose dark silhouette appeared suddenly

upon his blind. He was pacing swiftly up and down his room.

"I should like to have a peep at each of them," said Holmes.

"Is it possible?"

"No difficulty in the world," Soames answered. "This set of

rooms is quite the oldest in the college, and it is not unusual for

visitors to go over them. Come along, and I will personally

conduct you."

"No names, please!" said Holmes, as we knocked at Gilchrist's

door. A tall, flaxen-haired, slim young fellow opened it, and

made us welcome when he understood our errand. There were

some really curious pieces of mediaeval domestic architecture

within. Holmes was so charmed with one of them that he insisted

on drawing it in his notebook, broke his pencil, had to borrow

one from our host, and finally borrowed a knife to sharpen his

own. The same curious accident happened to him in the rooms of

the Indian -- a silent, little, hook-nosed fellow, who eyed us

askance, and was obviously glad when Holmes's architectural

studies had come to an end. I could not see that in either case

Holmes had come upon the clue for which he was searching.

Only at the third did our visit prove abortive. The outer door

would not open to our knock, and-nothing more substantial than

a torrent of bad language came from behind it. "I don't care who

you are. You can go to blazes!" roared the angry voice. "To-

morrow's the exam, and I won't be drawn by anyone."

"A rude fellow," said our guide, flushing with anger as we

withdrew down the stair. "Of course, he did not realize that it

was I who was knocking, but none the less his conduct was very

uncourteous, and, indeed, under the circumstances rather

suspicious."

Holmes's response was a curious one.

"Can you tell me his exact height?" he asked.

"Really, Mr. Holmes, I cannot undertake to say. He is taller

than the Indian, not so tall as Gilchrist. I suppose five foot six

would be about it."

"That is very important," said Holmes. "And now, Mr.

Soames, I wish you good-night."

Our guide cried aloud in his astonishment and dismay. "Good

gracious, Mr. Holmes, you are surely not going to leave me in

this abrupt fashion! You don't seem to realize the position.

To-morrow is the examination. I must take some definite action

to-night. I cannot allow the examination to be held if one of the

papers has been tampered with. The situation must be faced."

"You must leave it as it is. I shall drop round early to-morrow

morning and chat the matter over. It is possible that I may be in

a position then to indicate some course of action. Meanwhile,

you change nothing -- nothing at all."

"Very good, Mr. Holmes."

"You can be perfectly easy in your mind. We shall certainly

find some way out of your difficulties. I will take the black clay

with me, also the pencil cuttings. Good-bye."

When we were out in the darkness of the quadrangle, we again

looked up at the windows. The Indian still paced his room. The

others were invisible.

"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" Holmes asked, as

we came out into the main street. "Quite a little parlour game --

sort of three-card trick, is it not? There are your three men. It

must be one of them. You take your choice. Which is yours?"

"The foul-mouthed fellow at the top. He is the one with the

worst record. And yet that Indian was a sly fellow also. Why

should he be pacing his room all the time?"

"There is nothing in that. Many men do it when they are

trying to learn anything by heart."

"He looked at us in a queer way."

"So would you, if a flock of strangers came in on you when

you were preparing for an examination next day, and every

moment was of value. No, I see nothing in that. Pencils, too,

and knives -- all was satisfactory. But that fellow does puzzle

me."

"Who?"

"Why, Bannister, the servant. What's his game in the matter?"

"He impressed me as being a perfectly honest man."

"So he did me. That's the puzzling part. Why should a

perfectly honest man -- Well, well, here's a large stationer's. We

shall begin our researches here."

There were only four stationers of any consequences in the

town, and at each Holmes produced his pencil chips, and bid

high for a duplicate. All were agreed that one could be ordered,

but that it was not a usual size of pencil, and that it was seldom

kept in stock. My friend did not appear to be depressed by his

failure, but shrugged his shoulders in half-humorous resignation.

"No good, my dear Watson. This, the best and only final

clue, has run to nothing. But, indeed, I have little doubt that we

can build up a sufficient case without it. By Jove! my dear

fellow, it is nearly nine, and the landlady babbled of green peas

at seven-thirty. What with your eternal tobacco, Watson, and

your irregularity at meals, I expect that you will get notice to

quit, and that I shall share your downfall -- not, however, before

we have solved the problem of the nervous tutor, the careless

servant, and the three enterprising students."

Holmes made no further allusion to the matter that day, though

he sat lost in thought for a long time after our belated dinner. At

eight in the morning, he came into my room just as I finished my

toilet.

"Well, Watson," said he, "it is time we went down to St.

Luke's. Can you do without breakfast?"

"Certainly."

"Soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we are able to tell

him something positive."

