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Title: Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

Author: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

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Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle




Adventure I


Silver Blaze


"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said 
Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one
morning.

"Go! Where to?"

"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."

I was not surprised.  Indeed, my only wonder was that
he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary
case, which was the one topic of conversation through
the length and breadth of England.  For a whole day my
companion had rambled about the room with his chin
upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and
recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco,
and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. 
Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our
news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed down
into a corner.  Yet, silent as he was, I knew
perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. 
There was but one problem before the public which
could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was
the singular disappearance of the favorite for the
Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. 
When, therefore, he suddenly announced his intention
of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only
what I had both expected and hoped for.

"I should be most happy to go down with you if I
should not be in the way," said I.

"My dear Watson, you would confer a great favor upon
me by coming.  And I think that your time will not be
misspent, for there are points about the case which
promise to make it an absolutely unique one.  We have,
I think, just time to catch our train at Paddington,
and I will go further into the matter upon our
journey.  You would oblige me by bringing with you
your very excellent field-glass."

And so it happened that an hour or so later I found
myself in the corner of a first-class carriage flying
along en route for Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with
his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped
travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of
fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington.  We
had left Reading far behind us before he thrust the
last one of them under the seat, and offered me his
cigar-case.

"We are going well," said he, looking out the window
and glancing at his watch.  "Our rate at present is
fifty-three and a half miles an hour."

"I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I.  

"Nor have I.  But the telegraph posts upon this line
are sixty yards apart, and the calculation is a simple
one.  I presume that you have looked into this matter
of the murder of John Straker and the disappearance of
Silver Blaze?"

"I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have
to say."

"It is one of those cases where the art of the
reasoner should be used rather for the sifting of
details than for the acquiring of fresh evidence.  The
tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such
personal importance to so many people, that we are
suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and
hypothesis.  The difficulty is to detach the framework
of fact--of absolute undeniable fact--from the
embellishments of theorists and reporters.  Then,
having established ourselves upon this sound basis, it
is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and
what are the special points upon which the whole
mystery turns.  On Tuesday evening I received
telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the owner of the
horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking
after the case, inviting my cooperation."

"Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed.  "And this is Thursday
morning.  Why didn't you go down yesterday?"

"Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson--which is, I
am afraid, a more common occurrence than any one would
think who only knew me through your memoirs.  The fact
is that I could not believe it possible that the most
remarkable horse in England could long remain
concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place
as the north of Dartmoor.  From hour to hour yesterday
I expected to hear that he had been found, and that
his abductor was the murderer of John Straker.  When,
however, another morning had come, and I found that
beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson nothing had
been done, I felt that it was time for me to take
action.  Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has
not been wasted."

"You have formed a theory, then?"

"At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of
the case.  I shall enumerate them to you, for nothing
clears up a case so much as stating it to another
person, and I can hardly expect your co-operation if I
do not show you the position from which we start."

I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar,
while Holmes, leaning forward, with his long, thin
forefinger checking off the points upon the palm of
his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which
had led to our journey.

"Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy stock,
and holds as brilliant a record as his famous
ancestor.  He is now in his fifth year, and has
brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to
Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner.  Up to the time of
the catastrophe he was the first favorite for the
Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him.  He
has always, however, been a prime favorite with the
racing public, and has never yet disappointed them, so
that even at those odds enormous sums of money have
been laid upon him.  It is obvious, therefore, that
there were many people who had the strongest interest
in preventing Silver Blaze from being there at the
fall of the flag next Tuesday.

"The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's
Pyland, where the Colonel's training-stable is
situated.  Every precaution was taken to guard the
favorite.  The trainer, John Straker, is a retired
jockey who rode in Colonel Ross's colors before he
became too heavy for the weighing-chair.  He has
served the Colonel for five years as jockey and for
seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a
zealous and honest servant.  Under him were three
lads; for the establishment was a small one,
containing only four horses in all.  One of these lads
sat up each night in the stable, while the others
slept in the loft.  All three bore excellent
characters.  John Straker, who is a married man, lived
in a small villa about two hundred yards from the
stables.  He has no children, keeps one maid-servant,
and is comfortably off.  The country round is very
lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a
small cluster of villas which have been built by a
Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and
others who may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. 
Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, while
across the moor, also about two miles distant, is the
larger training establishment of Mapleton, which
belongs to Lord Backwater, and is managed by Silas
Brown.  In every other direction the moor is a
complete wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming
gypsies.  Such was the general situation last Monday
night when the catastrophe occurred.

"On that evening the horses had been exercised and
watered as usual, and the stables were locked up at
nine o'clock.  Two of the lads walked up to the
trainer's house, where they had supper in the kitchen,
while the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard.  At a
few minutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried
down to the stables his supper, which consisted of a
dish of curried mutton.  She took no liquid, as there
was a water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule
that the lad on duty should drink nothing else.  The
maid carried a lantern with her, as it was very dark
and the path ran across the open moor.

"Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables,
when a man appeared out of the darkness and called to
her to stop.  As he stepped into the circle of yellow
light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was a
person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit
of tweeds, with a cloth cap.  He wore gaiters, and
carried a heavy stick with a knob to it.  She was most
impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his face
and by the nervousness of his manner.  His age, she
thought, would be rather over thirty than under it.

"'Can you tell me where I am?' he asked. 'I had almost
made up my mind to sleep on the moor, when I saw the
light of your lantern.'

"'You are close to the King's Pyland
training-stables,' said she.

"'Oh, indeed!  What a stroke of luck!' he cried.  'I
understand that a stable-boy sleeps there alone every
night.  Perhaps that is his supper which you are
carrying to him.  Now I am sure that you would not be
too proud to earn the price of a new dress, would
you?'  He took a piece of white paper folded up out of
his waistcoat pocket.  'See that the boy has this
to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock that
money can buy.'

"She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner,
and ran past him to the window through which she was
accustomed to hand the meals.  It was already opened,
and Hunter was seated at the small table inside.  She
had begun to tell him of what had happened, when the
stranger came up again.

"'Good-evening,' said he, looking through the window. 
'I wanted to have a word with you.'  The girl has
sworn that as he spoke she noticed the corner of the
little paper packet protruding from his closed hand.

"'What business have you here?' asked the lad.

"'It's business that may put something into your
pocket,' said the other.  'You've two horses in for
the Wessex Cup--Silver Blaze and Bayard.  Let me have
the straight tip and you won't be a loser.  Is it a
fact that at the weights Bayard could give the other a
hundred yards in five furlongs, and that the stable
have put their money on him?'

"'So, you're one of those damned touts!' cried the
lad.  'I'll show you how we serve them in King's
Pyland.'  He sprang up and rushed across the stable to
unloose the dog.  The girl fled away to the house, but
as she ran she looked back and saw that the stranger
was leaning through the window.  A minute later,
however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound he was
gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he
failed to find any trace of him."

"One moment," I asked.  "Did the stable-boy, when he
ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind
him?"

"Excellent, Watson, excellent!" murmured my companion. 
"The importance of the point struck me so forcibly
that I sent a special wire to Dartmoor yesterday to
clear the matter up.  The boy locked the door before
he left it.  The window, I may add, was not large
enough for a man to get through.

"Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned,
when he sent a message to the trainer and told him
what had occurred.  Straker was excited at hearing the
account, although he does not seem to have quite
realized its true significance.  It left him, however,
vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the
morning, found that he was dressing.  In reply to her
inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account
of his anxiety about the horses, and that he intended
to walk down to the stables to see that all was well. 
She begged him to remain at home, as she could hear
the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of
her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and
left the house.

"Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find
that her husband had not yet returned.  She dressed
herself hastily, called the maid, and set off for the
stables.  The door was open; inside, huddled together
upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute
stupor, the favorite's stall was empty, and there were
no signs of his trainer.

"The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft
above the harness-room were quickly aroused.  They had
heard nothing during the night, for they are both
sound sleepers.  Hunter was obviously under the
influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could
be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while
the two lads and the two women ran out in search of
the absentees.  They still had hopes that the trainer
had for some reason taken out the horse for early
exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house,
from which all the neighboring moors were visible,
they not only could see no signs of the missing
favorite, but they perceived something which warned
them that they were in the presence of a tragedy.

"About a quarter of a mile from the stables John
Straker's overcoat was flapping from a furze-bush. 
Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped depression
in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the
dead body of the unfortunate trainer.  His head had
been shattered by a savage blow from some heavy
weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where there
was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some
very sharp instrument.  It was clear, however, that
Straker had defended himself vigorously against his
assailants, for in his right hand he held a small
knife, which was clotted with blood up to the handle,
while in his left he clasped a red and black silk
cravat, which was recognized by the maid as having
been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who
had visited the stables.  Hunter, on recovering from
his stupor, was also quite positive as to the
ownership of the cravat.  He was equally certain that
the same stranger had, while standing at the window,
drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the
stables of their watchman.  As to the missing horse,
there were abundant proofs in the mud which lay at the
bottom of the fatal hollow that he had been there at
the time of the struggle.  But from that morning he
has disappeared, and although a large reward has been
offered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the
alert, no news has come of him.  Finally, an analysis
has shown that the remains of his supper left by the
stable-lad contain an appreciable quantity of powdered
opium, while the people at the house partook of the
same dish on the same night without any ill effect.

"Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all
surmise, and stated as baldly as possible.  I shall
now recapitulate what the police have done in the
matter.

"Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been
committed, is an extremely competent officer.  Were he
but gifted with imagination he might rise to great
heights in his profession.  On his arrival he promptly
found and arrested the man upon whom suspicion
naturally rested.  There was little difficulty in
finding him, for he inhabited one of those villas
which I have mentioned.  His name, it appears, was
Fitzroy Simpson.  He was a man of excellent birth and
education, who had squandered a fortune upon the turf,
and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel
book-making in the sporting clubs of London.  An
examination of his betting-book shows that bets to the
amount of five thousand pounds had been registered by
him against the favorite.  On being arrested he
volunteered that statement that he had come down to
Dartmoor in the hope of getting some information about
the King's Pyland horses, and also about Desborough,
the second favorite, which was in charge of Silas
Brown at the Mapleton stables.  He did not attempt to
deny that he had acted as described upon the evening
before, but declared that he had no sinister designs,
and had simply wished to obtain first-hand
information.  When confronted with his cravat, he
turned very pale, and was utterly unable to account
for its presence in the hand of the murdered man.  His
wet clothing showed that he had been out in the storm
of the night before, and his stick, which was a
Penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a
weapon as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the
terrible injuries to which the trainer had succumbed. 
On the other hand, there was no wound upon his person,
while the state of Straker's knife would show that one
at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon
him.  There you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and
if you can give me any light I shall be infinitely
obliged to you."

I had listened with the greatest interest to the
statement which Holmes, with characteristic clearness,
had laid before me.  Though most of the facts were
familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated
their relative importance, nor their connection to
each other.

"Is it not possible," I suggested, "that the incised
wound upon Straker may have been caused by his own
knife in the convulsive struggles which follow any
brain injury?"

"It is more than possible; it is probable," said
Holmes.  "In that case one of the main points in favor
of the accused disappears."

"And yet," said I, "even now I fail to understand what
the theory of the police can be."

"I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very
grave objections to it," returned my companion.  "The
police imagine, I take it, that this Fitzroy Simpson,
having drugged the lad, and having in some way
obtained a duplicate key, opened the stable door and
took out the horse, with the intention, apparently, of
kidnapping him altogether.  His bridle is missing, so
that Simpson must have put this on.  Then, having left
the door open behind him, he was leading the horse
away over the moor, when he was either met or
overtaken by the trainer.  A row naturally ensued. 
Simpson beat out the trainer's brains with his heavy
stick without receiving any injury from the small
knife which Straker used in self-defence, and then the
thief either led the horse on to some secret
hiding-place, or else it may have bolted during the
struggle, and be now wandering out on the moors.  That
is the case as it appears to the police, and
improbable as it is, all other explanations are more
improbable still.  However, I shall very quickly test
the matter when I am once upon the spot, and until
then I cannot really see how we can get much further
than our present position."

It was evening before we reached the little town of
Tavistock, which lies, like the boss of a shield, in
the middle of the huge circle of Dartmoor.  Two
gentlemen were awaiting us in the station--the one a
tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard and
curiously penetrating light blue eyes; the other  a
small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a
frock-coat and gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers
and an eye-glass.  The latter was Colonel Ross, the
well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory, a
man who was rapidly making his name in the English
detective service.

"I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes,"
said the Colonel.  "The Inspector here has done all
that could possibly be suggested, but I wish to leave
no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor Straker and
in recovering my horse."

"Have there been any fresh developments?" asked
Holmes.

"I am sorry to say that we have made very little
progress," said the Inspector.  "We have an open
carriage outside, and as you would no doubt like to
see the place before the light fails, we might talk it
over as we drive."

A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable
landau, and were rattling through the quaint old
Devonshire city.  Inspector Gregory was full of his
case, and poured out a stream of remarks, while Holmes
threw in an occasional question or interjection. 
Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his
hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with
interest to the dialogue of the two detectives. 
Gregory was formulating his theory, which was almost
exactly what Holmes had foretold in the train.

"The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson,"
he remarked, "and I believe myself that he is our man. 
At the same time I recognize that the evidence is
purely circumstantial, and that some new development
may upset it."

"How about Straker's knife?"

"We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded
himself in his fall."

"My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we
came down.  If so, it would tell against this man
Simpson."

"Undoubtedly.  He has neither a knife nor any sign of
a wound.  The evidence against him is certainly very
strong.  He had a great interest in the disappearance
of the favorite.  He lies under suspicion of having
poisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out in the
storm, he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat
was found in the dead man's hand.  I really think we
have enough to go before a jury."

Holmes shook his head.  "A clever counsel would tear
it all to rags," said he.  "Why should he take the
horse out of the stable?  If he wished to injure it
why could he not do it there?  Has a duplicate key
been found in his possession?  What chemist sold him
the powdered opium?  Above all, where could he, a
stranger to the district, hide a horse, and such a
horse as this?  What is his own explanation as to the
paper which he wished the maid to give to the
stable-boy?"

"He says that it was a ten-pound note.  One was found
in his purse.  But your other difficulties are not so
formidable as they seem.  He is not a stranger to the
district.  He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the
summer.  The opium was probably brought from London. 
The key, having served its purpose, would be hurled
away.  The horse may be at the bottom of one of the
pits or old mines upon the moor."

"What does he say about the cravat?"

"He acknowledges that it is his, and declares that he
had lost it.  But a new element has been introduced
into the case which may account for his leading the
horse from the stable."

Holmes pricked up his ears.

"We have found traces which show that a party of
gypsies encamped on Monday night within a mile of the
spot where the murder took place.  On Tuesday they
were gone.  Now, presuming that there was some
understanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might
he not have been leading the horse to them when he was
overtaken, and may they not have him now?"

"It is certainly possible."

"The moor is being scoured for these gypsies.  I have
also examined every stable and out-house in Tavistock,
and for a radius of ten miles."

"There is another training-stable quite close, I
understand?"

"Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not
neglect.  As Desborough, their horse, was second in
the betting, they had an interest in the disappearance
of the favorite.  Silas Brown, the trainer, is known
to have had large bets upon the event, and he was no
friend to poor Straker.  We have, however, examined
the stables, and there is nothing to connect him with
the affair."

"And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the
interests of the Mapleton stables?"

"Nothing at all."

Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the
conversation ceased.  A few minutes later our driver
pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa with
overhanging eaves which stood by the road.  Some
distance off, across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled
out-building.  In every other direction the low curves
of the moor, bronze-colored from the fading ferns,
stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the
steeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away
to the westward which marked the Mapleton stables.  We
all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who
continued to lean back with his eyes fixed upon the
sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his own
thoughts.  It was only when I touched his arm that he
roused himself with a violent start and stepped out of
the carriage.

"Excuse me," said he, turning to  Colonel Ross, who
had looked at him in some surprise.  "I was
day-dreaming."  There was a gleam in his eyes and a
suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced
me, used as I was to his ways, that his hand was upon
a clue, though I could not imagine where he had found
it.

"Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the
scene of the crime, Mr. Holmes?" said Gregory.

"I think that I should prefer to stay here a little
and go into one or two questions of detail.  Straker
was brought back here, I presume?"

"Yes; he lies upstairs.  The inquest is to-morrow."

"He has been in your service some years, Colonel
Ross?"

"I have always found him an excellent servant."

"I presume that you made an inventory of what he had
in his pockets at the time of his death, Inspector?"

"I have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if
you would care to see them."

"I should be very glad."  We all filed into the front
room and sat round the central table while the
Inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid a small
heap of things before us.  There was a box of vestas,
two inches of tallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe,
a pouch of seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut
Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, five
sovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few
papers, and an ivory-handled knife with a very
delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss & Co., London.

"This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting
it up and examining it minutely.  "I presume, as I see
blood-stains upon it, that it is the one which was
found in the dead man's grasp.  Watson, this knife is
surely in your line?"

"It is what we call a cataract knife," said I.

"I thought so.  A very delicate blade devised for very
delicate work.  A strange thing for a man to carry
with him upon a rough expedition, especially as it
would not shut in his pocket."

"The tip was guarded by a disk of cork which we found
beside his body," said the Inspector.  "His wife tells
us that the knife had lain upon the dressing-table,
and that he had picked it up as he left the room.  It
was a poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could
lay his hands on at the moment."

"Very possible.  How about these papers?"

"Three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts. 
One of them is a letter of instructions from Colonel
Ross.  This other is a milliner's account for
thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame
Lesurier, of Bond Street, to William Derbyshire.  Mrs.
Straker tells us that Derbyshire was a friend of her
husband's and that occasionally his letters were
addressed here."

"Madam Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes,"
remarked Holmes, glancing down the account. 
"Twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for a single
costume.  However there appears to be nothing more to
learn, and we may now go down to the scene of the
crime."

As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had
been waiting in the passage, took a step forward and
laid her hand upon the Inspector's sleeve.  Her face
was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the print
of a recent horror.

"Have you got them?  Have you found them?" she panted.

"No, Mrs. Straker.  But Mr. Holmes here has come from
London to help us, and we shall do all that is
possible."

"Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some
little time ago, Mrs. Straker?" said Holmes.

"No, sir; you are mistaken."

"Dear me!  Why, I could have sworn to it.  You wore a
costume of dove-colored silk with ostrich-feather
trimming."

"I never had such a dress, sir," answered the lady.

"Ah, that quite settles it," said Holmes.  And with an
apology he followed the Inspector outside.  A short
walk across the moor took us to the hollow in which
the body had been found.  At the brink of it was the
furze-bush upon which the coat had been hung.

"There was no wind that night, I understand," said
Holmes.

"None; but very heavy rain."

"In that case the overcoat was not blown against the
furze-bush, but placed there."

"Yes, it was laid across the bush."

"You fill me with interest,  I perceive that the
ground has been trampled up a good deal.  No doubt
many feet have been here since Monday night."

"A piece of matting has been laid here at the side,
and we have all stood upon that."

"Excellent."

"In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker
wore, one of Fitzroy Simpson's shoes, and a cast
horseshoe of Silver Blaze."

"My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!"  Holmes took
the bag, and, descending into the hollow, he pushed
the matting into a more central position.  Then
stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin
upon his hands, he made a careful study of the
trampled mud in front of him.  "Hullo!" said he,
suddenly.  "What's this?"  It was a wax vesta half
burned, which was so coated with mud that it looked at
first like a little chip of wood.

"I cannot think how I came to overlook it," said the
Inspector, with an expression of annoyance.

"It was invisible, buried in the mud.  I only saw it
because I was looking for it."

"What! You expected to find it?"

"I thought it not unlikely."

He took the boots from the bag, and compared the
impressions of each of them with marks upon the
ground.  Then he clambered up to the rim of the
hollow, and crawled about among the ferns and bushes.

"I am afraid that there are no more tracks," said the
Inspector.  "I have examined the ground very carefully
for a hundred yards in each direction."

"Indeed!" said Holmes, rising.  "I should not have the
impertinence to do it again after what you say.  But I
should like to take a little walk over the moor before
it grows dark, that I may know my ground to-morrow,
and I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my
pocket for luck."

Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience
at my companion's quiet and systematic method of work,
glanced at his watch.  "I wish you would come back
with me, Inspector," said he.  "There are several
points on which I should like your advice, and
especially as to whether we do not owe it to the
public to remove our horse's name from the entries for
the Cup."

"Certainly not," cried Holmes, with decision.  "I
should let the name stand."

The Colonel bowed.  "I am very glad to have had your
opinion, sir," said he.  "You will find us at poor
Straker's house when you have finished your walk, and
we can drive together into Tavistock."

He turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I
walked slowly across the moor.  The sun was beginning
to sink behind the stables of Mapleton, and the long,
sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold,
deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded
ferns and brambles caught the evening light.  But the
glories of the landscape were all wasted upon my
companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought.

"It's this way, Watson," said he at last.  "We may
leave the question of who killed John Straker for the
instant, and confine ourselves to finding out what has
become of the horse.  Now, supposing that he broke
away during or after the tragedy, where could he have
gone to?  The horse is a very gregarious creature.  If
left to himself his instincts would have been either
to return to King's Pyland or go over to Mapleton. 
Why should he run wild upon the moor?  He would surely
have been seen by now.  And why should gypsies kidnap
him?  These people always clear out when they hear of
trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the
police.  They could not hope to sell such a horse. 
They would run a great risk and gain nothing by taking
him.  Surely that is clear."

"Where is he, then?"

"I have already said that he must have gone to King's
Pyland or to Mapleton.  He is not at King's Pyland. 
Therefore he is at Mapleton.  Let us take that as a
working hypothesis and see what it leads us to.  This
part of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, is very
hard and dry.  But it falls away towards Mapleton, and
you can see from here that there is a long hollow over
yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday night. 
If our supposition is correct, then the horse must
have crossed that, and there is the point where we
should look for his tracks."

We had been walking briskly during this conversation,
and a few more minutes brought us to the hollow in
question.  At Holmes' request I walked down the bank
to the right, and he to the left, but I had not taken
fifty paces before I heard him give a shout, and saw
him waving his hand to me.  The track of a horse was
plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him,
and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly
fitted the impression.

"See the value of imagination," said Holmes.  "It is
the one quality which Gregory lacks.  We imagined what
might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and
find ourselves justified.  Let us proceed."

We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter
of a mile of dry, hard turf.  Again the ground sloped,
and again we came on the tracks.  Then we lost them
for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more
quite close to Mapleton.  It was Holmes who saw them
first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph
upon his face.  A man's track was visible beside the
horse's.

"The horse was alone before," I cried.

"Quite so.  It was alone before.  Hullo, what is
this?"

The double track turned sharp off and took the
direction of King's Pyland.  Holmes whistled, and we
both followed along after it.  His eyes were on the
trail, but I happened to look a little to one side,
and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back
again in the opposite direction.

"One for you, Watson," said Holmes, when I pointed it
out.  "You have saved us a long walk, which would have
brought us back on our own traces.  Let us follow the
return track."

We had not to go far.  It ended at the paving of
asphalt which led up to the gates of the Mapleton
stables.  As we approached, a groom ran out from them.

"We don't want any loiterers about here," said he.

"I only wished to ask a question," said Holmes, with
his finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket.  "Should
I be too early to see your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if
I were to call at five o'clock to-morrow morning?"

"Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for
he is always the first stirring.  But here he is, sir,
to answer your questions for himself.  No, sir, no; it
is as much as my place is worth to let him see me
touch your money.  Afterwards, if you like."

As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he
had drawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly
man strode out from the gate with a hunting-crop
swinging in his hand.

"What's this, Dawson!" he cried.  "No gossiping!  Go
about your business!  And you, what the devil do you
want here?"

"Ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir," said Holmes
in the sweetest of voices.

"I've no time to talk to every gadabout.  We want no
stranger here.  Be off, or you may find a dog at your
heels."

Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the
trainer's ear.  He started violently and flushed to
the temples.

"It's a lie!" he shouted, "an infernal lie!"

"Very good.  Shall we argue about it here in public or
talk it over in your parlor?"

"Oh, come in if you wish to."

Holmes smiled.  "I shall not keep you more than a few
minutes, Watson," said he.  "Now, Mr. Brown, I am
quite at your disposal."

It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into
grays before Holmes and the trainer reappeared.  Never
have I seen such a change as had been brought about in
Silas Brown in that short time.  His face was ashy
pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and
his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a
branch in the wind.  His bullying, overbearing manner
was all gone too, and he cringed along at my
companion's side like a dog with its master.

"Your instructions will be done.  It shall all be
done," said he.

"There must be no mistake," said Holmes, looking round
at him.  The other winced as he read the menace in his
eyes.

"Oh no, there shall be no mistake.  It shall be there. 
Should I change it first or not?"

Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. 
"No, don't," said he; "I shall write to you about it. 
No tricks, now, or--"

"Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!"

"Yes, I think I can.  Well, you shall hear from me
to-morrow."  He turned upon his heel, disregarding the
trembling hand which the other held out to him, and we
set off for King's Pyland.

"A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and
sneak than Master Silas Brown I have seldom met with,"
remarked Holmes as we trudged along together.

"He has the horse, then?"

"He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him
so exactly what his actions had been upon that morning
that he is convinced that I was watching him.  Of
course you observed the peculiarly square toes in the
impressions, and that his own boots exactly
corresponded to them.  Again, of course no subordinate
would have dared to do such a thing.  I described to
him how, when according to his custom he was the first
down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the
moor.  How he went out to it, and his astonishment at
recognizing, from the white forehead which has given
the favorite its name, that chance had put in his
power the only horse which could beat the one upon
which he had put his money.  Then I described how his
first impulse had been to lead him back to King's
Pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could
hide the horse until the race was over, and how he had
led it back and concealed it at Mapleton.  When I told
him every detail he gave it up and thought only of
saving his own skin."

"But his stables had been searched?"

"Oh, an old horse-faker like him has many a dodge."

"But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his
power now, since he has every interest in injuring
it?"

"My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his
eye.  He knows that his only hope of mercy is to
produce it safe."

"Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be
likely to show much mercy in any case."

"The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross.  I follow
my own methods, and tell as much or as little as I
choose.  That is the advantage of being unofficial.  I
don't know whether you observed it, Watson, but the
Colonel's manner has been just a trifle cavalier to
me.  I am inclined now to have a little amusement at
his expense.  Say nothing to him about the horse."

"Certainly not without your permission."

"And of course this is all quite a minor point
compared to the question of who killed John Straker."

"And you will devote yourself to that?"

"On the contrary, we both go back to London by the
night train."

I was thunderstruck by my friend's words.  We had only
been a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should
give up an investigation which he had begun so
brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me.  Not a
word more could I draw from him until we were back at
the trainer's house.  The Colonel and the Inspector
were awaiting us in the parlor.

"My friend and I return to town by the night-express,"
said Holmes.  "We have had a charming little breath of
your beautiful Dartmoor air."

The Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel's lip
curled in a sneer.

"So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor
Straker," said he.

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.  "There are certainly
grave difficulties in the way," said he.  "I have
every hope, however, that your horse will start upon
Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your jockey in
readiness.  Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John
Straker?"

The Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it
to him.

"My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants.  If I
might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a
question which I should like to put to the maid."

"I must say that I am rather disappointed in our
London consultant," said Colonel Ross, bluntly, as my
friend left the room.  "I do not see that we are any
further than when he came."

"At least you have his assurance that your horse will
run," said I.

"Yes, I have his assurance," said the Colonel, with a
shrug of his shoulders.  "I should prefer to have the
horse."

I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend
when he entered the room again.

"Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready for
Tavistock."

As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads
held the door open for us.  A sudden idea seemed to
occur to Holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the
lad upon the sleeve.

"You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said.  "Who
attends to them?"

"I do, sir."

"Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?"

"Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them
have gone lame, sir."

I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he
chuckled and rubbed his hands together.

"A long shot, Watson; a very long shot," said he,
pinching my arm.  "Gregory, let me recommend to your
attention this singular epidemic among the sheep. 
Drive on, coachman!"

Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the
poor opinion which he had formed of my companion's
ability, but I saw by the Inspector's face that his
attention had been keenly aroused.

"You consider that to be important?" he asked.

"Exceedingly so."

"Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my
attention?"

"To the curious incident of the dog in the
night-time."

"The dog did nothing in the night-time."

"That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock
Holmes.




Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train,
bound for Winchester to see the race for the Wessex
Cup.  Colonel Ross met us by appointment outside the
station, and we drove in his drag to the course beyond
the town.  His face was grave, and his manner was cold
in the extreme.

"I have seen nothing of my horse," said he.

"I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?"
asked Holmes.

The Colonel was very angry.  "I have been on the turf
for twenty years, and never was asked such a question
as that before," said he.  "A child would know Silver
Blaze, with his white forehead and his mottled
off-foreleg."

"How is the betting?"

"Well, that is the curious part of it.  You could have
got fifteen to one yesterday, but the price has become
shorter and shorter, until you can hardly get three to
one now."

"Hum!" said Holmes.  "Somebody knows something, that
is clear."

As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand
stand I glanced at the card to see the entries.

Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs each h ft with 1000 sovs
added for four and five year olds.  Second, L300. 
Third, L200.  New course (one mile and five furlongs).
Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro.  Red cap.  Cinnamon
jacket.
Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist.  Pink cap.  Blue and black
jacket.
Lord Backwater's Desborough.  Yellow cap and sleeves.
Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze.  Black cap.  Red jacket.
Duke of Balmoral's Iris.  Yellow and black stripes.
Lord Singleford's Rasper.  Purple cap. Black sleeves.

"We scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your
word," said the Colonel.  "Why, what is that?  Silver
Blaze favorite?"

"Five to four against Silver Blaze!" roared the ring. 
"Five to four against Silver Blaze!  Five to fifteen
against Desborough!  Five to four on the field!"

"There are the numbers up," I cried.  "They are all
six there."

"All six there?  Then my horse is running," cried the
Colonel in great agitation.  "But I don't see him.  My
colors have not passed."

"Only five have passed.  This must be he."

As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the
weighing enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on
its back the well-known black and red of the Colonel.

"That's not my horse," cried the owner.  "That beast
has not a white hair upon its body.  What is this that
you have done, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my
friend, imperturbably.  For a few minutes he gazed
through my field-glass.  "Capital!  An excellent
start!" he cried suddenly.  "There they are, coming
round the curve!"

From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the
straight.  The six horses were so close together that
a carpet could have covered them, but half way up the
yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front. 
Before they reached us, however, Desborough's bolt was
shot, and the Colonel's horse, coming away with a
rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its
rival, the Duke of Balmoral's Iris making a bad third.

"It's my race, anyhow," gasped the Colonel, passing
his hand over his eyes.  "I confess that I can make
neither head nor tail of it.  Don't you think that you
have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?"

"Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything.  Let
us all go round and have a look at the horse together. 
Here he is," he continued, as we made our way into the
weighing enclosure, where only owners and their
friends find admittance.  "You have only to wash his
face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will find
that he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever."

"You take my breath away!"

"I found him in the hands of a faker, and took the
liberty of running him just as he was sent over."

"My dear sir, you have done wonders.  The horse looks
very fit and well.  It never went better in its life. 
I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your
ability.  You have done me a great service by
recovering my horse.  You would do me a greater still
if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John
Straker."

"I have done so," said Holmes quietly.

The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement.  "You
have got him!  Where is he, then?"

"He is here."

"Here!  Where?"

"In my company at the present moment."

The Colonel flushed angrily.  "I quite recognize that
I am under obligations to you, Mr.  Holmes," said he,
"but I must regard what you have just said as either a
very bad joke or an insult."

Sherlock Holmes laughed.  "I assure you that I have
not associated you with the crime, Colonel," said he. 
"The real murderer is standing immediately behind
you."  He stepped past and laid his hand upon the
glossy neck of the thoroughbred.

"The horse!" cried both the Colonel and myself.

"Yes, the horse.  And it may lessen his guilt if I say
that it was done in self-defence, and that John
Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your
confidence.  But there goes the bell, and as I stand
to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a
lengthy explanation until a more fitting time."




We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that
evening as we whirled back to London, and I fancy that
the journey was a short one to Colonel Ross as well as
to myself, as we listened to our companion's narrative
of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor
training-stables upon the Monday night, and the means
by which he had unravelled them.

"I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had
formed from the newspaper reports were entirely
erroneous.  And yet there were indications there, had
they not been overlaid by other details which
concealed their true import.  I went to Devonshire
with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true
culprit, although, of course, I saw that the evidence
against him was by no means complete.  It was while I
was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer's
house, that the immense significance of the curried
mutton occurred to me.  You may remember that I was
distrait, and remained sitting after you had all
alighted.  I was marvelling in my own mind how I could
possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue."

"I confess," said the Colonel, "that even now I cannot
see how it helps us."

"It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. 
Powdered opium is by no means tasteless.  The flavor
is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible.  Were it
mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would
undoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more. 
A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise
this taste.  By no possible supposition could this
stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be
served in the trainer's family that night, and it is
surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he
happened to come along with powdered opium upon the
very night when a dish happened to be served which
would disguise the flavor.  That is unthinkable. 
Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case,
and our attention centers upon Straker and his wife,
the only two people who could have chosen curried
mutton for supper that night.  The opium was added
after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for
the others had the same for supper with no ill
effects.  Which of them, then, had access to that dish
without the maid seeing them?

"Before deciding that question I had grasped the
significance of the silence of the dog, for one true
inference invariably suggests others.  The Simpson
incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the
stables, and yet, though some one had been in and had
fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to
arouse the two lads in the loft.  Obviously the
midnight visitor was some one whom the dog knew well.

"I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that
John Straker went down to the stables in the dead of
the night and took out Silver Blaze.  For what
purpose?  For a dishonest one, obviously, or why
should he drug his own stable-boy?  And yet I was at a
loss to know why.  There have been cases before now
where trainers have made sure of great sums of money
by laying against their own horses, through agents,
and then preventing them from winning by fraud. 
Sometimes it is a pulling jockey.  Sometimes it is
some surer and subtler means.  What was it here?  I
hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me
to form a conclusion.

"And they did so.  You cannot have forgotten the
singular knife which was found in the dead man's hand,
a knife which certainly no sane man would choose for a
weapon.  It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of
knife which is used for the most delicate operations
known in surgery.  And it was to be used for a
delicate operation that night.  You must know, with
your wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross,
that it is possible to make a slight nick upon the
tendons of a horse's ham, and to do it subcutaneously,
so as to leave absolutely no trace.  A horse so
treated would develop a slight lameness, which would
be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of
rheumatism, but never to foul play."

"Villain!  Scoundrel!" cried the Colonel.

"We have here the explanation of why John Straker
wished to take the horse out on to the moor.  So
spirited a creature would have certainly roused the
soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the
knife.  It was absolutely necessary to do it in the
open air."

"I have been blind!" cried the Colonel.  "Of course
that was why he needed the candle, and struck the
match."

"Undoubtedly.  But in examining his belongings I was
fortunate enough to discover not only the method of
the crime, but even its motives.  As a man of the
world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other
people's bills about in their pockets.  We have most
of us quite enough to do to settle our own.  I at once
concluded that Straker was leading a double life, and
keeping a second establishment.  The nature of the
bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one
who had expensive tastes.  Liberal as you are with
your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy
twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies.  I
questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her
knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had
never reached her, I made a note of the milliner's
address, and felt that by calling there with Straker's
photograph I could easily dispose of the mythical
Derbyshire.

"From that time on all was plain.  Straker had led out
the horse to a hollow where his light would be
invisible.  Simpson in his flight had dropped his
cravat, and Straker had picked it up--with some idea,
perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse's
leg.  Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse
and had struck a light; but the creature frightened at
the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of
animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had
lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full
on the forehead.  He had already, in spite of the
rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his
delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed
his thigh.  Do I make it clear?"

"Wonderful!" cried the Colonel.  "Wonderful!  You
might have been there!"

"My final shot was, I confess a very long one.  It
struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not
undertake this delicate tendon-nicking without a
little practice.  What could he practice on?  My eyes
fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which,
rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was
correct.

"When I returned to London I called upon the milliner,
who had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of
the name of Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife,
with a strong partiality for expensive dresses.  I
have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over
head and ears in debt, and so led him into this
miserable plot."

"You have explained all but one thing," cried the
Colonel.  "Where was the horse?"

"Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your
neighbors.  We must have an amnesty in that direction,
I think.  This is Clapham Junction, if I am not
mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten
minutes.  If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms,
Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other
details which might interest you."



Adventure II


The Yellow Face


[In publishing these short sketches based upon the
numerous cases in which my companion's singular gifts
have made us the listeners to, and eventually the
actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that
I should dwell rather upon his successes than upon his
failures.  And this not so much for the sake of his
reputation--for, indeed, it was when he was at his
wits' end that his energy and his versatility were
most admirable--but because where he failed it
happened too often that no one else succeeded, and
that the tale was left forever without a conclusion. 
Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he
erred, the truth was still discovered.  I have noted
of some half-dozen cases of the kind; the Adventure of
the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about to
recount are the two which present the strongest
features of interest.]

Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for
exercise's sake.  Few men were capable of greater
muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the
finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but
he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of
energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save when
there was some professional object to be served.  Then
he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable.  That he
should have kept himself in training under such
circumstances is remarkable, but his diet was usually
of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the
verge of austerity.  Save for the occasional use of
cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the
drug as a protest against the monotony of existence
when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.

One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to
go for a walk with me in the Park, where the first
faint shoots of green were breaking out upon the elms,
and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were just
beginning to burst into their five-fold leaves.  For
two hours we rambled about together, in silence for
the most part, as befits two men who know each other
intimately.  It was nearly five before we were back in
Baker Street once more.

"Beg pardon, sir," said our page-boy, as he opened the
door.  "There's been a gentleman here asking for you,
sir."

Holmes glanced reproachfully at me.  "So much for
afternoon walks!" said he.  "Has this gentleman gone,
then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Didn't you ask him in?"

"Yes, sir; he came in."

"How long did he wait?"

"Half an hour, sir.  He was a very restless gentleman,
sir, a-walkin' and a-stampin' all the time he was
here.  I was waitin' outside the door, sir, and I
could hear him.  At last he outs into the passage, and
he cries, 'Is that man never goin' to come?'  Those
were his very words, sir.  'You'll only need to wait a
little longer,' says I.  'Then I'll wait in the open
air, for I feel half choked,' says he.  'I'll be back
before long.'  And with that he ups and he outs, and
all I could say wouldn't hold him back."

"Well, well, you did your best," said Holmes, as we
walked into our room.  "It's very annoying, though,
Watson.  I was badly in need of a case, and this
looks, from the man's impatience, as if it were of
importance.  Hullo! That's not your pipe on the table. 
He must have left his behind him.  A nice old brier
with a good long stem of what the tobacconists call
amber.  I wonder how many real amber mouthpieces there
are in London?  Some people think that a fly in it is
a sign.  Well, he must have been disturbed in his mind
to leave a pipe behind him which he evidently values
highly."

"How do you know that he values it highly?" I asked.

"Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at
seven and sixpence.  Now it has, you see, been twice
mended, once in the wooden stem and once in the
amber.  Each of these mends, done, as you observe,
with silver bands, must have cost more than the pipe
did originally.  The man must value the pipe highly
when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a new
one with the same money."

"Anything else?" I asked, for Holmes was turning the
pipe about in his hand, and staring at it in his
peculiar pensive way.

He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin
fore-finger, as a professor might who was lecturing on
a bone.

"Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest,"
said he.  "Nothing has more individuality, save
perhaps watches and bootlaces.  The indications here,
however, are neither very marked nor very important. 
The owner is obviously a muscular man, left-handed,
with an excellent set of teeth, careless in his
habits, and with no need to practise economy."

My friend threw out the information in a very offhand
way, but I saw that he cocked his eye at me to see if
I had followed his reasoning.

"You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a
seven-shilling pipe," said I.

"This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce,"
Holmes answered, knocking a little out on his palm. 
"As he might get an excellent smoke for half the
price, he has no need to practise economy."

"And the other points?"

"He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at
lamps and gas-jets.  You can see that it is quite
charred all down one side.  Of course a match could
not have done that.  Why should a man hold a match to
the side of his pipe?  But you cannot light it at a
lamp without getting the bowl charred.  And it is all
on the right side of the pipe.  From that I gather
that he is a left-handed man.  You hold your own pipe
to the lamp, and see how naturally you, being
right-handed, hold the left side to the flame.  You
might do it once the other way, but not as a
constancy.  This has always been held so.  Then he has
bitten through his amber.  It takes a muscular,
energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to
do that.  But if I am not mistaken I hear him upon the
stair, so we shall have something more interesting
than his pipe to study."

An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man
entered the room.  He was well but quietly dressed in
a dark-gray suit, and carried a brown wide-awake in
his hand.  I should have put him at about thirty,
though he was really some years older.

"I beg your pardon," said he, with some embarrassment;
"I suppose I should have knocked.  Yes, of course I
should have knocked.  The fact is that I am a little
upset, and you must put it all down to that."  He
passed his hand over his forehead like a man who is
half dazed, and then fell rather than sat down upon a
chair.

"I can see that you have not slept for a night or
two," said Holmes, in his easy, genial way.  "That
tries a man's nerves more than work, and more even
than pleasure.  May I ask how I can help you?"

"I wanted your advice, sir.  I don't know what to do
and my whole life seems to have gone to pieces."

"You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?"

"Not that only.  I want your opinion as a judicious
man--as a man of the world.  I want to know what I
ought to do next.  I hope to God you'll be able to
tell me."

He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it
seemed to me that to speak at all was very painful to
him, and that his will all through was overriding his
inclinations.

"It's a very delicate thing," said he.  "One does not
like to speak of one's domestic affairs to strangers. 
It seems dreadful to discuss the conduct of one's wife
with two men whom I have never seen before.  It's
horrible to have to do it.  But I've got to the end of
my tether, and I must have advice."

"My dear Mr. Grant Munro--" began Holmes.

Our visitor sprang from his chair. "What!" he cried,
"you know my name?"

"If you wish to preserve your incognito," said Holmes,
smiling, "I would suggest that you cease to write your
name upon the lining of your hat, or else that you
turn the crown towards the person whom you are
addressing.  I was about to say that my friend and I
have listened to a good many strange secrets in this
room, and that we have had the good fortune to bring
peace to many troubled souls.  I trust that we may do
as much for you.  Might I beg you, as time may prove
to be of importance, to furnish me with the facts of
your case without further delay?"

Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead,
as if he found it bitterly hard.  From every gesture
and expression I could see that he was a reserved,
self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his
nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to expose
them.  Then suddenly, with a fierce gesture of his
closed hand, like one who throws reserve to the winds,
he began.

"The facts are these, Mr. Holmes," said he.  "I am a
married man, and have been so for three years.  During
that time my wife and I have loved each other as
fondly and lived as happily as any two that ever were
joined.  We have not had a difference, not one, in
thought or word or deed.  And now, since last Monday,
there has suddenly sprung up a barrier between us, and
I find that there is something in her life and in her
thought of which I know as little as if she were the
woman who brushes by me in the street.  We are
estranged, and I want to know why.

"Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon
you before I go any further, Mr. Holmes.  Effie loves
me.  Don't let there be any mistake about that.  She
loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more
than now.  I know it.  I feel it.  I don't want to
argue about that.  A man can tell easily enough when a
woman loves him.  But there's this secret between us,
and we can never be the same until it is cleared."

"Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro," said
Holmes, with some impatience.

"I'll tell you what I know about Effie's history.  She
was a widow when I met her first, though quite
young--only twenty-five.  Her name then was Mrs.
Hebron.  She went out to America when she was young,
and lived in the town of Atlanta, where she married
this Hebron, who was a lawyer with a good practice. 
They had one child, but the yellow fever broke out
badly in the place, and both husband and child died of
it.  I have seen his death certificate.  This sickened
her of America, and she came back to live with a
maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex.  I may mention
that her husband had left her comfortably off, and
that she had a capital of about four thousand five
hundred pounds, which had been so well invested by him
that it returned an average of seven per cent.  She
had only been six months at Pinner when I met her; we
fell in love with each other, and we married a few
weeks afterwards.

"I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income
of seven or eight hundred, we found ourselves
comfortably off, and took a nice eighty-pound-a-year
villa at Norbury.  Our little place was very
countrified, considering that it is so close to town. 
We had an inn and two houses a little above us, and a
single cottage at the other side of the field which
faces us, and except those there were no houses until
you got half way to the station.  My business took me
into town at certain seasons, but in summer I had less
to do, and then in our country home my wife and I were
just as happy as could be wished.  I tell you that
there never was a shadow between us until this
accursed affair began.

"There's one thing I ought to tell you before I go
further.  When we married, my wife made over all her
property to me--rather against my will, for I saw how
awkward it would be if my business affairs went wrong. 
However, she would have it so, and it was done.  Well,
about six weeks ago she came to me.

"'Jack,' said she, 'when you took my money you said
that if ever I wanted any I was to ask you for it.'

"'Certainly,' said I.  'It's all your own.'

"'Well,' said she, 'I want a hundred pounds.'

"I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it
was simply a new dress or something of the kind that
she was after.

"'What on earth for?' I asked.

"'Oh,' said she, in her playful way, 'you said that
you were only my banker, and bankers never ask
questions, you know.'

"'If you really mean it, of course you shall have the
money,' said I.

"'Oh, yes, I really mean it.'

"'And you won't tell me what you want it for?'

"'Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.'

"So I had to be content with that, though it was the
first time that there had ever been any secret between
us.  I gave her a check, and I never thought any more
of the matter.  It may have nothing to do with what
came afterwards, but I thought it only right to
mention it.

"Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not
far from our house.  There is just a field between us,
but to reach it you have to go along the road and then
turn down a lane.  Just beyond it is a nice little
grove of Scotch firs, and I used to be very fond of
strolling down there, for trees are always a
neighborly kind of things.  The cottage had been
standing empty this eight months, and it was a pity,
for it was a pretty two-storied place, with an
old-fashioned porch and honeysuckle about it.  I have
stood many a time and thought what a neat little
homestead it would make.

"Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down
that way, when I met an empty van coming up the lane,
and saw a pile of carpets and things lying about on
the grass-plot beside the porch.  It was clear that
the cottage had at last been let.  I walked past it,
and wondered what sort of folk they were who had come
to live so near us.  And as I looked I suddenly became
aware that a face was watching me out of one of the
upper windows.

"I don't know what there was about that face, Mr.
Holmes, but it seemed to send a chill right down my
back.  I was some little way off, so that I could not
make out the features, but there was something
unnatural and inhuman about the face.  That was the
impression that I had, and I moved quickly forwards to
get a nearer view of the person who was watching me. 
But as I did so the face suddenly disappeared, so
suddenly that it seemed to have been plucked away into
the darkness of the room.  I stood for five minutes
thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my
impressions.  I could not tell if the face were that
of a man or a woman.  It had been too far from me for
that.  But its color was what had impressed me most. 
It was of a livid chalky white, and with something set
and rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural.  So
disturbed was I that I determined to see a little more
of the new inmates of the cottage.  I approached and
knocked at the door, which was instantly opened by a
tall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding face.

"'What may you be wantin'?' she asked, in a Northern
accent.

"'I am your neighbor over yonder,' said I, nodding
towards my house.  'I see that you have only just
moved in, so I thought that if I could be of any help
to you in any--'

"'Ay, we'll just ask ye when we want ye,' said she,
and shut the door in my face.  Annoyed at the churlish
rebuff, I turned my back and walked home.  All
evening, though I tried to think of other things, my
mind would still turn to the apparition at the window
and the rudeness of the woman.  I determined to say
nothing about the former to my wife, for she is a
nervous, highly strung woman, and I had no wish that
she would share the unpleasant impression which had
been produced upon myself.  I remarked to her,
however, before I fell asleep, that the cottage was
now occupied, to which she returned no reply.

"I am usually an extremely sound sleeper.  It has been
a standing jest in the family that nothing could ever
wake me during the night.  And yet somehow on that
particular night, whether it may have been the slight
excitement produced by my little adventure or not I
know not, but I slept much more lightly than usual. 
Half in my dreams I was dimly conscious that something
was going on in the room, and gradually became aware
that my wife had dressed herself and was slipping on
her mantle and her bonnet.  My lips were parted to
murmur out some sleepy words of surprise or
remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when
suddenly my half-opened eyes fell upon her face,
illuminated by the candle-light, and astonishment held
me dumb.  She wore an expression such as I had never
seen before--such as I should have thought her
incapable of assuming.  She was deadly pale and
breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed as
she fastened her mantle, to see if she had disturbed
me.  Then, thinking that I was still asleep, she
slipped noiselessly from the room, and an instant
later I heard a sharp creaking which could only come
from the hinges of the front door.  I sat up in bed
and rapped my knuckles against the rail to make
certain that I was truly awake.  Then I took my watch
from under the pillow.  It was three in the morning. 
What on this earth could my wife be doing out on the
country road at three in the morning?

"I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing
over in my mind and trying to find some possible
explanation.  The more I thought, the more
extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear.  I was
still puzzling over it when I heard the door gently
close again, and her footsteps coming up the stairs.

"'Where in the world have you been, Effie?' I asked as
she entered.

"She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry
when I spoke, and that cry and start troubled me more
than all the rest, for there was something
indescribably guilty about them.  My wife had always
been a woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a
chill to see her slinking into her own room, and
crying out and wincing when her own husband spoke to
her.

"'You awake, Jack!' she cried, with a nervous laugh. 
'Why, I thought that nothing could awake you.'

"'Where have you been?' I asked, more sternly.

"'I don't wonder that you are surprised,' said she,
and I could see that her fingers were trembling as she
undid the fastenings of her mantle.  'Why, I never
remember having done such a thing in my life before. 
The fact is that I felt as though I were choking, and
had a perfect longing for a breath of fresh air.  I
really think that I should have fainted if I had not
gone out.  I stood at the door for a few minutes, and
now I am quite myself again.'

"All the time that she was telling me this story she
never once looked in my direction, and her voice was
quite unlike her usual tones.  It was evident to me
that she was saying what was false.  I said nothing in
reply, but turned my face to the wall, sick at heart,
with my mind filled with a thousand venomous doubts
and suspicions.  What was it that my wife was
concealing from me?  Where had she been during that
strange expedition?  I felt that I should have no
peace until I knew, and yet I shrank from asking her
again after once she had told me what was false.  All
the rest of the night I tossed and tumbled, framing
theory after theory, each more unlikely than the last.

"I should have gone to the City that day, but I was
too disturbed in my mind to be able to pay attention
to business matters.  My wife seemed to be as upset as
myself, and I could see from the little questioning
glances which she kept shooting at me that she
understood that I disbelieved her statement, and that
she was at her wits' end what to do.  We hardly
exchanged a word during breakfast, and immediately
afterwards I went out for a walk, that I might think
the matter out in the fresh morning air.

"I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in
the grounds, and was back in Norbury by one o'clock. 
It happened that my way took me past the cottage, and
I stopped for an instant to look at the windows, and
to see if I could catch a glimpse of the strange face
which had looked out at me on the day before.  As I
stood there, imagine my surprise, Mr. Holmes, when the
door suddenly opened and my wife walked out.

"I was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of
her; but my emotions were nothing to those which
showed themselves upon her face when our eyes met. 
She seemed for an instant to wish to shrink back
inside the house again; and then, seeing how useless
all concealment must be, she came forward, with a very
white face and frightened eyes which belied the smile
upon her lips.

"'Ah, Jack,' she said, 'I have just been in to see if
I can be of any assistance to our new neighbors.  Why
do you look at me like that, Jack?  You are not angry
with me?'

"'So,' said I, 'this is where you went during the
night.'

"'What do you mean?' she cried.

"'You came here.  I am sure of it.  Who are these
people, that you should visit them at such an hour?'

"'I have not been here before.'

"'How can you tell me what you know is false?' I
cried.  'Your very voice changes as you speak.  When
have I ever had a secret from you?  I shall enter that
cottage, and I shall probe the matter to the bottom.'

"'No, no, Jack, for God's sake!' she gasped, in
uncontrollable emotion.  Then, as I approached the
door, she seized my sleeve and pulled me back with
convulsive strength.

"'I implore you not to do this, Jack,' she cried.  'I
swear that I will tell you everything some day, but
nothing but misery can come of it if you enter that
cottage.'  Then, as I tried to shake her off, she
clung to me in a frenzy of entreaty.

"'Trust me, Jack!' she cried.  'Trust me only this
once.  You will never have cause to regret it.  You
know that I would not have a secret from you if it
were not for your own sake.  Our whole lives are at
stake in this.  If you come home with me, all will be
well.  If you force your way into that cottage, all is
over between us.'

"There was such earnestness, such despair, in her
manner that her words arrested me, and I stood
irresolute before the door.

"'I will trust you on one condition, and on one
condition only,' said I at last.  'It is that this
mystery comes to an end from now.  You are at liberty
to preserve your secret, but you must promise me that
there shall be no more nightly visits, no more doings
which are kept from my knowledge.  I am willing to
forget those which are passed if you will promise that
there shall be no more in the future.'

"'I was sure that you would trust me,' she cried, with
a great sigh of relief.  'It shall be just as you
wish.  Come away--oh, come away up to the house.'

"Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the
cottage.  As we went I glanced back, and there was
that yellow livid face watching us out of the upper
window.  What link could there be between that
creature and my wife?  Or how could the coarse, rough
woman whom I had seen the day before be connected with
her?  It was a strange puzzle, and yet I knew that my
mind could never know ease again until I had solved
it.

"For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife
appeared to abide loyally by our engagement, for, as
far as I know, she never stirred out of the house.  On
the third day, however, I had ample evidence that her
solemn promise was not enough to hold her back from
this secret influence which drew her away from her
husband and her duty.

"I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by
the 2.40 instead of the 3.36, which is my usual train. 
As I entered the house the maid ran into the hall with
a startled face.

"'Where is your mistress?' I asked.

"'I think that she has gone out for a walk,' she
answered.

"My mind was instantly filled with suspicion.  I
rushed upstairs to make sure that she was not in the
house.  As I did so I happened to glance out of one of
the upper windows, and saw the maid with whom I had
just been speaking running across the field in the
direction of the cottage.  Then of course I saw
exactly what it all meant.  My wife had gone over
there, and had asked the servant to call her if I
should return.  Tingling with anger, I rushed down and
hurried across, determined to end the matter once and
forever.  I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back
along the lane, but I did not stop to speak with them. 
In the cottage lay the secret which was casting a
shadow over my life.  I vowed that, come what might,
it should be a secret no longer.  I did not even knock
when I reached it, but turned the handle and rushed
into the passage.

"It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor.  In
the kitchen a kettle was singing on the fire, and a
large black cat lay coiled up in the basket; but there
was no sign of the woman whom I had seen before.  I
ran into the other room, but it was equally deserted. 
Then I rushed up the stairs, only to find two other
rooms empty and deserted at the top.  There was no one
at all in the whole house.  The furniture and pictures
were of the most common and vulgar description, save
in the one chamber at the window of which I had seen
the strange face.  That was comfortable and elegant,
and all my suspicions rose into a fierce bitter flame
when I saw that on the mantelpiece stood a copy of a
full-length photograph of my wife, which had been
taken at my request only three months ago.

"I stayed long enough to make certain that the house
was absolutely empty.  Then I left it, feeling a
weight at my heart such as I had never had before.  My
wife came out into the hall as I entered my house; but
I was too hurt and angry to speak with her, and
pushing past her, I made my way into my study.  She
followed me, however, before I could close the door.

"'I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,' said she;
'but if you knew all the circumstances I am sure that
you would forgive me.'

"'Tell me everything, then,' said I.

"'I cannot, Jack, I cannot,' she cried.

"'Until you tell me who it is that has been living in
that cottage, and who it is to whom you have given
that photograph, there can never be any confidence
between us,' said I, and breaking away from her, I
left the house.  That was yesterday, Mr. Holmes, and I
have not seen her since, nor do I know anything more
about this strange business.  It is the first shadow
that has come between us, and it has so shaken me that
I do not know what I should do for the best.  Suddenly
this morning it occurred to me that you were the man
to advise me, so I have hurried to you now, and I
place myself unreservedly in your hands.  If there is
any point which I have not made clear, pray question
me about it.  But, above all, tell me quickly what I
am to do, for this misery is more than I can bear."

Holmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to
this extraordinary statement, which had been delivered
in the jerky, broken fashion of a man who is under the
influence of extreme emotions.  My companion sat
silent for some time, with his chin upon his hand,
lost in thought.

"Tell me," said he at last, "could you swear that this
was a man's face which you saw at the window?"

"Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from
it, so that it is impossible for me to say."

"You appear, however, to have been disagreeably
impressed by it."

"It seemed to be of an unnatural color, and to have a
strange rigidity about the features.  When I
approached, it vanished with a jerk."

"How long is it since your wife asked you for a
hundred pounds?"

"Nearly two months."

"Have you ever seen a photograph of her first
husband?"

"No; there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly
after his death, and all her papers were destroyed."

"And yet she had a certificate of death.  You say that
you saw it."

"Yes; she got a duplicate after the fire."

"Did you ever meet any one who knew her in America?"

"No."

"Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?"

"No."

"Or get letters from it?"

"No."

"Thank you.  I should like to think over the matter a
little now.  If the cottage is now permanently
deserted we may have some difficulty.  If, on the
other hand, as I fancy is more likely, the inmates
were warned of your coming, and left before you entered
yesterday, then they may be back now, and we should
clear it all up easily.  Let me advise you, then, to
return to Norbury, and to examine the windows of the
cottage again.  If you have reason to believe that it
is inhabited, do not force your way in, but send a wire
to my friend and me.  We shall be with you within an
hour of receiving it, and we shall then very soon get
to the bottom of the business."

"And if it is still empty?"

"In that case I shall come out to-morrow and talk it
over with you.  Good-by; and, above all, do not fret
until you know that you really have a cause for it."

"I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson,"
said my companion, as he returned after accompanying
Mr. Grant Munro to the door.  "What do you make of
it?"

"It had an ugly sound," I answered.

"Yes.  There's blackmail in it, or I am much
mistaken."

"And who is the blackmailer?"

"Well, it must be the creature who lives in the only
comfortable room in the place, and has her photograph
above his fireplace.  Upon my word, Watson, there is
something very attractive about that livid face at the
window, and I would not have missed the case for
worlds."

"You have a theory?"

"Yes, a provisional one.  But I shall be surprised if
it does not turn out to be correct.  This woman's
first husband is in that cottage."

"Why do you think so?"