"Have you anything positive to tell him?"

"I think so."

"You have formed a conclusion?"

"Yes, my dear Watson, I have solved the mystery."

"But what fresh evidence could you have got?"

"Aha! It is not for nothing that I have turned myself out of

bed at the untimely hour of six. I have put in two hours' hard

work and covered at least five miles, with something to show for

it. Look at that!"

He held out his hand. On the palm were three little pyramids

of black, doughy clay.

"Why, Holmes, you had only two yesterday."

"And one more this morning. It is a fair argument that

wherever No. 3 came from is also the source of Nos. 1 and 2.

Eh, Watson? Well, come along and put friend Soames out of his

pain."

The unfortunate tutor was certainly in a state of pitiable agita-

tion when we found him in his chambers. In a few hours the

examination would commence, and he was still in the dilemma

between making the facts public and allowing the culprit to

compete for the valuable scholarship. He could hardly stand still,

so great was his mental agitation, and he ran towards Holmes

with two eager hands outstretched.

"Thank heaven that you have come! I feared that you had

given it up in despair. What am I to do? Shall the examination

proceed?"

"Yes, let it proceed, by all means."

"But this rascal?"

"He shall not compete."

"You know him?"

"I think so. If this matter is not to become public. we must

give ourselves certain powers and resolve ourselves into a small

private court-martial. You there, if you please, Soames! Watson

you here! I'll take the armchair in the middle. I think that we are

now sufficiently imposing to strike terror into a guilty breast.

Kindly ring the bell!"

Bannister entered, and shrank back in evident surprise and fear

at our judicial appearance.

"You will kindly close the door," said Holmes. "Now

Bannister, will you please tell us the truth about yesterday's

incident.'

The man turned white to the roots of his hair.

"I have told you everything, sir."

"Nothing to add?"

"Nothing at all, sir."

"Well, then, I must make some suggestions to you. When you

sat down on that chair yesterday, did you do so in order to

conceal some object which would have shown who had been in

the room?"

Bannister's face was ghastly.

"No, sir, certainly not."

"It is only a suggestion," said Holmes, suavely. "I frankly

admit that I am unable to prove it. But it seems probable enough

since the moment that Mr. Soames's back was turned, you

released the man who was hiding in that bedroom."

Bannister licked his dry lips.

"There was no man, sir."

"Ah, that's a pity, Bannister. Up to now you may have

spoken the truth, but now I know that you have lied."

The man's face set in sullen defiance.

"There was no man, sir."

"Come, come, Bannister!"

"No, sir, there was no one."

"In that case, you can give us no further information. Would

you please remain in the room? Stand over there near the bed-

room door. Now, Soames, I am going to ask you to have the

great kindness to go up to the room of young Gilchrist. and to

ask him to step down into yours."

An instant later the tutor returned, bringing with him the

student. He was a fine figure of a man, tall, lithe, and agile, with

a springy step and a pleasant, open face. His troubled blue eyes

glanced at each of us, and finally rested with an expression of

blank dismay upon Bannister in the farther corner.

"Just close the door," said Holmes. "Now, Mr. Gilchrist, we

are all quite alone here, and no one need ever know one word of

what passes between us. We can be perfectly frank with each

other. We want to know, Mr. Gilchrist, how you, an honourable

man, ever came to commit such an action as that of yesterday?"

The unfortunate young man staggered back, and cast a look

full of horror and reproach at Bannister.

"No, no, Mr. Gilchrist, sir, I never said a word -- never one

word!" cried the servant.

"No, but you have now," said Holmes. "Now, sir, you must

see that after Bannister's words your position is hopeless, and

that your only chance lies in a frank confession."

For a moment Gilchrist, with upraised hand, tried to control

his writhing features. The next he had thrown himself on his

knees beside the table, and burying his face in his hands, he had

burst into a storm of passionate sobbing.

"Come, come," said Holmes, kindly, "it is human to err,

and at least no one can accuse you of being a callous criminal.

Perhaps it would be easier for you if I were to tell Mr. Soames

what occurred, and you can check me where I am wrong. Shall I

do so? Well, well, don't trouble to answer. Listen, and see that I

do you no injustice.

"From the moment, Mr. Soames, that you said to me that no

one, not even Bannister, could have told that the papers were in

your room, the case began to take a definite shape in my mind.

The printer one could, of course, dismiss. He could examine the

papers in his own office. The Indian I also thought nothing of. If

the proofs were in a roll, he could not possibly know what they

were. On the other hand, it seemed an unthinkable coincidence

that a man should dare to enter the room, and that by chance on

that very day the papers were on the table. I dismissed that. The

man who entered knew that the papers were there. How did he

know?