"How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her
second one should not enter it?  The facts, as I read
them, are something like this:  This woman was married
in America.  Her husband developed some hateful
qualities; or shall we say that he contracted some
loathsome disease, and became a leper or an imbecile? 
She flies from him at last, returns to England,
changes her name, and starts her life, as she thinks,
afresh.  She has been married three years, and
believes that her position is quite secure, having
shown her husband the death certificate of some man
whose name she has assumed, when suddenly her
whereabouts is discovered by her first husband; or, we
may suppose, by some unscrupulous woman who has
attached herself to the invalid.  They write to the
wife, and threaten to come and expose her.  She asks
for a hundred pounds, and endeavors to buy them off. 
They come in spite of it, and when the husband
mentions casually to the wife that there are new-comers
in the cottage, she knows in some way that they are
her pursuers.  She waits until her husband is asleep,
and then she rushes down to endeavor to persuade them
to leave her in peace.  Having no success, she goes
again next morning, and her husband meets her, as he
has told us, as she comes out.  She promises him then
not to go there again, but two days afterwards the
hope of getting rid of those dreadful neighbors was
too strong for her, and she made another attempt,
taking down with her the photograph which had probably
been demanded from her.  In the midst of this
interview the maid rushed in to say that the master
had come home, on which the wife, knowing that he
would come straight down to the cottage, hurried the
inmates out at the back door, into the grove of
fir-trees, probably, which was mentioned as standing
near.  In this way he found the place deserted.  I
shall be very much surprised, however, if it is still so
when he reconnoitres it this evening.  What do you
think of my theory?"

"It is all surmise."

"But at least it covers all the facts.  When new facts
come to our knowledge which cannot be covered by it,
it will be time enough to reconsider it.  We can do
nothing more until we have a message from our friend
at Norbury."

But we had not a very long time to wait for that.  It
came just as we had finished our tea.  "The cottage is
still tenanted," it said.  "Have seen the face again
at the window.  Will meet the seven o'clock train, and
will take no steps until you arrive."


He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out,
and we could see in the light of the station lamps
that he was very pale, and quivering with agitation.

"They are still there, Mr. Holmes," said he, laying
his hand hard upon my friend's sleeve.  "I saw lights
in the cottage as I came down.  We shall settle it now
once and for all."

"What is your plan, then?" asked Holmes, as he walked
down the dark tree-lined road.

"I am going to force my way in and see for myself who
is in the house.  I wish you both to be there as
witnesses."

"You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your
wife's warning that it is better that you should not
solve the mystery?"

"Yes, I am determined."

"Well, I think that you are in the right.  Any truth
is better than indefinite doubt.  We had better go up
at once.  Of course, legally, we are putting ourselves
hopelessly in the wrong; but I think that it is worth
it."

It was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to
fall as we turned from the high road into a narrow
lane, deeply rutted, with hedges on either side.  Mr.
Grant Munro pushed impatiently forward, however, and
we stumbled after him as best we could.

"There are the lights of my house," he murmured,
pointing to a glimmer among the trees.  "And here is
the cottage which I am going to enter."

We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there
was the building close beside us.  A yellow bar
falling across the black foreground showed that the
door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper
story was brightly illuminated.  As we looked, we saw
a dark blur moving across the blind.

"There is that creature!" cried Grant Munro.  "You can
see for yourselves that some one is there.  Now follow
me, and we shall soon know all."

We approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared
out of the shadow and stood in the golden track of the
lamp-light.  I could not see her face in the darkness,
but her arms were thrown out in an attitude of entreaty.

"For God's sake, don't Jack!" she cried.  "I had a
presentiment that you would come this evening.  Think
better of it, dear!  Trust me again, and you will
never have cause to regret it."

"I have trusted you too long, Effie," he cried,
sternly.  "Leave go of me!  I must pass you.  My
friends and I are going to settle this matter once and
forever!"  He pushed her to one side, and we followed
closely after him.  As he threw the door open an old
woman ran out in front of him and tried to bar his
passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant
afterwards we were all upon the stairs.  Grant Munro
rushed into the lighted room at the top, and we
entered at his heels.

It was a cosey, well-furnished apartment, with two
candles burning upon the table and two upon the
mantelpiece.  In the corner, stooping over a desk,
there sat what appeared to be a little girl.  Her face
was turned away as we entered, but we could see that
she was dressed in a red frock, and that she had long
white gloves on.  As she whisked round to us, I gave a
cry of surprise and horror.  The face which she turned
towards us was of the strangest livid tint, and the
features were absolutely devoid of any expression.  An
instant later the mystery was explained.  Holmes, with
a laugh, passed his hand behind the child's ear, a
mask peeled off from her countenance, and there was a
little coal black negress, with all her white teeth
flashing in amusement at our amazed faces.  I burst
out laughing, out of sympathy with her merriment; but
Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching his
throat.

"My God!" he cried.  "What can be the meaning of
this?"

"I will tell you the meaning of it," cried the lady,
sweeping into the room with a proud, set face.  "You
have forced me, against my own judgment, to tell you,
and now we must both make the best of it.  My husband
died at Atlanta.  My child survived."

"Your child?"

She drew a large silver locket from her bosom.  "You
have never seen this open."

"I understood that it did not open."

She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. 
There was a portrait within of a man strikingly
handsome and intelligent-looking, but bearing
unmistakable signs upon his features of his African
descent.

"That is John Hebron, of Atlanta," said the lady, "and
a nobler man never walked the earth.  I cut myself off
from my race in order to wed him, but never once while
he lived did I for an instant regret it.  It was our
misfortune that our only child took after his people
rather than mine.  It is often so in such matches, and
little Lucy is darker far than ever her father was. 
But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie,
and her mother's pet."  The little creature ran across
at the words and nestled up against the lady's dress. 
"When I left her in America," she continued, "it was
only because her health was weak, and the change might
have done her harm.  She was given to the care of a
faithful Scotch woman who had once been our servant. 
Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as
my child.  But when chance threw you in my way, Jack,
and I learned to love you, I feared to tell you about
my child.  God forgive me, I feared that I should lose
you, and I had not the courage to tell you.  I had to
choose between you, and in my weakness I turned away
from my own little girl.  For three years I have kept
her existence a secret from you, but I heard from the
nurse, and I knew that all was well with her.  At
last, however, there came an overwhelming desire to
see the child once more.  I struggled against it, but
in vain.  Though I knew the danger, I determined to
have the child over, if it were but for a few weeks. 
I sent a hundred pounds to the nurse, and I gave her
instructions about this cottage, so that she might
come as a neighbor, without my appearing to be in any
way connected with her.  I pushed my precautions so
far as to order her to keep the child in the house
during the daytime, and to cover up her little face
and hands so that even those who might see her at the
window should not gossip about there being a black
child in the neighborhood.  If I had been less
cautious I might have been more wise, but I was half
crazy with fear that you should learn the truth.

"It was you who told me first that the cottage was
occupied.  I should have waited for the morning, but I
could not sleep for excitement, and so at last I
slipped out, knowing how difficult it is to awake you. 
But you saw me go, and that was the beginning of my
troubles.  Next day you had my secret at your mercy,
but you nobly refrained from pursuing your advantage. 
Three days later, however, the nurse and child only
just escaped from the back door as you rushed in at
the front one.  And now to-night you at last know all,
and I ask you what is to become of us, my child and
me?"  She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.

It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the
silence, and when his answer came it was one of which
I love to think.  He lifted the little child, kissed
her, and then, still carrying her, he held his other
hand out to his wife and turned towards the door.

"We can talk it over more comfortably at home," said
he.  "I am not a very good man, Effie, but I think
that I am a better one than you have given me credit
for being."

Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my
friend plucked at my sleeve as we came out.

"I think," said he, "that we shall be of more use in
London than in Norbury."

Not another word did he say of the case until late
that night, when he was turning away, with his lighted
candle, for his bedroom.

"Watson," said he, "if it should ever strike you that
I am getting a little over-confident in my powers, or
giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly
whisper 'Norbury' in my ear, and I shall be infinitely
obliged to you." 



Adventure III


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
himself 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 surprised, 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 neighbor'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
wearing.  "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 neighbor,
rushed upstairs to explain the matter to my wife, and
joined Holmes upon the door-step.

"Your neighbor 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 mustache.  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 labeled cockneys, but
who give us our crack volunteer regiments, 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 all 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 outré
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 Johnnie 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's 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 had 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 advertisements 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 satisfactory.  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 promised 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 hundred 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
overriding 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 you,' 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 L500."'

"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 remember 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 make 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 dare say 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
acquaintance, 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 I 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 labors.'
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 Mawson'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 director?"

"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 door-way.

"There he goes!" cried Hall Pycroft.  "These are the
company'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 conclusion.  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
constraint which he was evidently setting upon himself
had suddenly 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 manner.  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
direction 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-colored 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
trouser's 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.  Some one wanted to
learn to imitate your writing, 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 some one turned up in your place who wrote a
completely different 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 any one 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
Midlands, 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 clinched 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 be 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 attempted 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 guardians 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 that Beddington, the famous
forger and cracksman, who, with his brother, had 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 moulding of various locks, and a thorough
knowledge of the position of the strong room 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 watchman was found doubled up and thrust
into the largest of the safes, where it would not have
been discovered until Monday 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 pretending 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 energetic 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."



Adventure IV


The "_Gloria Scott_"


"I have some papers here," said my friend Sherlock
Holmes, as we sat one winter's night on either side of
the fire, "which I really think, Watson, that it would
be worth your while to glance over.  These are the
documents in the extraordinary case of the Gloria
Scott, and this is the message which struck Justice of
the Peace Trevor dead with horror when he read it."

He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished
cylinder, and, undoing the tape, he handed me a short
note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slate-gray paper.

"The supply of game for London is going steadily up,"
it ran.  "Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now
told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for
preservation of your hen-pheasant's life."

As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message,
I saw Holmes chuckling at the expression upon my face.

"You look a little bewildered," said he.

"I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire
horror.  It seems to me to be rather grotesque than
otherwise."

"Very likely.  Yet the fact remains that the reader,
who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down
by it as if it had been the butt end of a pistol."

"You arouse my curiosity," said I.  "But why did you
say just now that there were very particular reasons
why I should study this case?"

"Because it was the first in which I was ever
engaged."

I had often endeavored to elicit from my companion
what had first turned his mind in the direction of
criminal research, but had never caught him before in
a communicative humor.  Now he sat forward in this
arm-chair and spread out the documents upon his knees. 
Then he lit his pipe and sat for some time smoking and
turning them over.

"You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?" he asked. 
"He was the only friend I made during the two years I
was at college.  I was never a very sociable fellow,
Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and
working out my own little methods of thought, so that
I never mixed much with the men of my year.  Bar
fencing and boxing I had few athletic tastes, and then
my line of study was quite distinct from that of the
other fellows, so that we had no points of contact at
all.  Trevor was the only man I knew, and that only
through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on
to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel.

"It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it
was effective.  I was laid by the heels for ten days,
but Trevor used to come in to inquire after me.  At
first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits
lengthened, and before the end of the term we were
close friends.  He was a hearty, full-blooded fellow,
full of spirits and energy, the very opposite to me in
most respects, but we had some subjects in common, and
it was a bond of union when I found that he was as
friendless as I.  Finally, he invited me down to his
father's place at Donnithorpe, in Norfolk, and I
accepted his hospitality for a month of the long
vacation.

"Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and
consideration, a J.P., and a landed proprietor. 
Donnithorpe is a little hamlet just to the north of
Langmere, in the country of the Broads.  The house was
an old-fashioned, wide-spread, oak-beamed brick
building, with a fine lime-lined avenue leading up to
it.  There was excellent wild-duck shooting in the
fens, remarkably good fishing, a small but select
library, taken over, as I understood, from a former
occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that he would be a
fastidious man who could not put in a pleasant month
there.

"Trevor senior was a widower, and my friend his only
son.

"There had been a daughter, I heard, but she had died
of diphtheria while on a visit to Birmingham.  The
father interested me extremely.  He was a man of
little culture, but with a considerable amount of rude
strength, both physically and mentally.  He knew
hardly any books, but he had traveled far, had seen
much of the world. And had remembered all that he had
learned.  In person he was a thick-set, burly man with
a shock of grizzled hair, a brown, weather-beaten
face, and blue eyes which were keen to the verge of
fierceness.  Yet he had a reputation for kindness and
charity on the country-side, and was noted for the
leniency of his sentences from the bench.

"One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were
sitting over a glass of port after dinner, when young
Trevor began to talk about those habits of observation
and inference which I had already formed into a
system, although I had not yet appreciated the part
which they were to play in my life.  The old man
evidently thought that his son was exaggerating in his
description of one or two trivial feats which I had
performed.

"'Come, now, Mr. Holmes,' said he, laughing
good-humoredly.  'I'm an excellent subject, if you can
deduce anything from me.'

"'I fear there is not very much,' I answered; 'I might
suggest that you have gone about in fear of some
personal attack within the last twelvemonth.'

"The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in
great surprise.

"'Well, that's true enough,' said he.  'You know,
Victor,' turning to his son, 'when we broke up that
poaching gang they swore to knife us, and Sir Edward
Holly has actually been attacked.  I've always been on
my guard since then, though I have no idea how you
know it.'

"'You have a very handsome stick,' I answered.  'By
the inscription I observed that you had not had it
more than a year.  But you have taken some pains to
bore the head of it and pour melted lead into the hole
so as to make it a formidable weapon.  I argued that
you would not take such precautions unless you had
some danger to fear.'

"'Anything else?' he asked, smiling.

"'You have boxed a good deal in your youth.'

"'Right again.  How did you know it?  Is my nose
knocked a little out of the straight?'

"'No,' said I.  'It is your ears.  They have the
peculiar flattening and thickening which marks the
boxing man.'

"'Anything else?'

"'You have done a good deal of digging by your
callosities.'

"'Made all my money at the gold fields.'

"'You have been in New Zealand.'

"'Right again.'

"'You have visited Japan.'

"'Quite true.'

"'And you have been most intimately associated with
some one whose initials were J. A., and whom you
afterwards were eager to entirely forget.'

"Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes
upon me with a strange wild stare, and then pitched
forward, with his face among the nutshells which
strewed the cloth, in a dead faint.

"You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both his son and
I were.  His attack did not last long, however, for
when we undid his collar, and sprinkled the water from
one of the finger-glasses over his face, he gave a
gasp or two and sat up.

"'Ah, boys,' said he, forcing a smile, 'I hope I
haven't frightened you.  Strong as I look, there is a
weak place in my heart, and it does not take much to
knock me over.  I don't know how you manage this, Mr.
Holmes, but it seems to me that all the detectives of
fact and of fancy would be children in your hands. 
That's your line of life, sir, and you may take the
word of a man who has seen something of the world.'

"And that recommendation, with the exaggerated
estimate of my ability with which he prefaced it, was,
if you will believe me, Watson, the very first thing
which ever made me feel that a profession might be
made out of what had up to that time been the merest
hobby.  At the moment, however, I was too much
concerned at the sudden illness of my host to think of
anything else.

"'I hope that I have said nothing to pain you?' said
I.

"'Well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender
point.  Might I ask how you know, and how much you
know?'  He spoke now in a half-jesting fashion, but a
look of terror still lurked at the back of his eyes.

"'It is simplicity itself,' said I.  'When you bared
your arm to draw that fish into the boat I saw that J.
A. Had been tattooed in the bend of the elbow.  The
letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear
from their blurred appearance, and from the staining
of the skin round them, that efforts had been made to
obliterate them.  It was obvious, then, that those
initials had once been very familiar to you, and that
you had afterwards wished to forget them.'

"What an eye you have!" he cried, with a sigh of
relief.  'It is just as you say.  But we won't talk of
it.  Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old lovers are
the worst.  Come into the billiard-room and have a
quiet cigar.'


"From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was
always a touch of suspicion in Mr. Trevor's manner
towards me.  Even his son remarked it.  'You've given
the governor such a turn,' said he, 'that he'll never
be sure again of what you know and what you don't
know.'  He did not mean to show it, I am sure, but it
was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out at
every action.  At last I became so convinced that I
was causing him uneasiness that I drew my visit to a
close.  On the very day, however, before I left, and
incident occurred which proved in the sequel to be of
importance.

"We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs,
the three of us, basking in the sun and admiring the
view across the Broads, when a maid came out to say
that there was a man at the door who wanted to see Mr.
Trevor.

"'What is his name?' asked my host.

"'He would not give any.'

"'What does he want, then?'

"'He says that you know him, and that he only wants a
moment's conversation.'

"'Show him round here.'  An instant afterwards there
appeared a little wizened fellow with a cringing
manner and a shambling style of walking.  He wore an
open jacket, with a splotch of tar on the sleeve, a
red-and-black check shirt, dungaree trousers, and
heavy boots badly worn.  His face was thin and brown
and crafty, with a perpetual smile upon it, which
showed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his
crinkled hands were half closed in a way that is
distinctive of sailors.  As he came slouching across
the lawn I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort of hiccoughing
noise in his throat, and jumping out of his chair, he
ran into the house.  He was back in a moment, and I
smelt a strong reek of brandy as he passed me.

"'Well, my man,' said he.  'What can I do for you?'

"The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes,
and with the same loose-lipped smile upon his face.

"'You don't know me?' he asked.

"'Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson,' said Mr. Trevor
in a tone of surprise.

"'Hudson it is, sir,' said the seaman.  'Why, it's
thirty year and more since I saw you last.  Here you
are in your house, and me still picking my salt meat
out of the harness cask.'

"'Tut, you will find that I have not forgotten old
times,' cried Mr. Trevor, and, walking towards the
sailor, he said something in a low voice.  'Go into
the kitchen,' he continued out loud, 'and you will get
food and drink.  I have no doubt that I shall find you
a situation.'

"'Thank you, sir,' said the seaman, touching his
fore-lock.  'I'm just off a two-yearer in an
eight-knot tramp, short-handed at that, and I wants a
rest.  I thought I'd get it either with Mr. Beddoes or
with you.'

"'Ah!' cried Trevor.  'You know where Mr. Beddoes is?'

"'Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends
are,' said the fellow with a sinister smile, and he
slouched off after the maid to the kitchen.  Mr.
Trevor mumbled something to us about having been
shipmate with the man when he was going back to the
diggings, and then, leaving us on the lawn, he went
indoors.  An hour later, when we entered the house, we
found him stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room
sofa.  The whole incident left a most ugly impression
upon my mind, and I was not sorry next day to leave
Donnithorpe behind me, for I felt that my presence
must be a source of embarrassment to my friend.

"All this occurred during the first month of the long
vacation.  I went up to my London rooms, where I spent
seven weeks working out a few experiments in organic
chemistry.  One day, however, when the autumn was far
advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, I
received a telegram from my friend imploring me to
return to Donnithorpe, and saying that he was in great
need of my advice and assistance.  Of course I dropped
everything and set out for the North once more.

"He met me with the dog-cart at the station, and I saw
at a glance that the last two months had been very
trying ones for him.  He had grown thin and careworn,
and had lost the loud, cheery manner for which he had
been remarkable.

"'The governor is dying,' were the first words he
said.

"'Impossible!' I cried.  'What is the matter?'

"'Apoplexy.  Nervous shock,  He's been on the verge
all day.  I doubt if we shall find him alive.'

"I was, as you may think, Watson, horrified at this
unexpected news.

"'What has caused it?' I asked.

"'Ah, that is the point.  Jump in and we can talk it
over while we drive.  You remember that fellow who
came upon the evening before you left us?'

"'Perfectly.'

"'Do you know who it was that we let into the house
that day?'

"'I have no idea.'

"'It was the devil, Holmes,' he cried.

"I stared at him in astonishment.

"'Yes, it was the devil himself.  We have not had a
peaceful hour since--not one.  The governor has never
held up his head from that evening, and now the life
has been crushed out of him and his heart broken, all
through this accursed Hudson.'

"'What power had he, then?'

"'Ah, that is what I would give so much to know.  The
kindly, charitable, good old governor--how could he
have fallen into the clutches of such a ruffian!  But
I am so glad that you have come, Holmes.  I trust very
much to your judgment and discretion, and I know that
you will advise me for the best.'

"We were dashing along the smooth white country road,
with the long stretch of the Broads in front of us
glimmering in the red light of the setting sun.  From
a grove upon our left I could already see the high
chimneys and the flag-staff which marked the squire's
dwelling.

"'My father made the fellow gardener,' said my
companion, 'and then, as that did not satisfy him, he
was promoted to be butler.  The house seemed to be at
his mercy, and he wandered about and did what he chose
in it.  The maids complained of his drunken habits and
his vile language.  The dad raised their wages all
round to recompense them for the annoyance.  The
fellow would take the boat and my father's best gun
and treat himself to little shooting trips.  And all
this with such a sneering, leering, insolent face that
I would have knocked him down twenty times over if he
had been a man of my own age.  I tell you, Holmes, I
have had to keep a tight hold upon myself all this
time; and now I am asking myself whether, if I had let
myself go a little more, I might not have been a wiser
man.

"'Well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and
this animal Hudson became more and more intrusive,
until at last, on making some insolent reply to my
father in my presence one day, I took him by the
shoulders and turned him out of the room.  He slunk
away with a livid face and two venomous eyes which
uttered more threats than his tongue could do.  I
don't know what passed between the poor dad and him
after that, but the dad came to me next day and asked
me whether I would mind apologizing to Hudson.  I
refused, as you can imagine, and asked my father how
he could allow such a wretch to take such liberties
with himself and his household.

"'"Ah, my boy," said he, "it is all very well to talk,
but you don't know how I am placed.  But you shall
know, Victor.  I'll see that you shall know, come what
may.  You wouldn't believe harm of your poor old
father, would you, lad?"  He was very much moved, and
shut himself up in the study all day, where I could
see through the window that he was writing busily.

"'That evening there came what seemed to me to be a
grand release, for Hudson told us that he was going to
leave us.  He walked into the dining-room as we sat
after dinner, and announced his intention in the thick
voice of a half-drunken man.

"'"I've had enough of Norfolk," said he.  "I'll run
down to Mr. Beddoes in Hampshire.  He'll be as glad to
see me as you were, I dare say."

"'"You're not going away in an unkind spirit,
Hudson, I hope," said my father, with a tameness which
made my blood boil.

"'"I've not had my 'pology," said he sulkily, glancing
in my direction.

"'"Victor, you will acknowledge that you have used
this worthy fellow rather roughly," said the dad,
turning to me.

"'"On the contrary, I think that we have both shown
extraordinary patience towards him," I answered.

"'"Oh, you do, do you?" he snarls.  "Very good, mate. 
We'll see about that!"

"'He slouched out of the room, and half an hour
afterwards left the house, leaving my father in a
state of pitiable nervousness.  Night after night I
heard him pacing his room, and it was just as he was
recovering his confidence that the blow did at last
fall.'

"'And how?' I asked eagerly.

"'In a most extraordinary fashion.  A letter arrived
for my father yesterday evening, bearing the
Fordingbridge post-mark.  My father read it, clapped
both his hands to his head, and began running round
the room in little circles like a man who has been
driven out of his senses.  When I at last drew him
down on to the sofa, his mouth and eyelids were all
puckered on one side, and I saw that he had a stroke. 
Dr. Fordham came over at once.  We put him to bed; but
the paralysis has spread, he has shown no sign of
returning consciousness, and I think that we shall
hardly find him alive.'

"'You horrify me, Trevor!' I cried.  'What then could
have been in this letter to cause so dreadful a
result?'

"'Nothing.  There lies the inexplicable part of it. 
The message was absurd and trivial.  Ah, my God, it is
as I feared!'

"As he spoke we came round the curve of the avenue,
and saw in the fading light that every blind in the
house had been drawn down.  As we dashed up to the
door, my friend's face convulsed with grief, a
gentleman in black emerged from it.

"'When did it happen, doctor?' asked Trevor.

"'Almost immediately after you left.'

"'Did he recover consciousness?'

"'For an instant before the end.'

"'Any message for me.'

"'Only that the papers were in the back drawer of the
Japanese cabinet.'

"My friend ascended with the doctor to the chamber of
death, while I remained in the study, turning the
whole matter over and over in my head, and feeling as
sombre as ever I had done in my life.  What was the
past of this Trevor, pugilist, traveler, and
gold-digger, and how had he placed himself in the
power of this acid-faced seaman?  Why, too, should he
faint at an allusion to the half-effaced initials upon
his arm, and die of fright when he had a letter from
Fordingham?  Then I remembered that Fordingham was in
Hampshire, and that this Mr. Beddoes, whom the seaman
had gone to visit and presumably to blackmail, had
also been mentioned as living in Hampshire.  The
letter, then, might either come from Hudson, the
seaman, saying that he had betrayed the guilty secret
which appeared to exist, or it might come from
Beddoes, warning an old confederate that such a
betrayal was imminent.  So far it seemed clear enough. 
But then how could this letter be trivial and
grotesque, as describe by the son?  He must have
misread it.  If so, it must have been one of those
ingenious secret codes which mean one thing while they
seem to mean another.  I must see this letter.  If
there were a hidden meaning in it, I was confident
that I could pluck it forth.  For an hour I sat
pondering over it in the gloom, until at last a
weeping maid brought in a lamp, and close at her heels
came my friend Trevor, pale but composed, with these
very papers which lie upon my knee held in his grasp. 
He sat down opposite to me, drew the lamp to the edge
of the table, and handed me a short note scribbled, as
you see, upon a single sheet of gray paper.  'The
supply of game for London is going steadily up,' it
ran.  'Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now
told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for
preservation of your hen-pheasant's life.'

"I dare say my face looked as bewildered as yours did
just now when first I read this message.  Then I
reread it very carefully.  It was evidently as I had
thought, and some secret meaning must lie buried in
this strange combination of words.  Or could it be
that there was a prearranged significance to such
phrases as 'fly-paper' and 'hen-pheasant'?  Such a
meaning would be arbitrary and could not be deduced in
any way.  And yet I was loath to believe that this was
the case, and the presence of the word Hudson seemed
to show that the subject of the message was as I had
guessed, and that it was from Beddoes rather than the
sailor.  I tried it backwards, but the combination
'life pheasant's hen' was not encouraging.  Then I
tried alternate words, but neither 'the of for' nor
'supply game London' promised to throw any light upon
it.

"And then in an instant the key of the riddle was in
my hands, and I saw that every third word, beginning
with the first, would give a message which might well
drive old Trevor to despair.

"It was short and terse, the warning, as I now read it
to my companion:

"'The game is up.  Hudson has told all.  Fly for your
life.'

"Victor Trevor sank his face into his shaking hands.
'It must be that, I suppose,' said he.  "This is worse
than death, for it means disgrace as well.  But what
is the meaning of these "head-keepers" and
"hen-pheasants"?'

"'It means nothing to the message, but it might mean a
good deal to us if we had no other means of
discovering the sender.  You see that he has begun by
writing "The...game...is," and so on.  Afterwards he
had, to fulfill the prearranged cipher, to fill in any
two words in each space.  He would naturally use the
first words which came to his mind, and if there were
so many which referred to sport among them, you may be
tolerably sure that he is either an ardent shot or
interested in breeding.  Do you know anything of this
Beddoes?'

"'Why, now that you mention it,' said he, 'I remember
that my poor father used to have an invitation from
him to shoot over his preserves every autumn.'

"'Then it is undoubtedly from him that the note
comes,' said I.  'It only remains for us to find out
what this secret was which the sailor Hudson seems to
have held over the heads of these two wealthy and
respected men.'

"'Alas, Holmes, I fear that it is one of sin and
shame!' cried my friend.  'But from you I shall have
no secrets.  Here is the statement which was drawn up
by my father when he knew that the danger from Hudson
had become imminent.  I found it in the Japanese
cabinet, as he told the doctor.  Take it and read it
to me, for I have neither the strength nor the courage
to do it myself.'

"These are the very papers, Watson, which he handed to
me, and I will read them to you, as I read them in the
old study that night to him.  They are endorsed
outside, as you see, 'Some particulars of the voyage
of the bark _Gloria Scott_, from her leaving Falmouth on
the 8th October, 1855, to her destruction in N. Lat.
15 degrees 20', W. Long. 25 degrees 14' on Nov. 6th.'
It is in the form of a letter, and runs in this way:

"'My dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace
begins to darken the closing years of my life, I can
write with all truth and honesty that it is not the
terror of the law, it is not the loss of my position
in the county, nor is it my fall in the eyes of all
who have known me, which cuts me to the heart; but it
is the thought that you should come to blush for
me--you who love me and who have seldom, I hope, had
reason to do other than respect me.  But if the blow
falls which is forever hanging over me, then I should
wish you to read this, that you may know straight from
me how far I have been to blame.  On the other hand,
if all should go well (which may kind God Almighty
grant!), then if by any chance this paper should be
still undestroyed and should fall into your hands, I
conjure you, by all you hold sacred, by the memory of
your dear mother, and by the love which had been
between us, to hurl it into the fire and to never give
one thought to it again.

"'If then your eye goes on to read this line, I know
that I shall already have been exposed and dragged
from my home, or as is more likely, for you know that
my heart is weak, by lying with my tongue sealed
forever in death.  In either case the time for
suppression is past, and every word which I tell you
is the naked truth, and this I swear as I hope for
mercy.

"'My name, dear lad, is not Trevor.  I was James
Armitage in my younger days, and you can understand
now the shock that it was to me a few weeks ago when
your college friend addressed me in words which seemed
to imply that he had surprised my secret.  As Armitage
it was that I entered a London banking-house, and as
Armitage I was convicted of breaking my country's
laws, and was sentenced to transportation.  Do not
think very harshly of me, laddie.  It was a debt of
honor, so called, which I had to pay, and I used money
which was not my own to do it, in the certainty that I
could replace it before there could be any possibility
of its being missed.  But the most dreadful ill-luck
pursued me.  The money which I had reckoned upon never
came to hand, and a premature examination of accounts
exposed my deficit.  The case might have been dealt
leniently with, but the laws were more harshly
administered thirty years ago than now, and on my
twenty-third birthday I found myself chained as a
felon with thirty-seven other convicts in 'tween-decks
of the bark _Gloria Scott_, bound for Australia.

"'It was the year '55 when the Crimean war was at its
height, and the old convict ships had been largely used
as transports in the Black Sea.  The government was
compelled, therefore, to use smaller and less suitable
vessels for sending out their prisoners.  The Gloria
Scott had been in the Chinese tea-trade, but she was
an old-fashioned, heavy-bowed, broad-beamed craft, and
the new clippers had cut her out.  She was a
five-hundred-ton boat; and besides her thirty-eight
jail-birds, she carried twenty-six of a crew, eighteen
soldiers, a captain, three mates, a doctor, a
chaplain, and four warders.  Nearly a hundred souls
were in her, all told, when we set sail from Falmouth.

"'The partitions between the cells of the convicts,
instead of being of thick oak, as is usual in
convict-ships, were quite thin and frail.  The man
next to me, upon the aft side, was one whom I had
particularly noticed when we were led down the quay. 
He was a young man with a clear, hairless face, a
long, thin nose, and rather nut-cracker jaws.  He
carried his head very jauntily in the air, had a
swaggering style of walking, and was, above all else,
remarkable for his extraordinary height.  I don't
think any of our heads would have come up to his
shoulder, and I am sure that he could not have
measured less than six and a half feet.  It was
strange among so many sad and weary faces to see one
which was full of energy and resolution.  The sight of
it was to me like a fire in a snow-storm.  I was glad,
then, to find that he was my neighbor, and gladder
still when, in the dead of the night, I heard a
whisper close to my ear, and found that he had managed
to cut an opening in the board which separated us.

"'"Hullo, chummy!" said he, "what's your name, and
what are you here for?"

"'I answered him, and asked in turn who I was talking
with.

"'"I'm Jack Prendergast," said he, "and by God! You'll
learn to bless my name before you've done with me."

"'I remembered hearing of his case, for it was one
which had made an immense sensation throughout the
country some time before my own arrest.  He was a man
of good family and of great ability, but of incurably
vicious habits, who had by an ingenious system of
fraud obtained huge sums of money from the leading
London merchants.

"'"Ha, ha!  You remember my case!" said he proudly.

"'"Very well, indeed."

"'"Then maybe you remember something queer about it?"

"'"What was that, then?"

"'"I'd had nearly a quarter of a million, hadn't I?"

"'"So it was said."

"'"But none was recovered, eh?"

"'"No."

"'"Well, where d'ye suppose the balance is?" he asked.

"'"I have no idea," said I.

"'"Right between my finger and thumb," he cried.  "By
God!  I've got more pounds to my name than you've hairs
on your head.  And if you've money, my son, and know
how to handle it and spread it, you can do anything. 
Now, you don't think it likely that a man who could do
anything is going to wear his breeches out sitting in
the stinking hold of a rat-gutted, beetle-ridden,
mouldy old coffin of a Chin China coaster.  No, sir,
such a man will look after himself and will look after
his chums.  You may lay to that!  You hold on to him,
and you may kiss the book that he'll haul you
through."

"'That was his style of talk, and at first I thought
it meant nothing; but after a while, when he had
tested me and sworn me in with all possible solemnity,
he let me understand that there really was a plot to
gain command of the vessel.  A dozen of the prisoners
had hatched it before they came aboard, Prendergast
was the leader, and his money was the motive power.

"'"I'd a partner," said he, "a rare good man, as true
as a stock to a barrel.  He's got the dibbs, he has,
and where do you think he is at this moment?  Why,
he's the chaplain of this ship--the chaplain, no less! 
He came aboard with a black coat, and his papers
right, and money enough in his box to buy the thing
right up from keel to main-truck.  The crew are his,
body and soul.  He could buy 'em at so much a gross
with a cash discount, and he did it before ever they
signed on.  He's got two of the warders and Mereer,
the second mate, and he'd get the captain himself, if
he thought him worth it."

"'"What are we to do, then?" I asked.

"'"What do you think?" said he.  "We'll make the coats
of some of these soldiers redder than ever the tailor
did."

"'"But they are armed," said I.

"'"And so shall we be, my boy.  There's a brace of
pistols for every mother's son of us, and if we can't
carry this ship, with the crew at our back, it's time
we were all sent to a young misses' boarding-school. 
You speak to your mate upon the left to-night, and see
if he is to be trusted."

"'I did so, and found my other neighbor to be a young
fellow in much the same position as myself, whose
crime had been forgery.  His name was Evans, but he
afterwards changed it, like myself, and he is now a
rich and prosperous man in the south of England.  He
was ready enough to join the conspiracy, as the only
means of saving ourselves, and before we had crossed
the Bay there were only two of the prisoners who were
not in the secret.  One of these was of weak mind, and
we did not dare to trust him, and the other was
suffering from jaundice, and could not be of any use
to us.

"'From the beginning there was really nothing to
prevent us from taking possession of the ship.  The
crew were a set of ruffians, specially picked for the
job.  The sham chaplain came into our cells to exhort
us, carrying a black bag, supposed to be full of
tracts, and so often did he come that by the third day
we had each stowed away at the foot of our beds a
file, a brace of pistols, a pound of powder, and
twenty slugs.  Two of the warders were agents of
Prendergast, and the second mate was his right-hand
man.  The captain, the two mates, two warders
Lieutenant Martin, his eighteen soldiers, and the
doctor were all that we had against us.  Yet, safe as
it was, we determined to neglect no precaution, and to
make our attack suddenly by night.  It came, however,
more quickly than we expected, and in this way.

"'One evening, about the third week after our start,
the doctor had come down to see one of the prisoners
who was ill, and putting his hand down on the bottom
of his bunk he felt the outline of the pistols.  If he
had been silent he might have blown the whole thing,
but he was a nervous little chap, so he gave a cry of
surprise and turned so pale that the man knew what was
up in an instant and seized him.  He was gagged before
he could give the alarm, and tied down upon the bed. 
He had unlocked the door that led to the deck, and we
were through it in a rush.  The two sentries were shot
down, and so was a corporal who came running to see
what was the matter.  There were two more soldiers at
the door of the state-room, and their muskets seemed
not to be loaded, for they never fired upon us, and
they were shot while trying to fix their bayonets. 
Then we rushed on into the captain's cabin, but as we
pushed open the door there was an explosion from
within, and there he lay with his brains smeared over
the chart of the Atlantic which was pinned upon the
table, while the chaplain stood with a smoking pistol
in his hand at his elbow.  The two mates had both been
seized by the crew, and the whole business seemed to
be settled.

"'The state-room was next the cabin, and we flocked in
there and flopped down on the settees, all speaking
together, for we were just mad with the feeling that
we were free once more.  There were lockers all round,
and Wilson, the sham chaplain, knocked one of them in,
and pulled out a dozen of brown sherry.  We cracked
off the necks of the bottles, poured the stuff out
into tumblers, and were just tossing them off, when in
an instant without warning there came the roar of
muskets in our ears, and the saloon was so full of
smoke that we could not see across the table.  When it
cleared again the place was a shambles.  Wilson and
eight others were wriggling on the top of each other
on the floor, and the blood and the brown sherry on
that table turn me sick now when I think of it.  We
were so cowed by the sight that I think we should have
given the job up if it had not been for Prendergast.  He
bellowed like a bull and rushed for the door with all
that were left alive at his heels.  Out we ran, and
there on the poop were the lieutenant and ten of his
men.  The swing skylights above the saloon table had
been a bit open, and they had fired on us through the
slit.  We got on them before they could load, and they
stood to it like men; but we had the upper hand of
them, and in five minutes it was all over.  My God!
Was there ever a slaughter-house like that ship! 
Prendergast was like a raging devil, and he picked the
soldiers up as if they had been children and threw
them overboard alive or dead.  There was one sergeant
that was horribly wounded and yet kept on swimming for
a surprising time, until some one in mercy blew out
his brains.  When the fighting was over there was no
one left of our enemies except just the warders the
mates, and the doctor.

"'It was over them that the great quarrel arose. 
There were many of us who were glad enough to win back
our freedom, and yet who had no wish to have murder on
our souls.  It was one thing to knock the soldiers
over with their muskets in their hands, and it was
another to stand by while men were being killed in
cold blood.  Eight of us, five convicts and three
sailors, said that we would not see it done.  But
there was no moving Prendergast and those who were with
him.  Our only chance of safety lay in making a clean
job of it, said he, and he would not leave a tongue
with power to wag in a witness-box.  It nearly came to
our sharing the fate of the prisoners, but at last he
said that if we wished we might take a boat and go. 
We jumped at the offer, for we were already sick of
these bloodthirsty doings, and we saw that there would
be worse before it was done.  We were given a suit of
sailor togs each, a barrel of water, two casks, one of
junk and one of biscuits, and a compass.  Prendergast
threw us over a chart, told us that we were
shipwrecked mariners whose ship had foundered in Lat.
15 degrees and Long 25 degrees west, and then cut the
painter and let us go.

"'And now I come to the most surprising part of my
story, my dear son.  The seamen had hauled the
fore-yard aback during the rising, but now as we left
them they brought it square again, and as there was a
light wind from the north and east the bark began to
draw slowly away from us.  Our boat lay, rising and
falling, upon the long, smooth rollers, and Evans and
I, who were the most educated of the party, were
sitting in the sheets working out our position and
planning what coast we should make for.  It was a nice
question, for the Cape de Verdes were about five
hundred miles to the north of us, and the African
coast about seven hundred to the east.  On the whole,
as the wind was coming round to the north, we thought
that Sierra Leone might be best, and turned our head
in that direction, the bark being at that time nearly
hull down on our starboard quarter.  Suddenly as we
looked at her we saw a dense black cloud of smoke
shoot up from her, which hung like a monstrous tree
upon the sky line.  A few seconds later a roar like
thunder burst upon our ears, and as the smoke thinned
away there was no sign left of the _Gloria Scott_.  In
an instant we swept the boat's head round again and
pulled with all our strength for the place where the
haze still trailing over the water marked the scene of
this catastrophe.

"'It was a long hour before we reached it, and at
first we feared that we had come too late to save any
one.  A splintered boat and a number of crates and
fragments of spars rising and falling on the waves
showed us where the vessel had foundered; but there
was no sign of life, and we had turned away in despair
when we heard a cry for help, and saw at some distance
a piece of wreckage with a man lying stretched across
it.  When we pulled him aboard the boat he proved to
be a young seaman of the name of Hudson, who was so
burned and exhausted that he could give us no account
of what had happened until the following morning.

"'It seemed that after we had left, Prendergast and
his gang had proceeded to put to death the five
remaining prisoners.  The two warders had been shot
and thrown overboard, and so also had the third mate. 
Prendergast then descended into the 'tween-decks and
with his own hands cut the throat of the unfortunate
surgeon.  There only remained the first mate, who was
a bold and active man.  When he saw the convict
approaching him with the bloody knife in his hand he
kicked off his bonds, which he had somehow contrived
to loosen, and rushing down the deck he plunged into
the after-hold.  A dozen convicts, who descended with
their pistols in search of him, found him with a
match-box in his hand seated beside an open
powder-barrel, which was one of a hundred carried on
board, and swearing that he would blow all hands up if
he were in any way molested.  An instant later the
explosion occurred, though Hudson thought it was
caused by the misdirected bullet of one of the
convicts rather than the mate's match.  Be the cause
what it may, it was the end of the _Gloria Scott_ and of
the rabble who held command of her.

"'Such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the history of
this terrible business in which I was involved.  Next
day we were picked up by the brig _Hotspur_, bound for
Australia, whose captain found no difficulty in
believing that we were the survivors of a passenger
ship which had foundered.  The transport ship Gloria
Scott was set down by the Admiralty as being lost at
sea, and no word has ever leaked out as to her true
fate.  After an excellent voyage the _Hotspur_ landed us
at Sydney, where Evans and I changed our names and
made our way to the diggings, where, among the crowds
who were gathered from all nations, we had no
difficulty in losing our former identities.  The rest
I need not relate.  We prospered, we traveled, we came
back as rich colonials to England, and we bought
country estates.  For more than twenty years we have
led peaceful and useful lives, and we hoped that our
past was forever buried.  Imagine, then, my feelings
when in the seaman who came to us I recognized
instantly the man who had been picked off the wreck. 
He had tracked us down somehow, and had set himself to
live upon our fears.  You will understand now how it
was that I strove to keep the peace with him, and you
will in some measure sympathize with me in the fears
which fill me, now that he has gone from me to his
other victim with threats upon his tongue.'

"Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be
hardly legible, 'Beddoes writes in cipher to say H.
Has told all.  Sweet Lord, have mercy on our souls!'


"That was the narrative which I read that night to
young Trevor, and I think, Watson, that under the
circumstances it was a dramatic one.  The good fellow
was heart-broken at it, and went out to the Terai tea
planting, where I hear that he is doing well.  As to
the sailor and Beddoes, neither of them was ever heard
of again after that day on which the letter of warning
was written.  They both disappeared utterly and
completely.  No complaint had been lodged with the
police, so that Beddoes had mistaken a threat for a
deed.  Hudson had been seen lurking about, and it was
believed by the police that he had done away with
Beddoes and had fled.  For myself I believe that the
truth was exactly the opposite.  I think that it is
most probable that Beddoes, pushed to desperation and
believing himself to have been already betrayed, had
revenged himself upon Hudson, and had fled from the
country with as much money as he could lay his hands
on.  Those are the facts of the case, Doctor, and if
they are of any use to your collection, I am sure that
they are very heartily at your service."



Adventure V


The Musgrave Ritual


An anomaly which often struck me in the character of
my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his
methods of thought he was the neatest and most
methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a
certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less
in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that
ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction.  Not that I
am in the least conventional in that respect myself. 
The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on
the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has
made me rather more lax than befits a medical man.
But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who
keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in
the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered
correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the
very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to
give myself virtuous airs.  I have always held, too,
that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air
pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors,
would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a
hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the
opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in
bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the
atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved
by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of
criminal relics which had a way of wandering into
unlikely positions, and of turning up in the
butter-dish or in even less desirable places.  But his
papers were my great crux.  He had a horror of
destroying documents, especially those which were
connected with his past cases, and yet it was only
once in every year or two that he would muster energy
to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned
somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts
of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable
feats with which his name is associated were followed
by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie
about with his violin and his books, hardly moving
save from the sofa to the table.  Thus month after
month his papers accumulated, until every corner of
the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which
were on no account to be burned, and which could not
be put away save by their owner.  One winter's night,
as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest
to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into
his common-place book, he might employ the next two
hours in making our room a little more habitable.  He
could not deny the justice of my request, so with a
rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which
he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind
him.  This he placed in the middle of the floor and,
squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw
back the lid.  I could see that it was already a third
full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into
separate packages.

"There are cases enough here, Watson," said he,
looking at me with mischievous eyes.  "I think that if
you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me
to pull some out instead of putting others in."

"These are the records of your early work, then?" I
asked.  "I have often wished that I had notes of those
cases."

"Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before
my biographer had come to glorify me."  He lifted
bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of
way.  "They are not all successes, Watson," said he. 
"But there are some pretty little problems among them. 
Here's the record of the Tarleton murders, and the
case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure
of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of
the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of
Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. 
And here--ah, now, this really is something a little
recherché."

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and
brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such
as children's toys are kept in.  From within he
produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned
brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string
attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

"Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?" he
asked, smiling at my expression.

"It is a curious collection."

"Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will
strike you as being more curious still."

"These relics have a history then?"

"So much so that they are history."

"What do you mean by that?"

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid
them along the edge of the table.  Then he reseated
himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam
of satisfaction in his eyes.

"These," said he, "are all that I have left to remind
me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual."

I had heard him mention the case more than once,
though I had never been able to gather the details. 
"I should be so glad," said I, "if you would give me
an account of it."

"And leave the litter as it is?" he cried,
mischievously.  "Your tidiness won't bear much strain
after all, Watson.  But I should be glad that you
should add this case to your annals, for there are
points in it which make it quite unique in the
criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other
country.  A collection of my trifling achievements
would certainly be incomplete which contained no
account of this very singular business.

"You may remember how the affair of the _Gloria Scott_,
and my conversation with the unhappy man whose fate I
told you of, first turned my attention in the
direction of the profession which has become my life's
work.  You see me now when my name has become known
far and wide, and when I am generally recognized both
by the public and by the official force as being a
final court of appeal in doubtful cases.  Even when
you knew me first, at the time of the affair which you
have commemorated in 'A Study in Scarlet,' I had
already established a considerable, though not a very
lucrative, connection.  You can hardly realize, then,
how difficult I found it at first, and how long I had
to wait before I succeeded in making any headway.

"When I first came up to London I had rooms in
Montague Street, just round the corner from the
British Museum, and there I waited, filling in my too
abundant leisure time by studying all those branches
of science which might make me more efficient.  Now
and again cases came in my way, principally through
the introduction of old fellow-students, for during my
last years at the University there was a good deal of
talk there about myself and my methods.  The third of
these cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual, and it is
to the interest which was aroused by that singular
chain of events, and the large issues which proved to
be at stake, that I trace my first stride towards the
position which I now hold.

"Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as
myself, and I had some slight acquaintance with him. 
He was not generally popular among the undergraduates,
though it always seemed to me that what was set down
as pride was really an attempt to cover extreme
natural diffidence.  In appearance he was a man of
exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high-nosed, and
large-eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners.  He
was indeed a scion of one of the very oldest families
in the kingdom, though his branch was a cadet one
which had separated from the northern Musgraves some
time in the sixteenth century, and had established
itself in western Sussex, where the Manor House of
Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabited building in
the county.  Something of his birth place seemed to
cling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen
face or the poise of his head without associating him
with gray archways and mullioned windows and all the
venerable wreckage of a feudal keep.  Once or twice we
drifted into talk, and I can remember that more than
once he expressed a keen interest in my methods of
observation and inference.

"For four years I had seen nothing of him until one
morning he walked into my room in Montague Street.  He
had changed little, was dressed like a young man of
fashion--he was always a bit of a dandy--and preserved
the same quiet, suave manner which had formerly
distinguished him.

"'How has all gone with you Musgrave?' I asked, after
we had cordially shaken hands.

"'You probably heard of my poor father's death,' said
he; 'he was carried off about two years ago.  Since
then I have of course had the Hurlstone estates to
manage, and as I am member for my district as well, my
life has been a busy one.  But I understand, Holmes,
that you are turning to practical ends those powers
with which you used to amaze us?'

"'Yes,' said I, 'I have taken to living by my wits.'

"'I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at
present would be exceedingly valuable to me.  We have
had some very strange doings at Hurlstone, and the
police have been able to throw no light upon the
matter.  It is really the most extraordinary and
inexplicable business.'

"You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to
him, Watson, for the very chance for which I had been
panting during all those months of inaction seemed to
have come within my reach.  In my inmost heart I
believed that I could succeed where others failed, and
now I had the opportunity to test myself.

"'Pray, let me have the details,' I cried.

"Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me, and lit
the cigarette which I had pushed towards him.

"'You must know,' said he, 'that though I am a
bachelor, I have to keep up a considerable staff of
servants at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old place,
and takes a good deal of looking after.  I preserve,
too, and in the pheasant months I usually have a
house-party, so that it would not do to be
short-handed.  Altogether there are eight maids, the
cook, the butler, two footmen, and a boy.  The garden
and the stables of course have a separate staff.

"'Of these servants the one who had been longest in
our service was Brunton the butler.  He was a young
school-master out of place when he was first taken up
by my father, but he was a man of great energy and
character, and he soon became quite invaluable in the
household.  He was a well-grown, handsome man, with a
splendid forehead, and though he has been with us for
twenty years he cannot be more than forty now.  With
his personal advantages and his extraordinary
gifts--for he can speak several languages and play
nearly every musical instrument--it is wonderful that
he should have been satisfied so long in such a
position, but I suppose that he was comfortable, and
lacked energy to make any change.  The butler of
Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by all
who visit us.

"'But this paragon has one fault.  He is a bit of a
Don Juan, and you can imagine that for a man like him
it is not a very difficult part to play in a quiet
country district.  When he was married it was all
right, but since he has been a widower we have had no
end of trouble with him.  A few months ago we were in
hopes that he was about to settle down again for he
became engaged to Rachel Howells, our second
house-maid; but he has thrown her over since then and
taken up with Janet Tregellis, the daughter of the
head game-keeper.  Rachel--who is a very good girl,
but of an excitable Welsh temperament--had a sharp
touch of brain-fever, and goes about the house now--or
did until yesterday--like a black-eyed shadow of her
former self.  That was our first drama at Hurlstone;
but a second one came to drive it from our minds, and
it was prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of
butler Brunton.

"'This was how it came about.  I have said that the
man was intelligent, and this very intelligence has
caused his ruin, for it seems to have led to an
insatiable curiosity about things which did not in the
least concern him.  I had no idea of the lengths to
which this would carry him, until the merest accident
opened my eyes to it.

"'I have said that the house is a rambling one.  One
day last week--on Thursday night, to be more exact--I
found that I could not sleep, having foolishly taken a
cup of strong café noir after my dinner.  After
struggling against it until two in the morning, I felt
that it was quite hopeless, so I rose and lit the
candle with the intention of continuing a novel which
I was reading.  The book, however, had been left in
the billiard-room, so I pulled on my dressing-gown and
started off to get it.

"'In order to reach the billiard-room I had to descend
a flight of stairs and then to cross the head of a
passage which led to the library and the gun-room. 
You can imagine my surprise when, as I looked down
this corridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from
the open door of the library.  I had myself
extinguished the lamp and closed the door before
coming to bed.  Naturally my first thought was of
burglars.  The corridors at Hurlstone have their walls
largely decorated with trophies of old weapons.  From
one of these I picked a battle-axe, and then, leaving
my candle behind me, I crept on tiptoe down the
passage and peeped in at the open door.

"'Brunton, the butler, was in the library.  He was
sitting, fully dressed, in an easy-chair, with a slip
of paper which looked like a map upon his knee, and
his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep
thought.  I stood dumb with astonishment, watching him
from the darkness.  A small taper on the edge of the
table shed a feeble light which sufficed to show me
that he was fully dressed.  Suddenly, as I looked, he
rose from his chair, and walking over to a bureau at
the side, he unlocked it and drew out one of the
drawers.  From this he took a paper, and returning to
his seat he flattened it out beside the taper on the
edge of the table, and began to study it with minute
attention.  My indignation at this calm examination of
our family documents overcame me so far that I took a
step forward, and Brunton, looking up, saw me standing
in the doorway.  He sprang to his feet, his face
turned livid with fear, and he thrust into his breast
the chart-like paper which he had been originally
studying.

"'"So!" said I.  "This is how you repay the trust
which we have reposed in you.  You will leave my
service to-morrow."

"'He bowed with the look of a man who is utterly
crushed, and slunk past me without a word.  The taper
was still on the table, and by its light I glanced to
see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from
the bureau.  To my surprise it was nothing of any
importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions
and answers in the singular old observance called the
Musgrave Ritual.  It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to
our family, which each Musgrave for centuries past has
gone through on his coming of age--a thing of private
interest, and perhaps of some little importance to the
archaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges,
but of no practical use whatever.'

"'We had better come back to the paper afterwards,'
said I.

"'If you think it really necessary,' he answered, with
some hesitation.  'To continue my statement, however: 
I relocked the bureau, using the key which Brunton had
left, and I had turned to go when I was surprised to
find that the butler had returned, and was standing
before me.

"'"Mr. Musgrave, sir," he cried, in a voice which was
hoarse with emotion, "I can't bear disgrace, sir. 
I've always been proud above my station in life, and
disgrace would kill me.  My blood will be on your
head, sir--it will, indeed--if you drive me to
despair.  If you cannot keep me after what has passed,
then for God's sake let me give you notice and leave
in a month, as if of my own free will.  I could stand
that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all
the folk that I know so well."

"'"You don't deserve much consideration, Brunton," I
answered.  "Your conduct has been most infamous. 
However, as you have been a long time in the family, I
have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you.  A
month, however is too long.  Take yourself away in a
week, and give what reason you like for going."

"'"Only a week, sir?" he cried, in a despairing voice. 
"A fortnight--say at least a fortnight!"

"'"A week," I repeated, "and you may consider yourself
to have been very leniently dealt with."

"'He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a
broken man, while I put out the light and returned to
my room.


"'"For two days after this Brunton was most assiduous
in his attention to his duties.  I made no allusion to
what had passed, and waited with some curiosity to see
how he would cover his disgrace.  On the third
morning, however he did not appear, as was his custom,
after breakfast to receive my instructions for the
day.  As I left the dining-room I happened to meet
Rachel Howells, the maid.  I have told you that she
had only recently recovered from an illness, and was
looking so wretchedly pale and wan that I remonstrated
with her for being at work.

"'"You should be in bed," I said.  "Come back to your
duties when you are stronger."

"'She looked at me with so strange an expression that
I began to suspect that her brain was affected.

"'"I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave," said she.

"'"We will see what the doctor says," I answered. 
"You must stop work now, and when you go downstairs
just say that I wish to see Brunton."

"'"The butler is gone," said she.

"'"Gone!  Gone where?"

"'"He is gone.  No one has seen him. He is not in his
room.  Oh, yes, he is gone, he is gone!"  She fell
back against the wall with shriek after shriek of
laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical
attack, rushed to the bell to summon help.  The girl
was taken to her room, still screaming and sobbing,
while I made inquiries about Brunton.  There was no
doubt about it that he had disappeared.  His bed had
not been slept in, he had been seen by no one since he
had retired to his room the night before, and yet it
was difficult to see how he could have left the house,
as both windows and doors were found to be fastened in
the morning.  His clothes, his watch, and even his
money were in his room, but the black suit which he
usually wore was missing.  His slippers, too, were
gone, but his boots were left behind.  Where then
could butler Brunton have gone in the night, and what
could have become of him now?

"'Of course we searched the house from cellar to
garret, but there was no trace of him.  It is, as I
have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especially the
original wing, which is now practically uninhabited;
but we ransacked every room and cellar without
discovering the least sign of the missing man.  It was
incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving
all his property behind him, and yet where could he
be?  I called in the local police, but without
success.  Rain had fallen on the night before and we
examined the lawn and the paths all round the house,
but in vain.  Matters were in this state, when a new
development quite drew our attention away from the
original mystery.

"'For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill,
sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a
nurse had been employed to sit up with her at night. 
On the third night after Brunton's disappearance, the
nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, had
dropped into a nap in the arm-chair, when she woke in
the early morning to find the bed empty, the window
open, and no signs of the invalid.  I was instantly
aroused, and, with the two footmen, started off at
once in search of the missing girl.  It was not
difficult to tell the direction which she had taken,
for, starting from under her window, we could follow
her footmarks easily across the lawn to the edge of
the mere, where they vanished close to the gravel path
which leads out of the grounds.  The lake there is
eight feet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when
we saw that the trail of the poor demented girl came
to an end at the edge of it.

"'Of course, we had the drags at once, and set to work
to recover the remains, but no trace of the body could
we find.  On the other hand, we brought to the surface
an object of a most unexpected kind.  It was a linen
bag which contained within it a mass of old rusted and
discolored metal and several dull-colored pieces of
pebble or glass.  This strange find was all that we
could get from the mere, and, although we made every
possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing
of the fate either of Rachel Howells or of Richard
Brunton.  The county police are at their wits' end,
and I have come up to you as a last resource.'

"You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I
listened to this extraordinary sequence of events, and
endeavored to piece them together, and to devise some
common thread upon which they might all hang.  The
butler was gone.  The maid was gone.  The maid had
loved the butler, but had afterwards had cause to hate
him.  She was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. 
She had been terribly excited immediately after his
disappearance.  She had flung into the lake a bag
containing some curious contents.  These were all
factors which had to be taken into consideration, and
yet none of them got quite to the heart of the matter. 
What was the starting-point of this chain of events? 
There lay the end of this tangled line.

"'I must see that paper, Musgrave,' said I, 'which
this butler of your thought it worth his while to
consult, even at the risk of the loss of his place.'

"'It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of
ours,' he answered.  'But it has at least the saving
grace of antiquity to excuse it.  I have a copy of the
questions and answers here if you care to run your eye
over them.'

"He handed me the very paper which I have here,
Watson, and this is the strange catechism to which
each Musgrave had to submit when he came to man's
estate.  I will read you the questions and answers as
they stand.

"'Whose was it?'

"'His who is gone.'

"'Who shall have it?'

"'He who will come.'

"'Where was the sun?'

"'Over the oak.'

"'Where was the shadow?'

"'Under the elm.'

"How was it stepped?'

"'North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five,
south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and
so under.'

"'What shall we give for it?'

"'All that is ours.'

"'Why should we give it?'

"'For the sake of the trust.'

"'The original has no date, but is in the spelling of
the middle of the seventeenth century,' remarked
Musgrave.  'I am afraid, however, that it can be of
little help to you in solving this mystery.'