"When I approached your room, I examined the window. You

amused me by supposing that I was contemplating the possibility

of someone having in broad daylight, under the eyes of all these

opposite rooms, forced himself through it. Such an idea was

absurd. I was measuring how tall a man would need to be in

order to see, as he passed, what papers were on the central table.

I am six feet high, and I could do it with an effort. No one less

than that would have a chance. Already you see I had reason to

think that, if one of your three students was a man of unusual

height, he was the most worth watching of the three.

"I entered, and I took you into my confidencc as to the

suggestions of the side table. Of the centre table I could make

nothing, until in your description of Gilchrist you mentioned that

he was a long-distance jumper. Then the whole thing came to me

in an instant, and I only needed certain corroborative proofs,

which I speedily obtained.

"What happened was this: This young fellow had employed

his afternoon at the athletic grounds, where he had been practis-

ing the jump. He returned carrying his jumping-shoes, which are

provided, as you are aware, with several sharp spikes. As he

passed your window he saw, by means of his great height, these

proofs upon your table, and conjectured what they were. No

harm would have been done had it not been that, as he passed

your door, he perceived the key which had been left by the

carelessness of your servant. A sudden impulse came over him to

enter, and see if they were indeed the proofs. It was not a

dangerous exploit, for he could always pretend that he had simply

looked in to ask a question.

"Well, when he saw that they were indeed the proofs, it was

then that he yielded to temptation. He put his shoes on the table.

What was it you put on that chair near the window?"

"Gloves," said the young man.

Holmes looked triumphantly at Bannister. "He put his gloves

on the chair, and he took the proofs, sheet by sheet, to copy

them. He thought the tutor must return by the main gate, and that

he would see him. As we know, he came back by the side gate.

Suddenly he heard him at the very door. There was no possible

escape. He forgot his gloves, but he caught up his shoes and

darted into the bedroom. You observe that the scratch on that

table is slight at one side, but deepens in the direction of the

bedroom door. That in itself is enough to show us that the shoe

had been drawn in that direction, and that the culprit had taken

refuge there. The earth round the spike had been left on the

table, and a second sample was loosened and fell in the bed-

room. I may add that I walked out to the athletic grounds this

morning, saw that tenacious black clay is used in the jumping-

pit, and carried away a specimen of it, together with some of the

fine tan or sawdust which is strewn over it to prevent the athlete

from slipping. Have I told the truth, Mr. Gilchrist?"

The student had drawn himself erect.

"Yes, sir, it is true," said he.

"Good heavens! have you nothing to add?" cried Soames.

"Yes, sir, I have, but the shock of this disgraceful exposure

has bewildered me. I have a letter here, Mr. Soames, which I

wrote to you early this morning in the middle of a restless night.

It was before I knew that my sin had found me out. Here it is,

sir. You will see that I have said, 'I have determined not to go

in for the examination. I have been offered a commission in

the Rhodesian Police, and I am going out to South Africa at

once.' "

"I am indeed pleased to hear that you did not intend to profit

by your unfair advantage," said Soames. "But why did you

change your purpose?"

Gilchrist pointed to Bannister.

"There is the man who set me in the right path," said he.

"Come now, Bannister," said Holmes. "It will be clear to

you, from what I have said, that only you could have let this

young man out, since you were left in the room, and must have

locked the door when you went out. As to his escaping by that

window, it was incredible. Can you not clear up the last point in

this mystery, and tell us the reasons for your action?"

"It was simple enough, sir, if you only had known, but, with

all your cleverness, it was impossible that you could know. Time

was, sir, when I was butler to old Sir Jabez Gilchrist, this young

gentleman's father. When he was ruined I came to the college as

servant, but I never forgot my old employer because he was

down in the world. I watched his son all I could for the sake of

the old days. Well, sir, when I came into this room yesterday,

when the alarm was given, the very first thing I saw was Mr.

Gilchrist's tan gloves a-lying in that chair. I knew those gloves

well, and I understood their message. If Mr. Soames saw them,

the game was up. I flopped down into that chair, and nothing

would budge me until Mr. Soames went for you. Then out came

my poor young master, whom I had dandled on my knee, and

confessed it all to me. Wasn't it natural, sir, that I should save

him, and wasn't it natural also that I should try to speak to him

as his dead father would have done, and make him understand

that he could not profit by such a deed? Could you blame me,

sir?"

"No, indeed," said Holmes, heartily, springing to his feet.

"Well, Soames, I think we have cleared your little problem up,

and our breakfast awaits us at home. Come, Watson! As to you,

sir, I trust that a bright future awaits you in Rhodesia. For once

you have fallen low. Let us see, in the future, how high you can

rise."