"'At least,' said I, 'it gives us another mystery, and
one which is even more interesting than the first.  It
may be that the solution of the one may prove to be
the solution of the other.  You will excuse me,
Musgrave, if I say that your butler appears to me to
have been a very clever man, and to have had a clearer
insight than ten generations of his masters.'

"'I hardly follow you,' said Musgrave.  'The paper
seems to me to be of no practical importance.'

"'But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy
that Brunton took the same view.  He had probably seen
it before that night on which you caught him.'

"'It is very possible.  We took no pains to hide it.'

"'He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his
memory upon that last occasion.  He had, as I
understand, some sort of map or chart which he was
comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust
into his pocket when you appeared.'

"'That is true.  But what could he have to do with
this old family custom of ours, and what does this
rigmarole mean?'

"'I don't think that we should have much difficulty in
determining that,' said I; 'with your permission we
will take the first train down to Sussex, and go a
little more deeply into the matter upon the spot.'


"The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. 
Possibly you have seen pictures and read descriptions
of the famous old building, so I will confine my
account of it to saying that it is built in the shape
of an L, the long arm being the more modern portion,
and the shorter the ancient nucleus, from which the
other had developed.  Over the low, heavily-lintelled
door, in the centre of this old part, is chiseled the
date, 1607, but experts are agreed that the beams and
stone-work are really much older than this.  The
enormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part
had in the last century driven the family into
building the new wing, and the old one was used now as
a store-house and a cellar, when it was used at all. 
A splendid park with fine old timber surrounds the
house, and the lake, to which my client had referred,
lay close to the avenue, about two hundred yards from
the building.

"I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that there
were not three separate mysteries here, but one only,
and that if I could read the Musgrave Ritual aright I
should hold in my hand the clue which would lead me to
the truth concerning both the butler Brunton and the
maid Howells.  To that then I turned all my energies. 
Why should this servant be so anxious to master this
old formula?  Evidently because he saw something in it
which had escaped all those generations of country
squires, and from which he expected some personal
advantage.  What was it then, and how had it affected
his fate?

"It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the
ritual, that the measurements must refer to some spot
to which the rest of the document alluded, and that if
we could find that spot, we should be in a fair way
towards finding what the secret was which the old
Musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in so
curious a fashion.  There were two guides given us to
start with, an oak and an elm.  As to the oak there
could be no question at all.  Right in front of the
house, upon the left-hand side of the drive, there
stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most
magnificent trees that I have ever seen.

"'That was there when your ritual was drawn up,' said
I, as we drove past it.

"'It was there at the Norman Conquest in all
probability,' he answered.  'It has a girth of
twenty-three feet.'

"'Have you any old elms?' I asked.

"'There used to be a very old one over yonder but it
was struck by lightning ten years ago, and we cut down
the stump.'

"'You can see where it used to be?'

"'Oh, yes.'

"'There are no other elms?'

"'No old ones, but plenty of beeches.'

"'I should like to see where it grew.'

"We had driven up in a dog-cart, and my client led me
away at once, without our entering the house, to the
scar on the lawn where the elm had stood.  It was
nearly midway between the oak and the house.  My
investigation seemed to be progressing.

"'I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the
elm was?' I asked.

"'I can give you it at once.  It was sixty-four feet.'

"'How do you come to know it?' I asked, in surprise.

"'When my old tutor used to give me an exercise in
trigonometry, it always took the shape of measuring
heights.  When I was a lad I worked out every tree and
building in the estate.'

"This was an unexpected piece of luck.  My data were
coming more quickly than I could have reasonably
hoped.

"'Tell me,' I asked, 'did your butler ever ask you
such a question?'

"Reginald Musgrave looked at me in astonishment.  'Now
that you call it to my mind,' he answered, 'Brunton
did ask me about the height of the tree some months
ago, in connection with some little argument with the
groom.'

"This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me
that I was on the right road.  I looked up at the sun. 
It was low in the heavens, and I calculated that in
less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost
branches of the old oak.  One condition mentioned in
the Ritual would then be fulfilled.  And the shadow of
the elm must mean the farther end of the shadow,
otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the
guide.  I had, then, to find where the far end of the
shadow would fall when the sun was just clear of the
oak."

"That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm
was no longer there."

"Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I
could also.  Besides, there was no real difficulty.  I
went with Musgrave to his study and whittled myself
this peg, to which I tied this long string with a knot
at each yard.  Then I took two lengths of a
fishing-rod, which came to just six feet, and I went
back with my client to where the elm had been.  The
sun was just grazing the top of the oak.  I fastened
the rod on end, marked out the direction of the
shadow, and measured it.  It was nine feet in length.

"Of course the calculation now was a simple one.  If a
rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine, a tree of
sixty-four feet would throw one of ninety-six, and the
line of the one would of course be the line of the other. 
I measured out the distance, which brought me almost
to the wall of the house, and I thrust a peg into the
spot.  You can imagine my exultation, Watson, when
within two inches of my peg I saw a conical depression
in the ground.  I knew that it was the mark made by
Brunton in his measurements, and that I was still upon
his trail.

"From this starting-point I proceeded to step, having
first taken the cardinal points by my pocket-compass. 
Ten steps with each foot took me along parallel with
the wall of the house, and again I marked my spot with
a peg.  Then I carefully paced off five to the east
and two to the south.  It brought me to the very
threshold of the old door.  Two steps to the west
meant now that I was to go two paces down the
stone-flagged passage, and this was the place
indicated by the Ritual.

"Never have I felt such a cold chill of
disappointment, Watson.  For a moment is seemed to me
that there must be some radical mistake in my
calculations.  The setting sun shone full upon the
passage floor, and I could see that the old, foot-worn
gray stones with which it was paved were firmly
cemented together, and had certainly not been moved
for many a long year.  Brunton had not been at work
here.  I tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the
same all over, and there was no sign of any crack or
crevice.  But, fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to
appreciate the meaning of my proceedings, and who was
now as excited as myself, took out his manuscript to
check my calculation.

"'And under,' he cried.  'You have omitted the "and
under."'

"I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but
now, of course, I saw at once that I was wrong. 
'There is a cellar under this then?' I cried.

"'Yes, and as old as the house.  Down here, through
this door.'

"We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion,
striking a match, lit a large lantern which stood on a
barrel in the corner.  In an instant it was obvious
that we had at last come upon the true place, and that
we had not been the only people to visit the spot
recently.

"It had been used for the storage of wood, but the
billets, which had evidently been littered over the
floor, were now piled at the sides, so as to leave a
clear space in the middle.  In this space lay a large
and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the
centre to which a thick shepherd's-check muffler was
attached.

"'By Jove!' cried my client.  'That's Brunton's
muffler.  I have seen it on him, and could swear to
it.  What has the villain been doing here?'

"At my suggestion a couple of the county police were
summoned to be present, and I then endeavored to raise
the stone by pulling on the cravat.  I could only move
it slightly, and it was with the aid of one of the
constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it to
one side.  A black hole yawned beneath into which we
all peered, while Musgrave, kneeling at the side,
pushed down the lantern.

"A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet
square lay open to us.  At one side of this was a
squat, brass-bound wooden box, the lid of which was
hinged upwards, with this curious old-fashioned key
projecting from the lock.  It was furred outside by a
thick layer of dust, and damp and worms had eaten
through the wood, so that a crop of livid fungi was
growing on the inside of it.  Several discs of metal,
old coins apparently, such as I hold here, were
scattered over the bottom of the box, but it contained
nothing else.

"At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old
chest, for our eyes were riveted upon that which
crouched beside it.  It was the figure of a man, clad
in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hams
with his forehead sunk upon the edge of the box and
his two arms thrown out on each side of it.  The
attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face,
and no man could have recognized that distorted
liver-colored countenance; but his height, his dress,
and his hair were all sufficient to show my client,
when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his
missing butler.  He had been dead some days, but there
was no wound or bruise upon his person to show how he
had met his dreadful end.  When his body had been
carried from the cellar we found ourselves still
confronted with a problem which was almost as
formidable as that with which we had started.

"I confess that so far, Watson, I had been
disappointed in my investigation.  I had reckoned upon
solving the matter when once I had found the place
referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there, and
was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was
which the family had concealed with such elaborate
precautions.  It is true that I had thrown a light
upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain
how that fate had come upon him, and what part had
been played in the matter by the woman who had
disappeared.  I sat down upon a keg in the corner and
thought the whole matter carefully over.

"You know my methods in such cases, Watson.  I put
myself in the man's place and, having first gauged his
intelligence, I try to imagine how I should myself
have proceeded under the same circumstances.  In this
case the matter was simplified by Brunton's
intelligence being quite first-rate, so that it was
unnecessary to make any allowance for the personal
equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it.  He know
that something valuable was concealed.  He had spotted
the place.  He found that the stone which covered it
was just too heavy for a man to move unaided.  What
would he do next?  He could not get help from outside,
even if he had some one whom he could trust, without
the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of
detection.  It was better, if he could, to have his
helpmate inside the house.  But whom could he ask? 
This girl had been devoted to him.  A man always finds
it hard to realize that he may have finally lost a
woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. 
He would try by a few attentions to make his peace
with the girl Howells, and then would engage her as
his accomplice.  Together they would come at night to
the cellar, and their united force would suffice to
raise the stone.  So far I could follow their actions
as if I had actually seen them.

"But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have
been heavy work the raising of that stone.  A burly
Sussex policeman and I had found it no light job. 
What would they do to assist them?  Probably what I
should have done myself.  I rose and examined
carefully the different billets of wood which were
scattered round the floor.  Almost at once I came upon
what I expected.  One piece, about three feet in
length, had a very marked indentation at one end,
while several were flattened at the sides as if they
had been compressed by some considerable weight. 
Evidently, as they had dragged the stone up they had
thrust the chunks of wood into the chink, until at
last, when the opening was large enough to crawl
through, they would hold it open by a billet placed
lengthwise, which might very well become indented at
the lower end, since the whole weight of the stone
would press it down on to the edge of this other slab. 
So far I was still on safe ground.

"And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this
midnight drama?  Clearly, only one could fit into the
hole, and that one was Brunton.  The girl must have
waited above.  Brunton then unlocked the box, handed
up the contents presumably--since they were not to be
found--and then--and then what happened?

"What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly
sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic woman's
soul when she saw the man who had wronged her--wronged
her, perhaps, far more than we suspected--in her
power?  Was it a chance that the wood had slipped, and
that the stone had shut Brunton into what had become
his sepulchre?  Had she only been guilty of silence as
to his fate?  Or had some sudden blow from her hand
dashed the support away and sent the slab crashing
down into its place?  Be that as it might, I seemed to
see that woman's figure still clutching at her
treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair,
with her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams
from behind her and with the drumming of frenzied
hands against the slab of stone which was choking her
faithless lover's life out.

"Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken
nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter on the next
morning.  But what had been in the box?  What had she
done with that?  Of course, it must have been the old
metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the
mere.  She had thrown them in there at the first
opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime.

"For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the
matter out.  Musgrave still stood with a very pale
face, swinging his lantern and peering down into the
hole.

"'These are coins of Charles the First,' said he,
holding out the few which had been in the box; 'you
see we were right in fixing our date for the Ritual.'

"'We may find something else of Charles the First,' I
cried, as the probable meaning of the first two
questions of the Ritual broke suddenly upon me.  'Let
me see the contents of the bag which you fished from
the mere.'


"We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris
before me.  I could understand his regarding it as of
small importance when I looked at it, for the metal
was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull. 
I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it
glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of
my hand.  The metal work was in the form of a double
ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its
original shape.

"'You must bear in mind,' said I, 'that the royal
party made head in England even after the death of the
king, and that when they at last fled they probably
left many of their most precious possessions buried
behind them, with the intention of returning for them
in more peaceful times.'

"'My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent
Cavalier and the right-hand man of Charles the Second
in his wanderings,' said my friend.

"'Ah, indeed!' I answered.  'Well now, I think that
really should give us the last link that we wanted.  I
must congratulate you on coming into the possession,
though in rather a tragic manner of a relic which is
of great intrinsic value, but of even greater
importance as an historical curiosity.'

"'What is it, then?' he gasped in astonishment.

"'It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the
kings of England.'

"'The crown!'

"'Precisely.  Consider what the Ritual says:  How does
it run?  "Whose was it?"  "His who is gone."  That was
after the execution of Charles.  Then, "Who shall have
it?"  "He who will come."  That was Charles the
Second, whose advent was already foreseen.  There can,
I think, be no doubt that this battered and shapeless
diadem once encircled the brows of the royal Stuarts.'

"'And how came it in the pond?'

"'Ah, that is a question that will take some time to
answer.'  And with that I sketched out to him the
whole long chain of surmise and of proof which I had
constructed.  The twilight had closed in and the moon
was shining brightly in the sky before my narrative
was finished.

"'And how was it then that Charles did not get his
crown when he returned?' asked Musgrave, pushing back
the relic into its linen bag.

"'Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point
which we shall probably never be able to clear up.  It
is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died
in the interval, and by some oversight left this guide
to his descendant without explaining the meaning of
it.  From that day to this it has been handed down
from father to son, until at last it came within reach
of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his
life in the venture.'


"And that's the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson. 
They have the crown down at Hurlstone--though they had
some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before
they were allowed to retain it.  I am sure that if you
mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to
you.  Of the woman nothing was ever heard, and the
probability is that she got away out of England and
carried herself and the memory of her crime to some
land beyond the seas."



Adventure VI


The Reigate Puzzle


It was some time before the health of my friend Mr.
Sherlock Holmes recovered from the strain caused by
his immense exertions in the spring of '87.  The whole
question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the
colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are too recent in
the minds of the public, and are too intimately
concerned with politics and finance to be fitting
subjects for this series of sketches.  They led,
however, in an indirect fashion to a singular and
complex problem which gave my friend an opportunity of
demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the
many with which he waged his life-long battle against
crime.

On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the
14th of April that I received a telegram from Lyons
which informed me that Holmes was lying ill in the
Hotel Dulong.  Within twenty-four hours I was in his
sick-room, and was relieved to find that there was
nothing formidable in his symptoms.  Even his iron
constitution, however, had broken down under the
strain of an investigation which had extended over two
months, during which period he had never worked less
than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once, as
he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a
stretch.  Even the triumphant issue of his labors
could not save him from reaction after so terrible an
exertion, and at a time when Europe was ringing with
his name and when his room was literally ankle-deep
with congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to
the blackest depression.  Even the knowledge that he
had succeeded where the police of three countries had
failed, and that he had outmanoeuvred at every point
the most accomplished swindler in Europe, was
insufficient to rouse him from his nervous
prostration.

Three days later we were back in Baker Street
together; but it was evident that my friend would be
much the better for a change, and the thought of a
week of spring time in the country was full of
attractions to me also.  My old friend, Colonel
Hayter, who had come under my professional care in
Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate in
Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to
him upon a visit.  On the last occasion he had
remarked that if my friend would only come with me he
would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. 
A little diplomacy was needed, but when Holmes
understood that the establishment was a bachelor one,
and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he
fell in with my plans and a week after our return from
Lyons we were under the Colonel's roof.  Hayter was a
fine old soldier who had seen much of the world, and
he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and he
had much in common.

On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the
Colonel's gun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon
the sofa, while Hayter and I looked over his little
armory of Eastern weapons.

"By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I'll take one
of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an
alarm."

"An alarm!" said I.

"Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately.  Old
Acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his
house broken into last Monday.  No great damage done,
but the fellows are still at large."

"No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the
Colonel.

"None as yet.  But the affair is a petty one, one of
our little country crimes, which must seem too small
for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after this great
international affair."

Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile
showed that it had pleased him.

"Was there any feature of interest?"

"I fancy not.  The thieves ransacked the library and
got very little for their pains.  The whole place was
turned upside down, drawers burst open, and presses
ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of
Pope's 'Homer,' two plated candlesticks, an ivory
letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of
twine are all that have vanished."

"What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything
they could get."

Holmes grunted from the sofa.

"The county police ought to make something of that,"
said he; "why, it is surely obvious that--"

But I held up a warning finger.

"You are here for a rest, my dear fellow.  For
Heaven's sake don't get started on a new problem when
your nerves are all in shreds."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic
resignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted
away into less dangerous channels.

It was destined, however, that all my professional
caution should be wasted, for next morning the problem
obtruded itself upon us in such a way that it was
impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a
turn which neither of us could have anticipated.  We
were at breakfast when the Colonel's butler rushed in
with all his propriety shaken out of him.

"Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped.  "At the
Cunningham's sir!"

"Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee-cup in
mid-air.

"Murder!"

The Colonel whistled.  "By Jove!" said he.  "Who's
killed, then?  The J.P. or his son?"

"Neither, sir.  It was William the coachman.  Shot
through the heart, sir, and never spoke again."

"Who shot him, then?"

"The burglar, sir.  He was off like a shot and got
clean away.  He'd just broke in at the pantry window
when William came on him and met his end in saving his
master's property."

"What time?"

"It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve."

"Ah, then, we'll step over afterwards," said the
Colonel, coolly settling down to his breakfast again. 
"It's a baddish business," he added when the butler
had gone; "he's our leading man about here, is old
Cunningham, and a very decent fellow too.  He'll be
cut up over this, for the man has been in his service
for years and was a good servant.  It's evidently the
same villains who broke into Acton's."

"And stole that very singular collection," said
Holmes, thoughtfully.

"Precisely."

"Hum!  It may prove the simplest matter in the world,
but all the same at first glance this is just a little
curious, is it not?  A gang of burglars acting in the
country might be expected to vary the scene of their
operations, and not to crack two cribs in the same
district within a few days.  When you spoke last night
of taking precautions I remember that it passed
through my mind that this was probably the last parish
in England to which the thief or thieves would be
likely to turn their attention--which shows that I
have still much to learn."

"I fancy it's some local practitioner," said the
Colonel.  "In that case, of course, Acton's and
Cunningham's are just the places he would go for,
since they are far the largest about here."

"And richest?"

"Well, they ought to be, but they've had a lawsuit for
some years which has sucked the blood out of both of
them, I fancy.  Old Acton has some claim on half
Cunningham's estate, and the lawyers have been at it
with both hands."

"If it's a local villain there should not be much
difficulty in running him down," said Holmes with a
yawn.  "All right, Watson, I don't intend to meddle."

"Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler, throwing
open the door.

The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow,
stepped into the room.  "Good-morning, Colonel," said
he; "I hope I don't intrude, but we hear that Mr.
Holmes of Baker Street is here."

The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the
Inspector bowed.

"We thought that perhaps you would care to step
across, Mr. Holmes."

"The fates are against you, Watson," said he,
laughing.  "We were chatting about the matter when you
came in, Inspector.  Perhaps you can let us have a few
details."  As he leaned back in his chair in the
familiar attitude I knew that the case was hopeless.

"We had no clue in the Acton affair.  But here we have
plenty to go on, and there's no doubt it is the same
party in each case.  The man was seen."

"Ah!"

"Yes, sir.  But he was off like a deer after the shot
that killed poor William Kirwan was fired.  Mr.
Cunningham saw him from the bedroom window, and Mr.
Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage.  It was
quarter to twelve when the alarm broke out.  Mr.
Cunningham had just got into bed, and Mr. Alec was
smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown.  They both heard
William the coachman calling for help, and Mr. Alec
ran down to see what was the matter.  The back door
was open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs he
saw two men wrestling together outside.  One of them
fired a shot, the other dropped, and the murderer
rushed across the garden and over the hedge.  Mr.
Cunningham, looking out of his bedroom, saw the fellow
as he gained the road, but lost sight of him at once. 
Mr. Alec stopped to see if he could help the dying
man, and so the villain got clean away.  Beyond the
fact that he was a middle-sized man and dressed in
some dark stuff, we have no personal clue; but we are
making energetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we
shall soon find him out."

"What was this William doing there?  Did he say
anything before he died?"

"Not a word.  He lives at the lodge with his mother,
and as he was a very faithful fellow we imagine that
he walked up to the house with the intention of seeing
that all was right there.  Of course this Acton
business has put every one on their guard.  The robber
must have just burst open the door--the lock has been
forced--when William came upon him."

"Did William say anything to his mother before going
out?"

"She is very old and deaf, and we can get no
information from her.  The shock has made her
half-witted, but I understand that she was never very
bright.  There is one very important circumstance,
however.  Look at this!"

He took a small piece of torn paper from a note-book
and spread it out upon his knee.

"This was found between the finger and thumb of the
dead man.  It appears to be a fragment torn from a
larger sheet.  You will observe that the hour
mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor
fellow met his fate.  You see that his murderer might
have torn the rest of the sheet from him or he might
have taken this fragment from the murderer.  It reads
almost as though it were an appointment."

Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a fac-simile of
which is here reproduced.

d at quarter to twelve
learn what
maybe

"Presuming that it is an appointment," continued the
Inspector, "it is of course a conceivable theory that
this William Kirwan--though he had the reputation of
being an honest man, may have been in league with the
thief.  He may have met him there, may even have
helped him to break in the door, and then they may
have fallen out between themselves."

"This writing is of extraordinary interest," said
Holmes, who had been examining it with intense
concentration.  "These are much deeper waters than I
had though."  He sank his head upon his hands, while
the Inspector smiled at the effect which his case had
had upon the famous London specialist.

"Your last remark," said Holmes, presently, "as to the
possibility of there being an understanding between
the burglar and the servant, and this being a note of
appointment from one to the other, is an ingenious and
not entirely impossible supposition.  But this writing
opens up--" He sank his head into his hands again and
remained for some minutes in the deepest thought. 
When he raised his face again, I was surprised to see
that his cheek was tinged with color, and his eyes as
bright as before his illness.  He sprang to his feet
with all his old energy.

"I'll tell you what," said he, "I should like to have
a quiet little glance into the details of this case. 
There is something in it which fascinates me
extremely.  If you will permit me, Colonel, I will
leave my friend Watson and you, and I will step round
with the Inspector to test the truth of one or two
little fancies of mine.  I will be with you again in
half an hour."

An hour and half had elapsed before the Inspector
returned alone.

"Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field
outside," said he.  "He wants us all four to go up to
the house together."

"To Mr. Cunningham's?"

"Yes, sir."

"What for?"

The Inspector shrugged his shoulders.  "I don't quite
know, sir.  Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes had
not quite got over his illness yet.  He's been
behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited."

"I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I.  "I
have usually found that there was method in his
madness."

"Some folks might say there was madness in his
method," muttered the Inspector.  "But he's all on
fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go out if you
are ready."

We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his
chin sunk upon his breast, and his hands thrust into
his trousers pockets.

"The matter grows in interest," said he.  "Watson,
your country-trip has been a distinct success.  I have
had a charming morning."

"You have been up to the scene of the crime, I
understand," said the Colonel.

"Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a little
reconnaissance together."

"Any success?"

"Well, we have seen some very interesting things. 
I'll tell you what we did as we walk.  First of all,
we saw the body of this unfortunate man.  He certainly
died from a revolver wound as reported."

"Had you doubted it, then?"

"Oh, it is as well to test everything.  Our inspection
was not wasted.  We then had an interview with Mr.
Cunningham and his son, who were able to point out the
exact spot where the murderer had broken through the
garden-hedge in his flight.  That was of great
interest."

"Naturally."

"Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother.  We
could get no information from her, however, as she is
very old and feeble."

"And what is the result of your investigations?"

"The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. 
Perhaps our visit now may do something to make it less
obscure.  I think that we are both agreed, Inspector
that the fragment of paper in the dead man's hand,
bearing, as it does, the very hour of his death
written upon it, is of extreme importance."

"It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes."

"It does give a clue.  Whoever wrote that note was the
man who brought William Kirwan out of his bed at that
hour.  But where is the rest of that sheet of paper?"

"I examined the ground carefully in the hope of
finding it," said the Inspector.

"It was torn out of the dead man's hand.  Why was some
one so anxious to get possession of it?  Because it
incriminated him.  And what would he do with it? 
Thrust it into his pocket, most likely, never noticing
that a corner of it had been left in the grip of the
corpse.  If we could get the rest of that sheet it is
obvious that we should have gone a long way towards
solving the mystery."

"Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket
before we catch the criminal?"

"Well, well, it was worth thinking over.  Then there
is another obvious point.  The note was sent to
William.  The man who wrote it could not have taken
it; otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his
own message by word of mouth.  Who brought the note,
then?  Or did it come through the post?"

"I have made inquiries," said the Inspector.  "William
received a letter by the afternoon post yesterday. 
The envelope was destroyed by him."

"Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspector on
the back.  "You've seen the postman.  It is a pleasure
to work with you.  Well, here is the lodge, and if you
will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of
the crime."

We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man
had lived, and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the
fine old Queen Anne house, which bears the date of
Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door.  Holmes and
the Inspector led us round it until we came to the
side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden
from the hedge which lines the road.  A constable was
standing at the kitchen door.

"Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes.  "Now, it
was on those stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood
and saw the two men struggling just where we are.  Old
Mr. Cunningham was at that window--the second on the
left--and he saw the fellow get away just to the left
of that bush.  Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside
the wounded man.  The ground is very hard, you see,
and there are no marks to guide us."  As he spoke two
men came down the garden path, from round the angle of
the house.  The one was an elderly man, with a strong,
deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the other a dashing young
fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy
dress were in strange contract with the business which
had brought us there.

"Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes.  "I thought
you Londoners were never at fault.  You don't seem to
be so very quick, after all."

"Ah, you must give us a little time," said Holmes
good-humoredly.

"You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham.  "Why, I
don't see that we have any clue at all."

"There's only one," answered the Inspector.  "We
thought that if we could only find--Good heavens, Mr.
Holmes!  What is the matter?"

My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most
dreadful expression.  His eyes rolled upwards, his
features writhed in agony, and with a suppressed groan
he dropped on his face upon the ground.  Horrified at
the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried
him into the kitchen, where he lay back in a large
chair, and breathed heavily for some minutes. 
Finally, with a shamefaced apology for his weakness,
he rose once more.

"Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered
from a severe illness," he explained.  "I am liable to
these sudden nervous attacks."

"Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old
Cunningham.

"Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I
should like to feel sure.  We can very easily verify
it."

"What was it?"

"Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that
the arrival of this poor fellow William was not
before, but after, the entrance of the burglary into
the house.  You appear to take it for granted that,
although the door was forced, the robber never got
in."

"I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr. Cunningham,
gravely.  "Why, my son Alec had not yet gone to bed,
and he would certainly have heard any one moving
about."

"Where was he sitting?"

"I was smoking in my dressing-room."

"Which window is that?"

"The last on the left next my father's."

"Both of your lamps were lit, of course?"

"Undoubtedly."

"There are some very singular points here," said
Holmes, smiling.  "Is it not extraordinary that a
burglary--and a burglar who had had some previous
experience--should deliberately break into a house at
a time when he could see from the lights that two of
the family were still afoot?"

"He must have been a cool hand."

"Well, of course, if the case were not an odd one we
should not have been driven to ask you for an
explanation," said young Mr. Alec.  "But as to your
ideas that the man had robbed the house before William
tackled him, I think it a most absurd notion. 
Wouldn't we have found the place disarranged, and
missed the things which he had taken?"

"It depends on what the things were," said Holmes. 
"You must remember that we are dealing with a burglar
who is a very peculiar fellow, and who appears to work
on lines of his own.  Look, for example, at the queer
lot of things which he took from Acton's--what was
it?--a ball of string, a letter-weight, and I don't
know what other odds and ends."

"Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes," said
old Cunningham.  "Anything which you or the Inspector
may suggest will most certainly be done."

"In the first place," said Holmes, "I should like you
to offer a reward--coming from yourself, for the
officials may take a little time before they would
agree upon the sum, and these things cannot be done
too promptly.  I have jotted down the form here, if
you would not mind signing it.  Fifty pounds was quite
enough, I thought."

"I would willingly give five hundred," said the J.P.,
taking the slip of paper and the pencil which Holmes
handed to him.  "This is not quite correct, however,"
he added, glancing over the document.

"I wrote it rather hurriedly."

"You see you begin, 'Whereas, at about a quarter to
one on Tuesday morning an attempt was made,' and so
on.  It was at a quarter to twelve, as a matter of
fact."

I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly
Holmes would feel any slip of the kind.  It was his
specialty to be accurate as to fact, but his recent
illness had shaken him, and this one little incident
was enough to show me that he was still far from being
himself.  He was obviously embarrassed for an instant,
while the Inspector raised his eyebrows, and Alec
Cunningham burst into a laugh.  The old gentleman
corrected the mistake, however, and handed the paper
back to Holmes.

"Get it printed as soon as possible," he said; "I
think your idea is an excellent one."

Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his
pocket-book.

"And now," said he, "it really would be a good thing
that we should all go over the house together and make
certain that this rather erratic burglar did not,
after all, carry anything away with him."

Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the
door which had been forced.  It was evident that a
chisel or strong knife had been thrust in, and the
lock forced back with it.  We could see the marks in
the wood where it had been pushed in.

"You don't use bars, then?" he asked.

"We have never found it necessary."

"You don't keep a dog?"

"Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the
house."

"When do the servants go to bed?"

"About ten."

"I understand that William was usually in bed also at
that hour."

"Yes."

"It is singular that on this particular night he
should have been up.  Now, I should be very glad if
you would have the kindness to show us over the house,
Mr. Cunningham."

A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching
away from it, led by a wooden staircase directly to
the first floor of the house.  It came out upon the
landing opposite to a second more ornamental stair
which came up from the front hall.  Out of this
landing opened the drawing-room and several bedrooms,
including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son.  Holmes
walked slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of
the house.  I could tell from his expression that he
was on a hot scent, and yet I could not in the least
imagine in what direction his inferences were leading
him.

"My good sir," said Mr. Cunningham with some
impatience, "this is surely very unnecessary.  That is
my room at the end of the stairs, and my son's is the
one beyond it.  I leave it to your judgment whether it
was possible for the thief to have come up here
without disturbing us."

"You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I
fancy," said the son with a rather malicious smile.

"Still, I must ask you to humor me a little further. 
I should like, for example, to see how far the windows
of the bedrooms command the front.  This, I understand
is your son's room"--he pushed open the door--"and
that, I presume, is the dressing-room in which he sat
smoking when the alarm was given.  Where does the
window of that look out to?"  He stepped across the
bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round the
other chamber.

"I hope that you are satisfied now?" said Mr.
Cunningham, tartly.

"Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished."

"Then if it is really necessary we can go into my
room."

"If it is not too much trouble."

The J. P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into
his own chamber, which was a plainly furnished and
commonplace room.  As we moved across it in the
direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he and
I were the last of the group.  Near the foot of the
bed stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water.  As
we passed it Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment,
leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked
the whole thing over.  The glass smashed into a
thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into every
corner of the room.

"You've done it now, Watson," said he, coolly.  "A
pretty mess you've made of the carpet."

I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the
fruit, understanding for some reason my companion
desired me to take the blame upon myself.  The others
did the same, and set the table on its legs again.

"Hullo!" cried the Inspector, "where's he got to?"

Holmes had disappeared.

"Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cunningham. 
"The fellow is off his head, in my opinion.  Come with
me, father, and see where he has got to!"

They rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector,
the Colonel, and me staring at each other.

"'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master
Alec," said the official.  "It may be the effect of
this illness, but it seems to me that--"

His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help! 
Help!  Murder!"  With a thrill I recognized the voice
of that of my friend.  I rushed madly from the room on
to the landing.  The cries, which had sunk down into a
hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room
which we had first visited.  I dashed in, and on into
the dressing-room beyond.  The two Cunninghams were
bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes,
the younger clutching his throat with both hands,
while the elder seemed to be twisting one of his
wrists.  In an instant the three of us had torn them
away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, very
pale and evidently greatly exhausted.

"Arrest these men, Inspector," he gasped.

"On what charge?"

"That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan."

The Inspector stared about him in bewilderment.  "Oh,
come now, Mr. Holmes," said he at last, "I'm sure you
don't really mean to--"

"Tut, man, look at their faces!" cried Holmes, curtly.

Never certainly have I seen a plainer confession of
guilt upon human countenances.  The older man seemed
numbed and dazed with a heavy, sullen expression upon
his strongly-marked face.  The son, on the other hand,
had dropped all that jaunty, dashing style which had
characterized him, and the ferocity of a dangerous
wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes and distorted his
handsome features.  The Inspector said nothing, but,
stepping to the door, he blew his whistle.  Two of his
constables came at the call.

"I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham," said he.  "I
trust that this may all prove to be an absurd mistake,
but you can see that--Ah, would you?  Drop it!"  He
struck out with his hand, and a revolver which the
younger man was in the act of cocking clattered down
upon the floor.

"Keep that," said Holmes, quietly putting his foot
upon it; "you will find it useful at the trial.  But
this is what we really wanted."  He held up a little
crumpled piece of paper.

"The remainder of the sheet!" cried the Inspector.

"Precisely."

"And where was it?"

"Where I was sure it must be.  I'll make the whole
matter clear to you presently.  I think, Colonel, that
you and Watson might return now, and I will be with
you again in an hour at the furthest.  The Inspector
and I must have a word with the prisoners, but you
will certainly see me back at luncheon time."


Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one
o'clock he rejoined us in the Colonel's smoking-room. 
He was accompanied by a little elderly gentleman, who
was introduced to me as the Mr. Acton whose house had
been the scene of the original burglary.

"I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated
this small matter to you," said Holmes, "for it is
natural that he should take a keen interest in the
details.  I am afraid, my dear Colonel, that you must
regret the hour that you took in such a stormy petrel
as I am."

"On the contrary," answered the Colonel, warmly, "I
consider it the greatest privilege to have been
permitted to study your methods of working.  I confess
that they quite surpass my expectations, and that I am
utterly unable to account for your result.  I have not
yet seen the vestige of a clue."

"I am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you
but it has always been my habit to hide none of my
methods, either from my friend Watson or from any one
who might take an intelligent interest in them.  But,
first, as I am rather shaken by the knocking about
which I had in the dressing-room, I think that I shall
help myself to a dash of your brandy, Colonel.  My
strength had been rather tried of late."

"I trust that you had no more of those nervous
attacks."

Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily.  "We will come to
that in its turn," said he.  "I will lay an account of
the case before you in its due order, showing you the
various points which guided me in my decision.  Pray
interrupt me if there is any inference which is not
perfectly clear to you.

"It is of the highest importance in the art of
detection to be able to recognize, out of a number of
facts, which are incidental and which vital. 
Otherwise your energy and attention must be dissipated
instead of being concentrated.  Now, in this case
there was not the slightest doubt in my mind from the
first that the key of the whole matter must be looked
for in the scrap of paper in the dead man's hand.

"Before going into this, I would draw your attention
to the fact that, if Alec Cunningham's narrative was
correct, and if the assailant, after shooting William
Kirwan, had instantly fled, then it obviously could
not be he who tore the paper from the dead man's hand. 
But if it was not he, it must have been Alec
Cunningham himself, for by the time that the old man
had descended several servants were upon the scene. 
The point is a simple one, but the Inspector had
overlooked it because he had started with the
supposition that these county magnates had had nothing
to do with the matter.  Now, I make a point of never
having any prejudices, and of following docilely
wherever fact may lead me, and so, in the very first
stage of the investigation, I found myself looking a
little askance at the part which had been played by
Mr. Alec Cunningham.

"And now I made a very careful examination of the
corner of paper which the Inspector had submitted to
us.  It was at once clear to me that it formed part of
a very remarkable document.  Here it is.  Do you not
now observe something very suggestive about it?"

"It has a very irregular look," said the Colonel.

"My dear sir," cried Holmes, "there cannot be the
least doubt in the world that it has been written by
two persons doing alternate words.  When I draw your
attention to the strong t's of 'at' and 'to', and ask
you to compare them with the weak ones of 'quarter'
and 'twelve,' you will instantly recognize the fact. 
A very brief analysis of these four words would enable
you to say with the utmost confidence that the 'learn'
and the 'maybe' are written in the stronger hand, and
the 'what' in the weaker."

"By Jove, it's as clear as day!" cried the Colonel. 
"Why on earth should two men write a letter in such a
fashion?"

"Obviously the business was a bad one, and one of the
men who distrusted the other was determined that,
whatever was done, each should have an equal hand in
it.  Now, of the two men, it is clear that the one who
wrote the 'at' and 'to' was the ringleader."

"How do you get at that?"

"We might deduce it from the mere character of the one
hand as compared with the other.  But we have more
assured reasons than that for supposing it.  If you
examine this scrap with attention you will come to the
conclusion that the man with the stronger hand wrote
all his words first, leaving blanks for the other to
fill up.  These blanks were not always sufficient, and
you can see that the second man had a squeeze to fit
his 'quarter' in between the 'at' and the 'to,'
showing that the latter were already written.  The man
who wrote all his words first is undoubtedly the man
who planned the affair."

"Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton.

"But very superficial," said Holmes.  "We come now,
however, to a point which is of importance.  You may
not be aware that the deduction of a man's age from
his writing is one which has brought to considerable
accuracy by experts.  In normal cases one can place a
man in his true decade with tolerable confidence.  I
say normal cases, because ill-health and physical
weakness reproduce the signs of old age, even when the
invalid is a youth.  In this case, looking at the
bold, strong hand of the one, and the rather
broken-backed appearance of the other, which still
retains its legibility although the t's have begun to
lose their crossing, we can say that the one was a
young man and the other was advanced in years without
being positively decrepit."

"Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton again.

"There is a further point, however, which is subtler
and of greater interest.  There is something in common
between these hands.  They belong to men who are
blood-relatives.  It may be most obvious to you in the
Greek e's, but to me there are many small points which
indicate the same thing.  I have no doubt at all that
a family mannerism can be traced in these two
specimens of writing.  I am only, of course, giving
you the leading results now of my examination of the
paper.  There were twenty-three other deductions which
would be of more interest to experts than to you. 
They all tend to deepen the impression upon my mind
that the Cunninghams, father and son, had written this
letter.

"Having got so far, my next step was, of course, to
examine into the details of the crime, and to see how
far they would help us.  I went up to the house with
the Inspector, and saw all that was to be seen.  The
wound upon the dead man was, as I was able to
determine with absolute confidence, fired from a
revolver at the distance of something over four yards. 
There was no powder-blackening on the clothes. 
Evidently, therefore,  Alec Cunningham had lied when
he said that the two men were struggling when the shot
was fired.  Again, both father and son agreed as to
the place where the man escaped into the road.  At
that point, however, as it happens, there is a 
broadish ditch, moist at the bottom.  As there were no
indications of bootmarks about this ditch, I was
absolutely sure not only that the Cunninghams had
again lied, but that there had never been any unknown
man upon the scene at all.

"And now I have to consider the motive of this
singular crime.  To get at this, I endeavored first of
all to solve the reason of the original burglary at
Mr. Acton's.  I understood, from something which the
Colonel told us, that a lawsuit had been going on
between you, Mr. Acton, and the Cunninghams.  Of
course, it instantly occurred to me that they had
broken into your library with the intention of getting
at some document which might be of importance in the
case."

"Precisely so," said Mr. Acton.  "There can be no
possible doubt as to their intentions.  I have the
clearest claim upon half of their present estate, and
if they could have found a single paper--which,
fortunately, was in the strong-box of my
solicitors--they would undoubtedly have crippled our
case."

"There you are," said Holmes, smiling.  "It was a
dangerous, reckless attempt, in which I seem to trace
the influence of young Alec.  Having found nothing
they tried to divert suspicion by making it appear to
be an ordinary burglary, to which end they carried off
whatever they could lay their hands upon.  That is all
clear enough, but there was much that was still
obscure.  What I wanted above all was to get the
missing part of that note.  I was certain that Alec
had torn it out of the dead man's hand, and almost
certain that he must have thrust it into the pocket of
his dressing-gown.  Where else could he have put it? 
The only question was whether it was still there.  It
was worth an effort to find out, and for that object
we all went up to the house.

"The Cunninghams joined us, as you doubtless remember,
outside the kitchen door.  It was, of course, of the
very first importance that they should not be reminded
of the existence of this paper, otherwise they would
naturally destroy it without delay.  The Inspector was
about to tell them the importance which we attached to
it when, by the luckiest chance in the world, I
tumbled down in a sort of fit and so changed the
conversation.

"Good heavens!" cried the Colonel, laughing, "do you
mean to say all our sympathy was wasted and your fit
an imposture?"

"Speaking professionally, it was admirably done,"
cried I, looking in amazement at this man who was
forever confounding me with some new phase of his
astuteness.

"It is an art which is often useful," said he.  "When
I recovered I managed, by a device which had perhaps
some little merit of ingenuity, to get old Cunningham
to write the word 'twelve,' so that I might compare it
with the 'twelve' upon the paper."

"Oh, what an ass I have been!" I exclaimed.

"I could see that you were commiserating me over my
weakness," said Holmes, laughing.  "I was sorry to
cause you the sympathetic pain which I know that you
felt.  We then went upstairs together, and having
entered the room and seen the dressing-gown hanging up
behind the door, I contrived, by upsetting a table, to
engage their attention for the moment, and slipped
back to examine the pockets.  I had hardly got the
paper, however--which was, as I had expected, in one
of them--when the two Cunninghams were on me, and
would, I verily believe, have murdered me then and
there but for your prompt and friendly aid.  As it is,
I feel that young man's grip on my throat now, and the
father has twisted my wrist round in the effort to get
the paper out of my hand.  They saw that I must know
all about it, you see, and the sudden change from
absolute security to complete despair made them
perfectly desperate.

"I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as
to the motive of the crime.  He was tractable enough,
though his son was a perfect demon, ready to blow out
his own or anybody else's brains if he could have got
to his revolver.  When Cunningham saw that the case
against him was so strong he lost all heart and made a
clean breast of everything.  It seems that William had
secretly followed his two masters on the night when
they made their raid upon Mr. Acton's, and having thus
got them into his power, proceeded, under threats of
exposure, to levy blackmail upon them.  Mr. Alec,
however, was a dangerous man to play games of that
sort with.  It was a stroke of positive genius on his
part to see in the burglary scare which was convulsing
the country side an opportunity of plausibly getting
rid of the man whom he feared.  William was decoyed up
and shot, and had they only got the whole of the note
and paid a little more attention to detail in the
accessories, it is very possible that suspicion might
never have been aroused."

"And the note?" I asked.

Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper before us.

If you will only come around
to the east gate you will
will very much surprise you and
be of the greatest service to you and also
to Annie Morrison.  But say nothing to
anyone upon the matter

"It is very much the sort of thing that I expected,"
said he.  "Of course, we do not yet know what the
relations may have been between Alec Cunningham,
William Kirwan, and Annie Morrison.  The results shows
that the trap was skillfully baited.  I am sure that
you cannot fail to be delighted with the traces of
heredity shown in the p's and in the tails of the g's. 
The absence of the i-dots in the old man's writing is
also most characteristic.  Watson, I think our quiet
rest in the country has been a distinct success, and I
shall certainly return much invigorated to Baker
Street to-morrow." 



Adventure VII


The Crooked Man


One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I
was seated by my own hearth smoking a last pipe and
nodding over a novel, for my day's work had been an
exhausting one.  My wife had already gone upstairs,
and the sound of the locking of the hall door some
time before told me that the servants had also
retired.  I had risen from my seat and was knocking
out the ashes of my pipe when I suddenly heard the
clang of the bell.

I looked at the clock.  It was a quarter to twelve. 
This could not be a visitor at so late an hour.  A
patient, evidently, and possibly an all-night sitting. 
With a wry face I went out into the hall and opened
the door.  To my astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes
who stood upon my step.

"Ah, Watson," said he, "I hoped that I might not be
too late to catch you."

"My dear fellow, pray come in."

"You look surprised, and no wonder!  Relieved, too, I
fancy!  Hum!  You still smoke the Arcadia mixture of
your bachelor days then!  There's no mistaking that
fluffy ash upon your coat.  It's easy to tell that you
have been accustomed to wear a uniform, Watson. 
You'll never pass as a pure-bred civilian as long as
you keep that habit of carrying your handkerchief in
your sleeve.  Could you put me up to-night?"

"With pleasure."

"You told me that you had bachelor quarters for one,
and I see that you have no gentleman visitor at
present.  Your hat-stand proclaims as much."

"I shall be delighted if you will stay."

"Thank you.  I'll fill the vacant peg then.  Sorry to
see that you've had the British workman in the house. 
He's a token of evil.  Not the drains, I hope?"

"No, the gas."

"Ah!  He has left two nail-marks from his boot upon
your linoleum just where the light strikes it.  No,
thank you, I had some supper at Waterloo, but I'll
smoke a pipe with you with pleasure."

I handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite
to me and smoked for some time in silence.  I was well
aware that nothing but business of importance would
have brought him to me at such an hour, so I waited
patiently until he should come round to it.

"I see that you are professionally rather busy just
now," said he, glancing very keenly across at me.

"Yes, I've had a busy day," I answered.  "It may seem
very foolish in your eyes," I added, "but really I
don't know how you deduced it."

Holmes chuckled to himself.

"I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear
Watson," said he.  "When your round is a short one you
walk, and when it is a long one you use a hansom.  As
I perceive that your boots, although used, are by no
means dirty, I cannot doubt that you are at present
busy enough to justify the hansom."

"Excellent!" I cried.

"Elementary," said he.  "It is one of those instances
where the reasoner can produce an effect which seems
remarkable to his neighbor, because the latter has
missed the one little point which is the basis of the
deduction.  The same may be said, my dear fellow, for
the effect of some of these little sketches of yours,
which is entirely meretricious, depending as it does
upon your retaining in your own hands some factors in
the problem which are never imparted to the reader. 
Now, at present I am in the position of these same
readers, for I hold in this hand several threads of
one of the strangest cases which ever perplexed a
man's brain, and yet I lack the one or two which are
needful to complete my theory.  But I'll have them,
Watson, I'll have them!"  His eyes kindled and a
slight flush sprang into his thin cheeks.  For an
instant only.  When I glanced again his face had
resumed that red-Indian composure which had made so
many regard him as a machine rather than a man.

"The problem presents features of interest," said he. 
"I may even say exceptional features of interest.  I
have already looked into the matter, and have come, as
I think, within sight of my solution.  If you could
accompany me in that last step you might be of
considerable service to me."

"I should be delighted."

"Could you go as far as Aldershot to-morrow?"

"I have no doubt Jackson would take my practice."

"Very good.  I want to start by the 11.10 from
Waterloo."

"That would give me time."

"Then, if you are not too sleepy, I will give you a
sketch of what has happened, and of what remains to be
done."

"I was sleepy before you came.  I am quite wakeful
now."

"I will compress the story as far as may be done
without omitting anything vital to the case.  It is
conceivable that you may even have read some account
of the matter.  It is the supposed murder of Colonel
Barclay, of the Royal Munsters, at Aldershot, which I
am investigating."

"I have heard nothing of it."

"It has not excited much attention yet, except
locally.  The facts are only two days old.  Briefly
they are these:

"The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of the most
famous Irish regiments in the British army.  It did
wonders both in the Crimea and the Mutiny, and has
since that time distinguished itself upon every
possible occasion.  It was commanded up to Monday
night by James Barclay, a gallant veteran, who started
as a full private, was raised to commissioned rank for
his bravery at the time of the Mutiny, and so lived to
command the regiment in which he had once carried a
musket.

"Colonel Barclay had married at the time when he was a
sergeant, and his wife, whose maiden name was Miss
Nancy Devoy, was the daughter of a former
color-sergeant in the same corps.  There was,
therefore, as can be imagined, some little social
friction when the young couple (for they were still
young) found themselves in their new surroundings. 
They appear, however, to have quickly adapted
themselves, and Mrs. Barclay has always, I understand,
been as popular with the ladies of the regiment as her
husband was with his brother officers.  I may add that
she was a woman of great beauty, and that even now,
when she has been married for upwards of thirty years,
she is still of a striking and queenly appearance.

"Colonel Barclay's family life appears to have been a
uniformly happy one.  Major Murphy, to whom I owe most
of my facts, assures me that he has never heard of any
misunderstanding between the pair.  On the whole, he
thinks that Barclay's devotion to his wife was greater
than his wife's to Barclay.  He was acutely uneasy if
he were absent from her for a day.  She, on the other
hand, though devoted and faithful, was less
obtrusively affectionate.  But they were regarded in
the regiment as the very model of a middle-aged
couple.  There was absolutely nothing in their mutual
relations to prepare people for the tragedy which was
to follow.

"Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had some
singular traits in his character.  He was a dashing,
jovial old soldier in his usual mood, but there were
occasions on which he seemed to show himself capable
of considerable violence and vindictiveness.  This
side of his nature, however, appears never to have
been turned towards his wife.  Another fact, which had
struck Major Murphy and three out of five of the other
officers with whom I conversed, was the singular sort
of depression which came upon him at times.  As the
major expressed it, the smile had often been struck
from his mouth, as if by some invisible hand, when he
has been joining the gayeties and chaff of the
mess-table.  For days on end, when the mood was on
him, he has been sunk in the deepest gloom.  This and
a certain tinge of superstition were the only unusual
traits in his character which his brother officers had
observed.  The latter peculiarity took the form of a
dislike to being left alone, especially after dark. 
This puerile feature in a nature which was
conspicuously manly had often given rise to comment
and conjecture.

"The first battalion of the Royal Munsters (which is
the old 117th) has been stationed at Aldershot for
some years.  The married officers live out of
barracks, and the Colonel has during all this time
occupied a villa called Lachine, about half a mile
from the north camp.  The house stands in its own
grounds, but the west side of it is not more than
thirty yards from the high-road.  A coachman and two
maids form the staff of servants.  These with their
master and mistress were the sole occupants of
Lachine, for the Barclays had no children, nor was it
usual for them to have resident visitors.

"Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on
the evening of last Monday."

"Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman
Catholic Church, and had interested herself very much
in the establishment of the Guild of St. George, which
was formed in connection with the Watt Street Chapel
for the purpose of supplying the poor with cast-off
clothing.  A meeting of the Guild had been held that
evening at eight, and Mrs. Barclay had hurried over
her dinner in order to be present at it.  When leaving
the house she was heard by the coachman to make some
commonplace remark to her husband, and to assure him
that she would be back before very long. She then
called for Miss Morrison, a young lady who lives in
the next villa, and the two went off together to their
meeting.  It lasted forty minutes, and at a
quarter-past nine Mrs. Barclay returned home, having
left Miss Morrison at her door as she passed.

"There is a room which is used as a morning-room at
Lachine.  This faces the road and opens by a large
glass folding-door on to the lawn.  The lawn is thirty
yards across, and is only divided from the highway by
a low wall with an iron rail above it.  It was into
this room that Mrs. Barclay went upon her return.  The
blinds were not down, for the room was seldom used in
the evening, but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and
then rang the bell, asking Jane Stewart, the
house-maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was quite
contrary to her usual habits.  The Colonel had been
sitting in the dining-room, but hearing that his wife
had returned he joined her in the morning-room.  The
coachman saw him cross the hall and enter it.  He was
never seen again alive.

"The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the
end of ten minutes; but the maid, as she approached
the door, was surprised to hear the voices of her
master and mistress in furious altercation.  She
knocked without receiving any answer, and even turned
the handle, but only to find that the door was locked
upon the inside.  Naturally enough she ran down to
tell the cook, and the two women with the coachman
came up into the hall and listened to the dispute
which was still raging.  They all agreed that only two
voices were to be heard, those of Barclay and of his
wife.  Barclay's remarks were subdued and abrupt, so
that none of them were audible to the listeners.  The
lady's, on the other hand, were most bitter, and when
she raised her voice could be plainly heard.  'You
coward!' she repeated over and over again.  'What can
be done now?  What can be done now?  Give me back my
life.  I will never so much as breathe the same air
with you again!  You coward!  You coward!'  Those were
scraps of her conversation, ending in a sudden
dreadful cry in the man's voice, with a crash, and a
piercing scream from the woman.  Convinced that some
tragedy had occurred, the coachman rushed to the door
and strove to force it, while scream after scream
issued from within.  He was unable, however, to make
his way in, and the maids were too distracted with
fear to be of any assistance to him.  A sudden thought
struck him, however, and he ran through the hall door
and round to the lawn upon which the long French
windows open.  One side of the window was open, which
I understand was quite usual in the summer-time, and
he passed without difficulty into the room.  His
mistress had ceased to scream and was stretched
insensible upon a couch, while with his feet tilted
over the side of an arm-chair, and his head upon the
ground near the corner of the fender, was lying the
unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of his own
blood.

"Naturally, the coachman's first thought, on finding
that he could do nothing for his master, was to open
the door.  But here an unexpected and singular
difficulty presented itself.  The key was not in the
inner side of the door, nor could he find it anywhere
in the room.  He went out again, therefore, through
the window, and having obtained the help of a
policeman and of a medical man, he returned.  The
lady, against whom naturally the strongest suspicion
rested, was removed to her room, still in a state of
insensibility.  The Colonel's body was then placed
upon the sofa, and a careful examination made of the
scene of the tragedy.

"The injury from which the unfortunate veteran was
suffering was found to be a jagged cut some two inches
long at the back part of his head, which had evidently
been caused by a violent blow from a blunt weapon. 
Nor was it difficult to guess what that weapon may
have been.  Upon the floor, close to the body, was
lying a singular club of hard carved wood with a bone
handle.  The Colonel possessed a varied collection of
weapons brought from the different countries in which
he had fought, and it is conjectured by the police
that his club was among his trophies.  The servants
deny having seen it before, but among the numerous
curiosities in the house it is possible that it may
have been overlooked.  Nothing else of importance was
discovered in the room by the police, save the
inexplicable fact that neither upon Mrs. Barclay's
person nor upon that of the victim nor in any part of
the room was the missing key to be found.  The door
had eventually to be opened by a locksmith from
Aldershot.

"That was the state of things, Watson, when upon the
Tuesday morning I, at the request of Major Murphy,
went down to Aldershot to supplement the efforts of
the police.  I think that you will acknowledge that
the problem was already one of interest, but my
observations soon made me realize that it was in truth
much more extraordinary than would at first sight
appear.

"Before examining the room I cross-questioned the
servants, but only succeeded in eliciting the facts
which I have already stated.  One other detail of
interest was remembered by Jane Stewart, the
housemaid.  You will remember that on hearing the
sound of the quarrel she descended and returned with
the other servants.  On that first occasion, when she
was alone, she says that the voices of her master and
mistress were sunk so low that she could hear hardly
anything, and judged by their tones rather than their
words that they had fallen out.  On my pressing her,
however, she remembered that she heard the word David
uttered twice by the lady.  The point is of the utmost
importance as guiding us towards the reason of the
sudden quarrel.  The Colonel's name, you remember, was
James.

"There was one thing in the case which had made the
deepest impression both upon the servants and the
police.  This was the contortion of the Colonel's
face.  It had set, according to their account, into
the most dreadful expression of fear and horror which
a human countenance is capable of assuming.  More than
one person fainted at the mere sight of him, so
terrible was the effect.  It was quite certain that he
had foreseen his fate, and that it had caused him the
utmost horror.  This, of course, fitted in well enough
with the police theory, if the Colonel could have seen
his wife making a murderous attack upon him.  Nor was
the fact of the wound being on the back of his head a
fatal objection to this, as he might have turned to
avoid the blow.  No information could be got from the
lady herself, who was temporarily insane from an acute
attack of brain-fever.

"From the police I learned that Miss Morrison, who you
remember went out that evening with Mrs. Barclay,
denied having any knowledge of what it was which had
caused the ill-humor in which her companion had
returned.

"Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoked several
pipes over them, trying to separate those which were
crucial from others which were merely incidental. 
There could be no question that the most distinctive
and suggestive point in the case was the singular
disappearance of the door-key.  A most careful search
had failed to discover it in the room.  Therefore it
must have been taken from it.  But neither the Colonel
nor the Colonel's wife could have taken it.  That was
perfectly clear.  Therefore a third person must have
entered the room.  And that third person could only
have come in through the window.  It seemed to me that
a careful examination of the room and the lawn might
possibly reveal some traces of this mysterious
individual.  You know my methods, Watson.  There was
not one of them which I did not apply to the inquiry. 
And it ended by my discovering traces, but very
different ones from those which I had expected.  There
had been a man in the room, and he had crossed the lawn
coming from the road.  I was able to obtain five very
clear impressions of his foot-marks:  one in the
roadway itself, at the point where he had climbed the
low wall, two on the lawn, and two very faint ones
upon the stained boards near the window where he had
entered.  He had apparently rushed across the lawn,
for his toe-marks were much deeper than his heels. 
But it was not the man who surprised me.  It was his
companion."

"His companion!"

Holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper out of his
pocket and carefully unfolded it upon his knee.

"What do you make of that?" he asked.

The paper was covered with he tracings of the
foot-marks of some small animal.  It had five
well-marked foot-pads, an indication of long nails,
and the whole print might be nearly as large as a
dessert-spoon.

"It's a dog," said I.

"Did you ever hear of a dog running up a curtain?  I
found distinct traces that this creature had done so."

"A monkey, then?"

"But it is not the print of a monkey."

"What can it be, then?"

"Neither dog nor cat nor monkey nor any creature that
we are familiar with.  I have tried to reconstruct it
from the measurements.  Here are four prints where the
beast has been standing motionless.  You see that it
is no less than fifteen inches from fore-foot to hind. 
Add to that the length of neck and head, and you get a
creature not much less than two feet long--probably
more if there is any tail.  But now observe this other
measurement.  The animal has been moving, and we have
the length of its stride.  In each case it is only
about three inches.  You have an indication, you see,
of a long body with very short legs attached to it. 
It has not been considerate enough to leave any of its
hair behind it.  But its general shape must be what I
have indicated, and it can run up a curtain, and it is
carnivorous."

"How do you deduce that?"

"Because it ran up the curtain.  A canary's cage was
hanging in the window, and its aim seems to have been
to get at the bird."

"Then what was the beast?"

"Ah, if I could give it a name it might go a long way
towards solving the case.  On the whole, it was
probably some creature of the weasel and stoat
tribe--and yet it is larger than any of these that I
have seen."

"But what had it to do with the crime?"

"That, also, is still obscure.  But we have learned a
good deal, you perceive.  We know that a man stood in
the road looking at the quarrel between the
Barclays--the blinds were up and the room lighted.  We
know, also, that he ran across the lawn, entered the
room, accompanied by a strange animal, and that he
either struck the Colonel or, as is equally possible,
that the Colonel fell down from sheer fright at the
sight of him, and cut his head on the corner of the
fender.  Finally, we have the curious fact that the
intruder carried away the key with him when he left."

"Your discoveries seem to have left the business more
obscure that it was before," said I.

"Quite so.  They undoubtedly showed that the affair
was much deeper than was at first conjectured.  I
thought the matter over, and I came to the conclusion
that I must approach the case from another aspect. 
But really, Watson, I am keeping you up, and I might
just as well tell you all this on our way to Aldershot
to-morrow."

"Thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop."

"It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay left the
house at half-past seven she was on good terms with
her husband.  She was never, as I think I have said,
ostentatiously affectionate, but she was heard by the
coachman chatting with the Colonel in a friendly
fashion.  Now, it was equally certain that,
immediately on her return, she had gone to the room in
which she was least likely to see her husband, had
flown to tea as an agitated woman will, and finally,
on his coming in to her, had broken into violent
recriminations.  Therefore something had occurred
between seven-thirty and nine o'clock which had
completely altered her feelings towards him.  But Miss
Morrison had been with her during the whole of that
hour and a half.  It was absolutely certain,
therefore, in spite of her denial, that she must know
something of the matter.

"My first conjecture was, that possibly there had been
some passages between this young lady and the old
soldier, which the former had now confessed to the
wife.  That would account for the angry return, and
also for the girl's denial that anything had occurred. 
Nor would it be entirely incompatible with most of the
words overhead.  But there was the reference to David,
and there was the known affection of the Colonel for
his wife, to weigh against it, to say nothing of the
tragic intrusion of this other man, which might, of
course, be entirely disconnected with what had gone
before.  It was not easy to pick one's steps, but, on
the whole, I was inclined to dismiss the idea that
there had been anything between the Colonel and Miss
Morrison, but more than ever convinced that the young
lady held the clue as to what it was which had turned
Mrs. Barclay to hatred of her husband.  I took the
obvious course, therefore, of calling upon Miss M., of
explaining to her that I was perfectly certain that
she held the facts in her possession, and of assuring
her that her friend, Mrs. Barclay, might find herself
in the dock upon a capital charge unless the matter
were cleared up.

"Miss Morrison is a little ethereal slip of a girl,
with timid eyes and blond hair, but I found her by no
means wanting in shrewdness and common-sense.  She sat
thinking for some time after I had spoken, and then,
turning to me with a brisk air of resolution, she
broke into a remarkable statement which I will
condense for your benefit.

"'I promised my friend that I would say nothing of the
matter, and a promise is a promise,' said she; 'but if
I can really help her when so serious a charge is laid
against her, and when her own mouth, poor darling, is
closed by illness, then I think I am absolved from my
promise.  I will tell you exactly what happened upon
Monday evening.

"'We were returning from the Watt Street Mission about
a quarter to nine o'clock.  On our way we had to pass
through Hudson Street, which is a very quiet
thoroughfare.  There is only one lamp in it, upon the
left-hand side, and as we approached this lamp I saw a
man coming towards us with his back very bent, and
something like a box slung over one of his shoulders. 
He appeared to be deformed, for he carried his head
low and walked with his knees bent.  We were passing
him when he raised his face to look at us in the
circle of light thrown by the lamp, and as he did so
he stopped and screamed out in a dreadful voice, "My
God, it's Nancy!"  Mrs. Barclay turned as white as
death, and would have fallen down had the
dreadful-looking creature not caught hold of her.  I
was going to call for the police, but she, to my
surprise, spoke quite civilly to the fellow.

"'"I thought you had been dead this thirty years,
Henry," said she, in a shaking voice.

"'"So I have," said he, and it was awful to hear the
tones that he said it in.  He had a very dark,
fearsome face, and a gleam in his eyes that comes back
to me in my dreams.  His hair and whiskers were shot
with gray, and his face was all crinkled and puckered
like a withered apple.

"'"Just walk on a little way, dear," said Mrs.
Barclay; "I want to have a word with this man.  There
is nothing to be afraid of."  She tried to speak
boldly, but she was still deadly pale and could hardly
get her words out for the trembling of her lips.

"'I did as she asked me, and they talked together for
a few minutes.  Then she came down the street with her
eyes blazing, and I saw the crippled wretch standing
by the lamp-post and shaking his clenched fists in the
air as if he were mad with rage.  She never said a
word until we were at the door here, when she took me
by the hand and begged me to tell no one what had
happened.

"'"It's an old acquaintance of mine who has come down
in the world," said she.  When I promised her I would
say nothing she kissed me, and I have never seen her
since.  I have told you now the whole truth, and if I
withheld it from the police it is because I did not
realize then the danger in which my dear friend stood. 
I know that it can only be to her advantage that
everything should be known.'

"There was her statement, Watson, and to me, as you
can imagine, it was like a light on a dark night. 
Everything which had been disconnected before began at
once to assume its true place, and I had a shadowy
presentiment of the whole sequence of events.  My next
step obviously was to find the man who had produced
such a remarkable impression upon Mrs. Barclay.  If he
were still in Aldershot it should not be a very
difficult matter.  There are not such a very great
number of civilians, and a deformed man was sure to
have attracted attention.  I spent a day in the
search, and by evening--this very evening, Watson--I
had run him down.  The man's name is Henry Wood, and
he lives in lodgings in this same street in which the
ladies met him.  He has only been five days in the
place.  In the character of a registration-agent I had
a most interesting gossip with his landlady.  The man
is by trade a conjurer and performer, going round the
canteens after nightfall, and giving a little
entertainment at each.  He carries some creature about
with him in that box; about which the landlady seemed
to be in considerable trepidation, for she had never
seen an animal like it.  He uses it in some of his
tricks according to her account.  So much the woman
was able to tell me, and also that it was a wonder the
man lived, seeing how twisted he was, and that he
spoke in a strange tongue sometimes, and that for the
last two nights she had heard him groaning and weeping
in his bedroom.  He was all right, as far as money
went, but in his deposit he had given her what looked
like a bad florin.  She showed it to me, Watson, and
it was an Indian rupee.

"So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand
and why it is I want you.  It is perfectly plain that
after the ladies parted from this man he followed them
at a distance, that he saw the quarrel between husband
and wife through the window, that he rushed in, and
that the creature which he carried in his box got
loose.  That is all very certain.  But he is the only
person in this world who can tell us exactly what
happened in that room."

"And you intend to ask him?"

"Most certainly--but in the presence of a witness."

"And I am the witness?"

"If you will be so good.  If he can clear the matter
up, well and good.  If he refuses, we have no
alternative but to apply for a warrant."

"But how do you know he'll be there when we return?"

"You may be sure that I took some precautions.  I have
one of my Baker Street boys mounting guard over him
who would stick to him like a burr, go where he might. 
We shall find him in Hudson Street to-morrow, Watson,
and meanwhile I should be the criminal myself if I
kept you out of bed any longer."

It was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of
the tragedy, and, under my companion's guidance, we
made our way at once to Hudson Street.  In spite of
his capacity for concealing his emotions, I could
easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed
excitement, while I was myself tingling with that
half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which I
invariably experienced when I associated myself with
him in his investigations.

"This is the street," said he, as we turned into a
short thoroughfare lined with plain two-storied brick
houses.  "Ah, here is Simpson to report."

"He's in all right, Mr. Holmes," cried a small street
Arab, running up to us.

"Good, Simpson!" said Holmes, patting him on the head. 
"Come along, Watson.  This is the house."  He sent in
his card with a message that he had come on important
business, and a moment later we were face to face with
the man whom we had come to see.  In spite of the warm
weather he was crouching over a fire, and the little
room was like an oven.  The man sat all twisted and
huddled in his chair in a way which gave an
indescribably impression of deformity; but the face
which he turned towards us, though worn and swarthy,
must at some time have been remarkable for its beauty. 
He looked suspiciously at us now out of yellow-shot,
bilious eyes, and, without speaking or rising, he
waved towards two chairs.

"Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe," said
Holmes, affably.  "I've come over this little matter
of Colonel Barclay's death."

"What should I know about that?"

"That's what I want to ascertain.  You know, I
suppose, that unless the matter is cleared up, Mrs.
Barclay, who is an old friend of yours, will in all
probability be tried for murder."

The man gave a violent start.

"I don't know who you are," he cried, "nor how you
come to know what you do know, but will you swear that
this is true that you tell me?"

"Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her
senses to arrest her."

"My God!  Are you in the police yourself?"

"No."

"What business is it of yours, then?"

"It's every man's business to see justice done."

"You can take my word that she is innocent."

"Then you are guilty."

"No, I am not."

"Who killed Colonel James Barclay, then?"

"It was a just providence that killed him.  But, mind
you this, that if I had knocked his brains out, as it
was in my heart to do, he would have had no more than
his due from my hands.  If his own guilty conscience
had not struck him down it is likely enough that I
might have had his blood upon my soul.  You want me to
tell the story.  Well, I don't know why I shouldn't,
for there's no cause for me to be ashamed of it.

"It was in this way, sir.  You see me now with my back
like a camel and by ribs all awry, but there was a
time when Corporal Henry Wood was the smartest man in
the 117th foot.  We were in India then, in
cantonments, at a place we'll call Bhurtee.  Barclay,
who died the other day, was sergeant in the same
company as myself, and the belle of the regiment, ay,
and the finest girl that ever had the breath of life
between her lips, was Nancy Devoy, the daughter of the
color-sergeant.  There were two men that loved her,
and one that she loved, and you'll smile when you look
at this poor thing huddled before the fire, and hear
me say that it was for my good looks that she loved
me.

"Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon
her marrying Barclay.  I was a harum-scarum, reckless
lad, and he had had an education, and was already
marked for the sword-belt.  But the girl held true to
me, and it seemed that I would have had her when the
Mutiny broke out, and all hell was loose in the
country.

"We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment of us with
half a battery of artillery, a company of Sikhs, and a
lot of civilians and women-folk.  There were ten
thousand rebels round us, and they were as keen as a
set of terriers round a rat-cage.  About the second
week of it our water gave out, and it was a question
whether we could communicate with General Neill's
column, which was moving up country.  It was our only
chance, for we could not hope to fight our way out
with all the women and children, so I volunteered to
go out and to warn General Neill of our danger.  My
offer was accepted, and I talked it over with Sergeant
Barclay, who was supposed to know the ground better
than any other man, and who drew up a route by which I
might get through the rebel lines.  At ten o'clock the
same night I started off upon my journey.  There were
a thousand lives to save, but it was of only one that
I was thinking when I dropped over the wall that
night.

"My way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we
hoped would screen me from the enemy's sentries; but
as I crept round the corner of it I walked right into
six of them, who were crouching down in the dark
waiting for me.  In an instant I was stunned with a
blow and bound hand and foot.  But the real blow was
to my heart and not to my head, for as I came to and
listened to as much as I could understand of their
talk, I heard enough to tell me that my comrade, the
very man who had arranged the way that I was to take,
had betrayed me by means of a native servant into the
hands of the enemy.

"Well, there's no need for me to dwell on that part of
it.  You know now what James Barclay was capable of. 
Bhurtee was relieved by Neill next day, but the rebels
took me away with them in their retreat, and it was
many a long year before ever I saw a white face again. 
I was tortured and tried to get away, and was captured
and tortured again.  You can see for yourselves the
state in which I was left.  Some of them that fled
into Nepaul took me with them, and then afterwards I
was up past Darjeeling.  The hill-folk up there
murdered the rebels who had me, and I became their
slave for a time until I escaped; but instead of going
south I had to go north, until I found myself among
the Afghans.  There I wandered about for many a year,
and at last came back to the Punjab, where I lived
mostly among the natives and picked up a living by the
conjuring tricks that I had learned.  What use was it
for me, a wretched cripple, to go back to England or
to make myself known to my old comrades?  Even my wish
for revenge would not make me do that.  I had rather
that Nancy and my old pals should think of Harry Wood
as having died with a straight back, than see him
living and crawling with a stick like a chimpanzee. 
They never doubted that I was dead, and I meant that
they never should.  I heard that Barclay had married
Nancy, and that he was rising rapidly in the regiment,
but even that did not make me speak.

"But when one gets old one has a longing for home. 
For years I've been dreaming of the bright green
fields and the hedges of England.  At last I
determined to see them before I died.  I saved enough
to bring me across, and then I came here where the
soldiers are, for I know their ways and how to amuse
them and so earn enough to keep me."

"Your narrative is most interesting," said Sherlock
Holmes.  "I have already heard of your meeting with
Mrs. Barclay, and your mutual recognition.  You then,
as I understand, followed her home and saw through the
window an altercation between her husband and her, in
which she doubtless cast his conduct to you in his
teeth.  Your own feelings overcame you, and you ran
across the lawn and broke in upon them."

"I did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as I
have never seen a man look before, and over he went
with his head on the fender.  But he was dead before
he fell.  I read death on his face as plain as I can
read that text over the fire.  The bare sight of me
was like a bullet through his guilty heart."

"And then?"

"Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the key of the
door from her hand, intending to unlock it and get
help.  But as I was doing it it seemed to me better to
leave it alone and get away, for the thing might look
black against me, and any way my secret would be out
if I were taken.  In my haste I thrust the key into my
pocket, and dropped my stick while I was chasing
Teddy, who had run up the curtain.  When I got him
into his box, from which he had slipped, I was off as
fast as I could run."

"Who's Teddy?" asked Holmes.

The man leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind
of hutch in the corner.  In an instant out there
slipped a beautiful reddish-brown creature, thin and
lithe, with the legs of a stoat, a long, thin nose,
and a pair of the finest red eyes that ever I saw in
an animal's head.

"It's a mongoose," I cried.

"Well, some call them that, and some call them
ichneumon," said the man.  "Snake-catcher is what I
call them, and Teddy is amazing quick on cobras.  I
have one here without the fangs, and Teddy catches it
every night to please the folk in the canteen.

"Any other point, sir?"

"Well, we may have to apply to you again if Mrs.
Barclay should prove to be in serious trouble."

"In that case, of course, I'd come forward."

"But if not, there is no object in raking up this
scandal against a dead man, foully as he has acted. 
You have at least the satisfaction of knowing that for
thirty years of his life his conscience bitterly
reproached him for this wicked deed.  Ah, there goes
Major Murphy on the other side of the street. 
Good-by, Wood.  I want to learn if anything has
happened since yesterday."

We were in time to overtake the major before he
reached the corner.

"Ah, Holmes," he said:  "I suppose you have heard that
all this fuss has come to nothing?"

"What then?"

"The inquest is just over.  The medical evidence
showed conclusively that death was due to apoplexy. 
You see it was quite a simple case after all."

"Oh, remarkably superficial," said Holmes, smiling. 
"Come, Watson, I don't think we shall be wanted in
Aldershot any more."

"There's one thing," said I, as we walked down to the
station.  "If the husband's name was James, and the
other was Henry, what was this talk about David?"

"That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me
the whole story had I been the ideal reasoner which
you are so fond of depicting.  It was evidently a term
of reproach."

"Of reproach?"

"Yes; David strayed a little occasionally, you know,
and on one occasion in the same direction as Sergeant
James Barclay.  You remember the small affair of Uriah
and Bathsheba?  My biblical knowledge is a trifle
rusty, I fear, but you will find the story in the
first or second of Samuel."



Adventure VIII


The Resident Patient


Glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of
Memoirs with which I have endeavored to illustrate a
few of the mental peculiarities of my friend Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty
which I have experienced in picking out examples which
shall in every way answer my purpose.  For in those
cases in which Holmes has performed some tour de force
of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the
value of his peculiar methods of investigation, the
facts themselves have often been so slight or so
commonplace that I could not feel justified in laying
them before the public.  On the other hand, it has
frequently happened that he has been concerned in some
research where the facts have been of the most
remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share
which he has himself taken in determining their causes
has been less pronounced than I, as his biographer,
could wish.  The small matter which I have chronicled
under the heading of "A Study in Scarlet," and that
other later one connected with the loss of the Gloria
Scott, may serve as examples of this Scylla and
Charybdis which are forever threatening the historian. 
It may be that in the business of which I am now about
to write the part which my friend played is not
sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole train of
circumstances is so remarkable that I cannot bring
myself to omit it entirely from this series.

It had been a close, rainy day in October.  Our blinds
were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa,
reading and re-reading a letter which he had received
by the morning post.  For myself, my term of service
in India had trained me to stand heat better than
cold, and a thermometer of 90 was no hardship.  But
the paper was uninteresting.  Parliament had risen. 
Everybody  was out of town, and I yearned for the
glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. 
A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my
holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country
nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. 
He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of
people, with his filaments stretching out and running
through them, responsive to every little rumor or
suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of Nature
found no place among his many gifts, and his only
change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer
of the town to track down his brother of the country.

Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation,
I had tossed aside the barren paper, and leaning back
in my chair, I fell into a brown study.  Suddenly my
companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts.

"You are right, Watson," said he.  "It does seem a
very preposterous way of settling a dispute."

"Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then, suddenly
realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my
soul, I sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank
amazement.

"What is this, Holmes?" I cried.  "This is beyond
anything which I could have imagined."

He laughed heartily at my perplexity.

"You remember," said he, "that some little time ago,
when I read you the passage in one of Poe's sketches,
in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thought
of his companion, you were inclined to treat the
matter as a mere tour de force of the author.  On my
remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing
the same thing you expressed incredulity."

"Oh, no!"

"Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but
certainly with your eyebrows.  So when I saw you throw
down your paper and enter upon a train of thought, I
was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it
off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof
that I had been in rapport with you."

But I was still far from satisfied.  "In the example
which you read to me," said I, "the reasoner drew his
conclusions from the actions of the man whom he
observed.  If I remember right, he stumbled over a
heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. 
But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what
clues can I have given you?"

"You do yourself an injustice.  The features are given
to man as the means by which he shall express his
emotions, and yours are faithful servants."

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

"Your features, and especially your eyes.  Perhaps you
cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?"

"No, I cannot."

"Then I will tell you.  After throwing down your
paper, which was the action which drew my attention to
you, you sat for half a minute with a vacant
expression.  Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your
newly-framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by
the alteration in your face that a train of thought
had been started.  But it did not lead very far.  Your
eyes turned across to the unframed portrait of Henry
Ward Beecher which stands upon the top of your books. 
You then glanced up at the wall, and of course your
meaning was obvious.  You were thinking that if the
portrait were framed it would just cover that bare
space and correspond with Gordon's picture over
there."

"You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.

"So far I could hardly have gone astray.  But now your
thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard
across as if you were studying the character in his
features.  Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you
continued to look across, and your face was
thoughtful.  You were recalling the incidents of
Beecher's career.  I was well aware that you could not
do this without thinking of the mission which he
undertook on behalf of the North at the time of the
Civil War, for I remember you expressing your
passionate indignation at the way in which he was
received by the more turbulent of our people.  You
felt so strongly about it that I knew you could not
think of Beecher without thinking of that also.  When
a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the
picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to
the Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set,
your eyes sparkled, and your hands clinched, I was
positive that you were indeed thinking of the
gallantry which was shown by both sides in that
desperate struggle.  But then, again, your face grew
sadder; you shook your head.  You were dwelling upon
the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. 
Your hand stole towards your own old wound, and a
smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that the
ridiculous side of this method of settling
international questions had forced itself upon your
mind.  At this point I agreed with you that it was
preposterous, and was glad to find that all my
deductions had been correct."

"Absolutely!" said I.  "And now that you have
explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as
before."

"It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure
you.  I should not have intruded it upon your
attention had you not shown some incredulity the other
day.  But the evening has brought a breeze with it. 
What do you say to a ramble through London?"

I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly
acquiesced.  For three hours we strolled about
together, watching the ever-changing kaleidoscope of
life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet Street and the
Strand.  His characteristic talk, with its keen
observance of detail and subtle power of inference
held me amused and enthralled.  It was ten o'clock
before we reached Baker Street again.  A brougham was
waiting at our door.

"Hum!  A doctor's--general practitioner, I perceive,"
said Holmes.  "Not been long in practice, but has had
a good deal to do.  Come to consult us, I fancy! 
Lucky we came back!"

I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to
be able to follow his reasoning, and to see that the
nature and state of the various medical instruments in
the wicker basket which hung in the lamplight inside
the brougham had given him the data for his swift
deduction.  The light in our window above showed that
this late visit was indeed intended for us.  With some
curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico
to us at such an hour, I followed Holmes into our
sanctum.

A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up
from a chair by the fire as we entered.  His age may
not have been more than three or four and thirty, but
his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a
life which has sapped his strength and robbed him of
his youth.  His manner was nervous and shy, like that
of a sensitive gentleman, and the thin white hand
which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that
of an artist rather than of a surgeon.  His dress was
quiet and sombre--a black frock-coat, dark trousers,
and a touch of color about his necktie.

"Good-evening, doctor," said Holmes, cheerily.  "I am
glad to see that you have only been waiting a very few
minutes."

"You spoke to my coachman, then?"

"No, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. 
Pray resume your seat and let me know how I can serve
you."

"My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor,
"and I live at 403 Brook Street."

"Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure
nervous lesions?" I asked.

His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that
his work was known to me.

"I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was
quite dead," said he.  "My publishers gave me a most
discouraging account of its sale.  You are yourself, I
presume, a medical man?"

"A retired army surgeon."

"My own hobby has always been nervous disease.  I
should wish to make it an absolute specialty, but, of
course, a man must take what he can get at first. 
This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, and I quite appreciate how valuable your time
is.  The fact is that a very singular train of events
has occurred recently at my house in Brook Street, and
to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was
quite impossible for me to wait another hour before
asking for your advice and assistance."

Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe.  "You are
very welcome to both," said he.  "Pray let me have a
detailed account of what the circumstances are which
have disturbed you."

"One or two of them are so trivial," said Dr.
Trevelyan, "that really I am almost ashamed to mention
them.  But the matter is so inexplicable, and the
recent turn which it has taken is so elaborate, that I
shall lay it all before you, and you shall judge what
is essential and what is not.

"I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my
own college career.  I am a London University man, you
know, and I am sure that your will not think that I am
unduly singing my own praises if I say that my student
career was considered by my professors to be a very
promising one.  After I had graduated I continued to
devote myself to research, occupying a minor position
in King's College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough
to excite considerable interest by my research into
the pathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the
Bruce Pinkerton prize and medal by the monograph on
nervous lesions to which your friend has just alluded. 
I should not go too far if I were to say that there
was a general impression at that time that a
distinguished career lay before me.

"But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of
capital.  As you will readily understand, a specialist
who aims high is compelled to start in one of a dozen
streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, all of which
entail enormous rents and furnishing expenses. 
Besides this preliminary outlay, he must be prepared
to keep himself for some years, and to hire a
presentable carriage and horse.  To do this was quite
beyond my power, and I could only hope that by economy
I might in ten years' time save enough to enable me to
put up my plate.  Suddenly, however, an unexpected
incident opened up quite a new prospect to me.

"This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of
Blessington, who was a complete stranger to me.  He
came up to my room one morning, and plunged into
business in an instant.

"'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so
distinguished a career and won a great prize lately?'
said he.

"I bowed.

"'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find
it to your interest to do so.  You have all the
cleverness which makes a successful man.  Have you the
tact?'

"I could not help smiling at the abruptness of the
question.

"'I trust that I have my share,' I said.

"'Any bad habits?  Not drawn towards drink, eh?'

"'Really, sir!' I cried.

"'Quite right!  That's all right!  But I was bound to
ask.  With all these qualities, why are you not in
practice?'

"I shrugged my shoulders.

"'Come, come!' said he, in his bustling way.  'It's
the old story.  More in your brains than in your
pocket, eh?  What would you say if I were to start you
in Brook Street?'

"I stared at him in astonishment.

"'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 
'I'll be perfectly frank with you, and if it suits you
it will suit me very well.  I have a few thousands to
invest, d'ye see, and I think I'll sink them in you.'

"'But why?' I gasped.

"'Well, it's just like any other speculation, and
safer than most.'

"'What am I to do, then?'

"'I'll tell you.  I'll take the house, furnish it, pay
the maids, and run the whole place.  All you have to
do is just to wear out your chair in the
consulting-room.  I'll let you have pocket-money and
everything.  Then you hand over to me three quarters
of what you earn, and you keep the other quarter for
yourself.'

"This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which
the man Blessington approached me.  I won't weary you
with the account of how we bargained and negotiated. 
It ended in my moving into the house next Lady-day,
and starting in practice on very much the same
conditions as he had suggested.  He came himself to
live with me in the character of a resident patient. 
His heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant
medical supervision.  He turned the two best rooms of
the first floor into a sitting-room and bedroom for
himself.  He was a man of singular habits, shunning
company and very seldom going out.  His life was
irregular, but in one respect he was regularity
itself.  Every evening, at the same hour, he walked
into the consulting-room, examined the books, put down
five and three-pence for every guinea that I had
earned, and carried the rest off to the strong-box in
his own room.

"I may say with confidence that he never had occasion
to regret his speculation.  From the first it was a
success.  A few good cases and the reputation which I
had won in the hospital brought me rapidly to the
front, and during the last few years I have made him a
rich man.

"So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my
relations with Mr. Blessington.  It only remains for
me now to tell you what has occurred to bring me here
to-night.

"Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as
it seemed to me, a state of considerable agitation. 
He spoke of some burglary which, he said, had been
committed in the West End, and he appeared, I
remember, to be quite unnecessarily excited about it,
declaring that a day should not pass before we should
add stronger bolts to our windows and doors.  For a
week he continued to be in a peculiar state of
restlessness, peering continually out of the windows,
and ceasing to take the short walk which had usually
been the prelude to his dinner.  From his manner it
struck me that he was in mortal dread of something or
somebody, but when I questioned him upon the point he
became so offensive that I was compelled to drop the
subject.  Gradually, as time passed, his fears
appeared to die away, and he had renewed his former
habits, when a fresh event reduced him to the pitiable
state of prostration in which he now lies.

"What happened was this.  Two days ago I received the
letter which I now read to you.  Neither address nor
date is attached to it.

"'A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England,'
it runs, 'would be glad to avail himself of the
professional assistance of Dr. Percy Trevelyan.  He
has been for some years a victim to cataleptic
attacks, on which, as is well known, Dr. Trevelyan is
an authority.  He proposes to call at about quarter
past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Trevelyan will make
it convenient to be at home.'

"This letter interested me deeply, because the chief
difficulty in the study of catalepsy is the rareness
of the disease.  You may believe, then, that I was in
my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the
page showed in the patient.

"He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and
commonplace--by no means the conception one forms of
a Russian nobleman.  I was much more struck by the
appearance of his companion.  This was a tall young
man, surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce face,
and the limbs and chest of a Hercules.  He had his
hand under the other's arm as they entered, and helped
him to a chair with a tenderness which one would
hardly have expected from his appearance.

"'You will excuse my coming in, doctor,' said he to
me, speaking English with a slight lisp.  'This is my
father, and his health is a matter of the most
overwhelming importance to me.'

"I was touched by this filial anxiety.  'You would,
perhaps, care to remain during the consultation?' said
I.

"'Not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of
horror.  'It is more painful to me than I can express. 
If I were to see my father in one of these dreadful
seizures I am convinced that I should never survive
it.  My own nervous system is an exceptionally
sensitive one.  With your permission, I will remain in
the waiting-room while you go into my father's case.'

"To this, of course, I assented, and the young man
withdrew.  The patient and I then plunged into a
discussion of his case, of which I took exhaustive
notes.  He was not remarkable for intelligence, and
his answers were frequently obscure, which I
attributed to his limited acquaintance with our
language.  Suddenly, however, as I sat writing, he
ceased to give any answer at all to my inquiries, and
on my turning towards him I was shocked to see that he
was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring at me
with a perfectly blank and rigid face.  He was again
in the grip of his mysterious malady.

"My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of
pity and horror.  My second, I fear, was rather one of
professional satisfaction.  I made notes of my
patient's pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity
of his muscles, and examined his reflexes.  There was
nothing markedly abnormal in any of these conditions,
which harmonized with my former experiences.  I had
obtained good results in such cases by the inhalation
of nitrite of amyl, and the present seemed an
admirable opportunity of testing its virtues.  The
bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so leaving my
patient seated in his chair, I ran down to get it. 
There was some little delay in finding it--five
minutes, let us say--and then I returned.  Imagine my
amazement to find the room empty and the patient gone.

"Of course, my first act was to run into the
waiting-room.  The son had gone also.  The hall door
had been closed, but not shut.  My page who admits
patients is a new boy and by no means quick.  He waits
downstairs, and runs up to show patients out when I
ring the consulting-room bell.  He had heard nothing,
and the affair remained a complete mystery.  Mr.
Blessington came in from his walk shortly afterwards,
but I did not say anything to him upon the subject,
for, to tell the truth, I have got in the way of late
of holding as little communication with him as
possible.

"Well, I never thought that I should see anything more
of the Russian and his son, so you can imagine my
amazement when, at the very same hour this evening,
they both came marching into my consulting-room, just
as they had done before.

"'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my
abrupt departure yesterday, doctor,' said my patient.

"'I confess that I was very much surprised at it,'
said I.

"'Well, the fact is,' he remarked, 'that when I
recover from these attacks my mind is always very
clouded as to all that has gone before.  I woke up in
a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made my way
out into the street in a sort of dazed way when you
were absent.'

"'And I,' said the son, 'seeing my father pass the
door of the waiting-room, naturally thought that the
consultation had come to an end.  It was not until we
had reached home that I began to realize the true
state of affairs.'

"'Well,' said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done
except that you puzzled me terribly; so if you, sir,
would kindly step into the waiting-room I shall be
happy to continue our consultation which was brought
to so abrupt an ending.'

"'For half an hour or so I discussed that old
gentleman's symptoms with him, and then, having
prescribed for him, I saw him go off upon the arm of
his son.

"I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose
this hour of the day for his exercise.  He came in
shortly afterwards and passed upstairs.  An instant
later I heard him running down, and he burst into my
consulting-room like a man who is mad with panic.

"'Who has been in my room?' he cried.

"'No one,' said I.

"'It's a lie! He yelled.  'Come up and look!'

"I passed over the grossness of his language, as he
seemed half out of his mind with fear.  When I went
upstairs with him he pointed to several footprints
upon the light carpet.

"'D'you mean to say those are mine?' he cried.

"They were certainly very much larger than any which
he could have made, and were evidently quite fresh. 
It rained hard this afternoon, as you know, and my
patients were the only people who called.  It must
have been the case, then, that the man in the
waiting-room had, for some unknown reason, while I was
busy with the other, ascended to the room of my
resident patient.  Nothing had been touched or taken,
but there were the footprints to prove that the
intrusion was an undoubted fact.

"Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter
than I should have thought possible, though of course
it was enough to disturb anybody's peace of mind.  He
actually sat crying in an arm-chair, and I could
hardly get him to speak coherently.  It was his
suggestion that I should come round to you, and of
course I at once saw the propriety of it, for
certainly the incident is a very singular one, though
he appears to completely overrate its importance.  If
you would only come back with me in my brougham, you
would at least be able to soothe him, though I can
hardly hope that you will be able to explain this
remarkable occurrence."

Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative
with an intentness which showed me that his interest
was keenly aroused.  His face was as impassive as
ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily over his
eyes, and his smoke had curled up more thickly from
his pipe to emphasize each curious episode in the
doctor's tale.  As our visitor concluded, Holmes
sprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his
own from the table, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the
door.  Within a quarter of an hour we had been dropped
at the door of the physician's residence in Brook
Street, one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which
one associates with a West-End practice.  A small page
admitted us, and we began at once to ascend the broad,
well-carpeted stair.

But a singular interruption brought us to a
standstill.  The light at the top was suddenly whisked
out, and from the darkness came a reedy, quivering
voice.

"I have a pistol," it cried.  "I give you my word that
I'll fire if you come any nearer."

"This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington," cried
Dr. Trevelyan.

"Oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with a
great heave of relief.  "But those other gentlemen,
are they what they pretend to be?"

We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the
darkness.

"Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. 
"You can come up, and I am sorry if my precautions
have annoyed you."

He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before
us a singular-looking man, whose appearance, as well
as his voice, testified to his jangled nerves.  He was
very fat, but had apparently at some time been much
fatter, so that the skin hung about his face in loose
pouches, like the cheeks of a blood-hound.  He was of
a sickly color, and his thin, sandy hair seemed to
bristle up with the intensity of his emotion.  In his
hand he held a pistol, but he thrust it into his
pocket as we advanced.

"Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he.  "I am sure I am
very much obliged to you for coming round.  No one
ever needed your advice more than I do.  I suppose
that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this most
unwarrantable intrusion into my rooms."

"Quite so," said Holmes.  "Who are these two men Mr.
Blessington, and why do they wish to molest you?"

"Well, well," said the resident patient, in a nervous
fashion, "of course it is hard to say that.  You can
hardly expect me to answer that, Mr. Holmes."

"Do you mean that you don't know?"

"Come in here, if you please.  Just have the kindness
to step in here."

He led the way into his bedroom, which was large and
comfortably furnished.

"You see that," said he, pointing to a big black box
at the end of his bed.  "I have never been a very rich
man, Mr. Holmes--never made but one investment in my
life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tell you.  But I don't
believe in bankers.  I would never trust a banker, Mr.
Holmes.  Between ourselves, what little I have is in
that box, so you can understand what it means to me
when unknown people force themselves into my rooms."

Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way
and shook his head.

"I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive
me," said he.

"But I have told you everything."

Holmes turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. 
"Good-night, Dr. Trevelyan," said he.

"And no advice for me?" cried Blessington, in a
breaking voice.

"My advice to your, sir, is to speak the truth."

A minute later we were in the street and walking for
home.  We had crossed Oxford Street and were half way
down Harley Street before I could get a word from my
companion.

"Sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand,
Watson," he said at last.  "It is an interesting case,
too, at the bottom of it."

"I can make little of it," I confessed.

"Well, it is quite evident that there are two
men--more, perhaps, but at least two--who are
determined for some reason to get at this fellow
Blessington.  I have no doubt in my mind that both on
the first and on the second occasion that young man
penetrated to Blessington's room, while his
confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor
from interfering."

"And the catalepsy?"

"A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should
hardly dare to hint as much to our specialist.  It is
a very easy complaint to imitate.  I have done it
myself."

"And then?"

"By the purest chance Blessington was out on each
occasion.  Their reason for choosing so unusual an
hour for a consultation was obviously to insure that
there should be no other patient in the waiting-room. 
It just happened, however, that this hour coincided
with Blessington's constitutional, which seems to show
that they were not very well acquainted with his daily
routine.  Of course, if they had been merely after
plunder they would at least have made some attempt to
search for it.  Besides, I can read in a man's eye
when it is his own skin that he is frightened for.  It
is inconceivable that this fellow could have made two
such vindictive enemies as these appear to be without
knowing of it.  I hold it, therefore, to be certain
that he does know who these men are, and that for
reasons of his own he suppresses it.  It is just
possible that to-morrow may find him in a more
communicative mood."

"Is there not one alternative," I suggested,
"grotesquely improbably, no doubt, but still just
conceivable?  Might the whole story of the cataleptic
Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr.
Trevelyan's, who has, for his own purposes, been in
Blessington's rooms?"

I saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an amused smile
at this brilliant departure of mine.

"My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first
solutions which occurred to me, but I was soon able to
corroborate the doctor's tale.  This young man has
left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it quite
superfluous for me to ask to see those which he had
made in the room.  When I tell you that his shoes were
square-toed instead of being pointed like
Blessington's, and were quite an inch and a third
longer than the doctor's, you will acknowledge that
there can be no doubt as to his individuality.  But we
may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if we do
not hear something further from Brook Street in the
morning."


Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in
a dramatic fashion.  At half-past seven next morning,
in the first glimmer of daylight, I found him standing
by my bedside in his dressing-gown.

"There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson," said he.

"What's the matter, then?"

"The Brook Street business."

"Any fresh news?"

"Tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up the
blind.  "Look at this--a sheet from a note-book, with
'For God's sake come at once--P. T.,' scrawled upon it
in pencil.  Our friend, the doctor, was hard put to it
when he wrote this.  Come along, my dear fellow, for
it's an urgent call."

In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the
physician's house.  He came running out to meet us
with a face of horror.

"Oh, such a business!" he cried, with his hands to his
temples.

"What then?"

"Blessington has committed suicide!"

Holmes whistled.

"Yes, he hanged himself during the night."

We had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into
what was evidently his waiting-room.

"I really hardly know what I am doing," he cried. 
"The police are already upstairs.  It has shaken me
most dreadfully."

"When did you find it out?"

"He has a cup of tea taken in to him early every
morning.  When the maid entered, about seven, there
the unfortunate fellow was hanging in the middle of
the room.  He had tied his cord to the hook on which
the heavy lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off
from the top of the very box that he showed us
yesterday."

Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought.

"With your permission," said he at last, "I should
like to go upstairs and look into the matter."

We both ascended, followed by the doctor.

It was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the
bedroom door.  I have spoken of the impression of
flabbiness which this man Blessington conveyed.  As he
dangled from the hook it was exaggerated and
intensified until he was scarce human in his
appearance.  The neck was drawn out like a plucked
chicken's, making the rest of him seem the more obese
and unnatural by the contrast.  He was clad only in
his long night-dress, and his swollen ankles and
ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath it. 
Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who
was taking notes in a pocket-book.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he, heartily, as my friend
entered, "I am delighted to see you."

"Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes; "you won't
think me an intruder, I am sure.  Have you heard of
the events which led up to this affair?"

"Yes, I heard something of them."

"Have you formed any opinion?"

"As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of
his senses by fright.  The bed has been well slept in,
you see.  There's his impression deep enough.  It's
about five in the morning, you know, that suicides are
most common.  That would be about his time for hanging
himself.  It seems to have been a very deliberate
affair."

"I should say that he has been dead about three hours,
judging by the rigidity of the muscles," said I.

"Noticed anything peculiar about the room?" asked
Holmes.

"Found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand
stand.  Seems to have smoked heavily during the night,
too.  Here are four cigar-ends that I picked out of
the fireplace."

"Hum!" said Holmes, "have you got his cigar-holder?"

"No, I have seen none."

"His cigar-case, then?"

"Yes, it was in his coat-pocket."

Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it
contained.

"Oh, this is an Havana, and these others are cigars of
the peculiar sort which are imported by the Dutch from
their East Indian colonies.  They are usually wrapped
in straw, you know, and are thinner for their length
than any other brand."  He picked up the four ends and
examined them with his pocket-lens.

"Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two
without," said he.  "Two have been cut by a not very
sharp knife, and two have had the ends bitten off by a
set of excellent teeth.  This is no suicide, Mr.
Lanner.  It is a very deeply planned and cold-blooded
murder."

"Impossible!" cried the inspector.

"And why?"

"Why should any one murder a man in so clumsy a
fashion as by hanging him?"

"That is what we have to find out."

"How could they get in?"

"Through the front door."

"It was barred in the morning."

"Then it was barred after them."

"How do you know?"

"I saw their traces.  Excuse me a moment, and I may be
able to give you some further information about it."

He went over to the door, and turning the lock he
examined it in his methodical way.  Then he took out
the key, which was on the inside, and inspected that
also.  The bed, the carpet, the chairs the
mantelpiece, the dead body, and the rope were each in
turn examined, until at last he professed himself
satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspector
cut down the wretched object and laid it reverently
under a sheet.

"How about this rope?" he asked.

"It is cut off this," said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a
large coil from under the bed.  "He was morbidly
nervous of fire, and always kept this beside him, so
that he might escape by the window in case the stairs
were burning."

"That must have saved them trouble," said Holmes,
thoughtfully.  "Yes, the actual facts are very plain,
and I shall be surprised if by the afternoon I cannot
give you the reasons for them as well.  I will take
this photograph of Blessington, which I see upon the
mantelpiece, as it may help me in my inquiries."

"But you have told us nothing!" cried the doctor.

"Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of
events," said Holmes.  "There were three of them in
it:  the young man, the old man, and a third, to whose
identity I have no clue.  The first two, I need hardly
remark, are the same who masqueraded as the Russian
count and his son, so we can give a very full
description of them.  They were admitted by a
confederate inside the house.  If I might offer you a
word of advice, Inspector, it would be to arrest the
page, who, as I understand, has only recently come
into your service, Doctor."

"The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan;
"the maid and the cook have just been searching for
him."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"He has played a not unimportant part in this drama,"
said he.  "The three men having ascended the stairs,
which they did on tiptoe, the elder man first, the
younger man second, and the unknown man in the rear--"

"My dear Holmes!" I ejaculated.

"Oh, there could be no question as to the
superimposing of the footmarks.  I had the advantage
of learning which was which last night.  They
ascended, then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the door of
which they found to be locked.  With the help of a
wire, however, they forced round the key.  Even
without the lens you will perceive, by the scratches
on this ward, where the pressure was applied.

"On entering the room their first proceeding must have
been to gag Mr. Blessington.  He may have been asleep,
or he may have been so paralyzed with terror as to
have been unable to cry out.  These walls are thick,
and it is conceivable that his shriek, if he had time
to utter one, was unheard.

"Having secured him, it is evident to me that a
consultation of some sort was held.  Probably it was
something in the nature of a judicial proceeding.  It
must have lasted for some time, for it was then that
these cigars were smoked.  The older man sat in that
wicker chair; it was he who used the cigar-holder. 
The younger man sat over yonder; he knocked his ash
off against the chest of drawers.  The third fellow
paced up and down.  Blessington, I think, sat upright
in the bed, but of that I cannot be absolutely
certain.

"Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and
hanging him.  The matter was so prearranged that it is
my belief that they brought with them some sort of
block or pulley which might serve as a gallows.  That
screw-driver and those screws were, as I conceive, for
fixing it up.  Seeing the hook, however they naturally
saved themselves the trouble.  Having finished their
work they made off, and the door was barred behind
them by their confederate."

We had all listened with the deepest interest to this
sketch of the night's doings, which Holmes had deduced
from signs so subtle and minute that, even when he had
pointed them out to us, we could scarcely follow him
in his reasoning.  The inspector hurried away on the
instant to make inquiries about the page, while Holmes
and I returned to Baker Street for breakfast.

"I'll be back by three," said he, when we had finished
our meal.  "Both the inspector and the doctor will
meet me here at that hour, and I hope by that time to
have cleared up any little obscurity which the case
may still present."


Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was
a quarter to four before my friend put in an
appearance.  From his expression as he entered,
however, I could see that all had gone well with him.

"Any news, Inspector?"

"We have got the boy, sir."

"Excellent, and I have got the men."

"You have got them!" we cried, all three.

"Well, at least I have got their identity.  This
so-called Blessington is, as I expected, well known at
headquarters, and so are his assailants.  Their names
are Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat."

"The Worthingdon bank gang," cried the inspector.

"Precisely," said Holmes.

"Then Blessington must have been Sutton."

"Exactly," said Holmes.

"Why, that makes it as clear as crystal," said the
inspector.

But Trevelyan and I looked at each other in
bewilderment.

"You must surely remember the great Worthingdon bank
business," said Holmes.  "Five men were in it--these
four and a fifth called Cartwright.  Tobin, the
care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got away
with seven thousand pounds.  This was in 1875.  They
were all five arrested, but the evidence against them
was by no means conclusive.  This Blessington or
Sutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned
informer.  On his evidence Cartwright was hanged and
the other three got fifteen years apiece.  When they
got out the other day, which was some years before
their full term, they set themselves, as you perceive,
to hunt down the traitor and to avenge the death of
their comrade upon him.  Twice they tried to get at
him and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. 
Is there anything further which I can explain, Dr.
Trevelyan?"

"I think you have made it all remarkable clear," said
the doctor.  "No doubt the day on which he was
perturbed was the day when he had seen of their
release in the newspapers."

"Quite so.  His talk about a burglary was the merest
blind."

"But why could he not tell you this?"

"Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive character
of his old associates, he was trying to hide his own
identity from everybody as long as he could.  His
secret was a shameful one, and he could not bring
himself to divulge it.  However, wretch as he was, he
was still living under the shield of British law, and
I have no doubt, Inspector, that you will see that,
though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of
justice is still there to avenge."


Such were the singular circumstances in connection
with the Resident Patient and the Brook Street Doctor. 
From that night nothing has been seen of the three
murderers by the police, and it is surmised at
Scotland Yard that they were among the passengers of
the ill-fated steamer Norah Creina, which was lost
some years ago with all hands upon the Portuguese
coast, some leagues to the north of Oporto.  The
proceedings against the page broke down for want of
evidence, and the Brook Street Mystery, as it was
called, has never until now been fully dealt with in
any public print.



Adventure IX


The Greek Interpreter


During my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr.
Sherlock Holmes I had never heard him refer to his
relations, and hardly ever to his own early life. 
This reticence upon his part had increased the
somewhat inhuman effect which he produced upon me,
until sometimes I found myself regarding him as an
isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart, as
deficient in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in
intelligence.  His aversion to women and his
disinclination to form new friendships were both
typical of his unemotional character, but not more so
than his complete suppression of every reference to
his own people.  I had come to believe that he was an
orphan with no relatives living, but one day, to my
very great surprise, he began to talk to me about his
brother.

It was after tea on a summer evening, and the
conversation, which had roamed in a desultory,
spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes of the
change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at
last to the question of atavism and hereditary
aptitudes.  The point under discussion was, how far
any singular gift in an individual was due to his
ancestry and how far to his own early training.

"In your own case," said I, "from all that you have
told me, it seems obvious that your faculty of
observation and your peculiar facility for deduction
are due to your own systematic training."

"To some extent," he answered, thoughtfully.  "My
ancestors were country squires, who appear to have led
much the same life as is natural to their class.  But,
none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and
may have come with my grandmother, who was the sister
of Vernet, the French artist.  Art in the blood is
liable to take the strangest forms."

"But how do you know that it is hereditary?"

"Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger
degree than I do."

This was news to me indeed.  If there were another man
with such singular powers in England, how was it that
neither police nor public had heard of him?  I put the
question, with a hint that it was my companion's
modesty which made him acknowledge his brother as his
superior.  Holmes laughed at my suggestion.

"My dear Watson," said he, "I cannot agree with those
who rank modesty among the virtues.  To the logician
all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to
underestimate one's self is as much a departure from
truth as to exaggerate one's own powers.  When I say,
therefore, that Mycroft has better powers of
observation than I, you may take it that I am speaking
the exact and literal truth."

"Is he your junior?"

"Seven years my senior."

"How comes it that he is unknown?"

"Oh, he is very well known in his own circle."

"Where, then?"

"Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example."

I had never heard of the institution, and my face must
have proclaimed as much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled
out his watch.

"The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and
Mycroft one of the queerest men.  He's always there
from quarter to five to twenty to eight.  It's six
now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful
evening I shall be very happy to introduce you to two
curiosities."

Five minutes later we were in the street, walking
towards Regent's Circus.

"You wonder," said my companion, "why it is that
Mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. 
He is incapable of it."

"But I thought you said--"

"I said that he was my superior in observation and
deduction.  If the art of the detective began and
ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my brother would
be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived.  But
he has no ambition and no energy.  He will not even go
out of his way to verify his own solutions, and would
rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to
prove himself right.  Again and again I have taken a
problem to him, and have received an explanation which
has afterwards proved to be the correct one.  And yet
he was absolutely incapable of working out the
practical points which must be gone into before a case
could be laid before a judge or jury."

"It is not his profession, then?"

"By no means.  What is to me a means of livelihood is
to him the merest hobby of a dilettante.  He has an
extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the
books in some of the government departments.  Mycroft
lodges in Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner
into Whitehall every morning and back every evening. 
From year's end to year's end he takes no other
exercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the
Diogenes Club, which is just opposite his rooms."

"I cannot recall the name."

"Very likely not.  There are many men in London, you
know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy,
have no wish for the company of their fellows.  Yet
they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the
latest periodicals.  It is for the convenience of
these that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now
contains the most unsociable and unclubable men in
town.  No member is permitted to take the least notice
of any other one.  Save in the Stranger's Room, no
talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and
three offences, if brought to the notice of the
committee, render the talker liable to expulsion.  My
brother was one of the founders, and I have myself
found it a very soothing atmosphere."

We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were
walking down it from the St. James's end.  Sherlock
Holmes stopped at a door some little distance from the
Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the
way into the hall.  Through the glass paneling I
caught a glimpse of a large and luxurious room, in
which a considerable number of men were sitting about
and reading papers, each in his own little nook. 
Holmes showed me into a small chamber which looked out
into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for a minute, he
came back with a companion whom I knew could only be
his brother.

Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than
Sherlock.  His body was absolutely corpulent, but his
face, though massive, had preserved something of the
sharpness of expression which was so remarkable in
that of his brother.  His eyes, which were of a
peculiarly light, watery gray, seemed to always retain
that far-away, introspective look which I had only
observed in Sherlock's when he was exerting his full
powers.

"I am glad to meet you, sir," said he, putting out a
broad, fat hand like the flipper of a seal.  "I hear
of Sherlock everywhere since you became his
chronicler.  By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see
you round last week, to consult me over that Manor
House case.  I thought you might be a little out of
your depth."

"No, I solved it," said my friend, smiling.

"It was Adams, of course."

"Yes, it was Adams."

"I was sure of it from the first."  The two sat down
together in the bow-window of the club.  "To any one
who wishes to study mankind this is the spot," said
Mycroft.  "Look at the magnificent types!  Look at
these two men who are coming towards us, for example."

"The billiard-marker and the other?"

"Precisely.  What do you make of the other?"

The two men had stopped opposite the window.  Some
chalk marks over the waistcoat pocket were the only
signs of billiards which I could see in one of them. 
The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hat
pushed back and several packages under his arm.

"An old soldier, I perceive," said Sherlock.

"And very recently discharged," remarked the brother.

"Served in India, I see."

"And a non-commissioned officer."

"Royal Artillery, I fancy," said Sherlock.

"And a widower."

"But with a child."

"Children, my dear boy, children."

"Come," said I, laughing, "this is a little too much."

"Surely," answered Holmes, "it is not hard to say that
a man with that bearing, expression of authority, and
sunbaked skin, is a soldier, is more than a private,
and is not long from India."

"That he has not left the service long is shown by his
still wearing his ammunition boots, as they are
called," observed Mycroft.

"He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on
one side, as is shown by the lighter skin of that side
of his brow.  His weight is against his being a
sapper.  He is in the artillery."

"Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he
has lost some one very dear.  The fact that he is
doing his own shopping looks as though it were his
wife.  He has been buying things for children, you
perceive.  There is a rattle, which shows that one of
them is very young.  The wife probably died in
childbed.  The fact that he has a picture-book under
his arm shows that there is another child to be
thought of."

I began to understand what my friend meant when he
said that his brother possessed even keener faculties
that he did himself.  He glanced across at me and
smiled.  Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box,
and brushed away the wandering grains from his coat
front with a large, red silk handkerchief.

"By the way, Sherlock," said he, "I have had something
quite after your own heart--a most singular
problem--submitted to my judgment.  I really had not
the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete
fashion, but it gave me a basis for some pleasing
speculation.  If you would care to hear the facts--"

"My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted."

The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his
pocket-book, and, ringing the bell, he handed it to
the waiter.

"I have asked Mr. Melas to step across," said he.  "He
lodges on the floor above me, and I have some slight
acquaintance with him, which led him to come to me in
his perplexity.  Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction,
as I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist.  He
earns his living partly as interpreter in the law
courts and partly by acting as guide to any wealthy
Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue
hotels.  I think I will leave him to tell his very
remarkable experience in his own fashion."

A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout
man whose olive face and coal-black hair proclaimed
his Southern origin, though his speech was that of an
educated Englishman.  He shook hands eagerly with
Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with
pleasure when he understood that the specialist was
anxious to hear his story.

"I do not believe that the police credit me--on my
word, I do not," said he in a wailing voice.  "Just
because they have never heard of it before, they think
that such a thing cannot be.  But I know that I shall
never be easy in my mind until I know what has become
of my poor man with the sticking-plaster upon his
face."

"I am all attention," said Sherlock Holmes.

"This is Wednesday evening," said Mr. Melas.  "Well
then, it was Monday night--only two days ago, you
understand--that all this happened.  I am an
interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there has told
you.  I interpret all languages--or nearly all--but as
I am a Greek by birth and with a Grecian name, it is
with that particular tongue that I am principally
associated.  For many years I have been the chief
Greek interpreter in London, and my name is very well
known in the hotels.

"It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at
strange hours by foreigners who get into difficulties,
or by travelers who arrive late and wish my services. 
I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday night when a
Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man,
came up to my rooms and asked me to accompany him in a
cab which was waiting at the door.  A Greek friend had
come to see him upon business, he said, and as he
could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services
of an interpreter were indispensable.  He gave me to
understand that his house was some little distance
off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a great
hurry, bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had
descended to the street.

"I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to
whether it was not a carriage in which I found myself. 
It was certainly more roomy than the ordinary
four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings,
though frayed, were of rich quality.  Mr. Latimer
seated himself opposite to me and we started off
through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue. 
We had come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured
some remark as to this being a roundabout way to
Kensington, when my words were arrested by the
extraordinary conduct of my companion.

"He began by drawing a most formidable-looking
bludgeon loaded with lead from his pocket, and
switching it backward and forward several times, as if
to test its weight and strength.  Then he placed it
without a word upon the seat beside him.  Having done
this, he drew up the windows on each side, and I found
to my astonishment that they were covered with paper
so as to prevent my seeing through them.

"'I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,' said
he.  'The fact is that I have no intention that you
should see what the place is to which we are driving. 
It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could
find your way there again.'

"As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such
an address.  My companion was a powerful,
broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apart from the
weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in
a struggle with him.

"'This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,' I
stammered.  'You must be aware that what you are doing
is quite illegal.'

"'It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,' said he,
'but we'll make it up to you.  I must warn you,
however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time to-night you
attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is
against my interests, you will find it a very serious
thing.  I beg you to remember that no one knows where
you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or
in my house, you are equally in my power.'

"His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of
saying them which was very menacing.  I sat in silence
wondering what on earth could be his reason for
kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion.  Whatever
it might be, it was perfectly clear that there was no
possible use in my resisting, and that I could only
wait to see what might befall.

"For nearly two hours we drove without my having the
least clue as to where we were going.  Sometimes the
rattle of the stones told of a paved causeway, and at
others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt;
but, save by this variation in sound, there was
nothing at all which could in the remotest way help me
to form a guess as to where we were.  The paper over
each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue
curtain was drawn across the glass work in front.  It
was a quarter-past seven when we left Pall Mall, and
my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to nine
when we at last came to a standstill.  My companion
let down the window, and I caught a glimpse of a low,
arched doorway with a lamp burning above it.  As I was
hurried from the carriage it swung open, and I found
myself inside the house, with a vague impression of a
lawn and trees on each side of me as I entered. 
Whether these were private grounds, however, or
bona-fide country was more than I could possibly
venture to say.

"There was a colored gas-lamp inside which was turned
so low that I could see little save that the hall was
of some size and hung with pictures.  In the dim light
I could make out that the person who had opened the
door was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with
rounded shoulders.  As he turned towards us the glint
of the light showed me that he was wearing glasses.

"'Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?' said he.

"'Yes.'

"'Well done, well done!  No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I
hope, but we could not get on without you.  If you
deal fair with us you'll not regret it, but if you try
any tricks, God help you!'  He spoke in a nervous,
jerky fashion, and with little giggling laughs in
between, but somehow he impressed me with fear more
than the other.

"'What do you want with me?' I asked.

"'Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who
is visiting us, and to let us have the answers.  But
say no more than you are told to say, or--' here came
the nervous giggle again--'you had better never have
been born.'

"As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into
a room which appeared to be very richly furnished, but
again the only light was afforded by a single lamp
half-turned down.  The chamber was certainly large,
and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as I
stepped across it told me of its richness.  I caught
glimpses of velvet chairs, a high white marble
mantel-piece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese
armor at one side of it.  There was a chair just under
the lamp, and the elderly man motioned that I should
sit in it.  The younger had left us, but he suddenly
returned through another door, leading with him a
gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who
moved slowly towards us.  As he came into the circle
of dim light which enables me to see him more clearly
I was thrilled with horror at his appearance.  He was
deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with the
protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whose spirit was
greater than his strength.  But what shocked me more
than any signs of physical weakness was that his face
was grotesquely criss-crossed with sticking-plaster,
and that one large pad of it was fastened over his
mouth.

"'Have you the slate, Harold?' cried the older man, as
this strange being fell rather than sat down into a
chair.  'Are his hands loose?  Now, then, give him the
pencil.  You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and
he will write the answers.  Ask him first of all
whether he is prepared to sign the papers?'

"The man's eyes flashed fire.

"'Never!' he wrote in Greek upon the slate.

"'On no condition?' I asked, at the bidding of our
tyrant.

"'Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek
priest whom I know.'

"The man giggled in his venomous way.

"'You know what awaits you, then?'

"'I care nothing for myself.'

"These are samples of the questions and answers which
made up our strange half-spoken, half-written
conversation.  Again and again I had to ask him
whether he would give in and sign the documents. 
Again and again I had the same indignant reply.  But
soon a happy thought came to me.  I took to adding on
little sentences of my own to each question, innocent
ones at first, to test whether either of our
companions knew anything of the matter, and then, as I
found that they showed no signs I played a more
dangerous game.  Our conversation ran something like
this:

"'You can do no good by this obstinacy.  Who are you?'

"'I care not.  I am a stranger in London.'

"'Your fate will be upon your own head.  How long have
you been here?'

"'Let it be so.  Three weeks.'

"'The property can never be yours.  What ails you?'

"'It shall not go to villains.  They are starving me.'

"'You shall go free if you sign.  What house is this?'

"'I will never sign.  I do not know.'

"'You are not doing her any service.  What is your
name?'

"'Let me hear her say so.  Kratides.'

"'You shall see her if you sign.  Where are you from?'

"'Then I shall never see her.  Athens.'

"Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have
wormed out the whole story under their very noses.  My
very next question might have cleared the matter up,
but at that instant the door opened and a woman
stepped into the room.  I could not see her clearly
enough to know more than that she was tall and
graceful, with black hair, and clad in some sort of
loose white gown.

"'Harold,' said she, speaking English with a broken
accent.  'I could not stay away longer.  It is so
lonely up there with only--Oh, my God, it is Paul!'

"These last words were in Greek, and at the same
instant the man with a convulsive effort tore the
plaster from his lips, and screaming out 'Sophy! 
Sophy!' rushed into the woman's arms.  Their embrace
was but for an instant, however, for the younger man
seized the woman and pushed her out of the room, while
the elder easily overpowered his emaciated victim, and
dragged him away through the other door.  For a moment
I was left alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet
with some vague idea that I might in some way get a
clue to what this house was in which I found myself. 
Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for looking up
I saw that the older man was standing in the door-way
with his eyes fixed upon me.

"'That will do, Mr. Melas,' said he.  'You perceive
that we have taken you into our confidence over some
very private business.  We should not have troubled
you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who
began these negotiations has been forced to return to
the East.  It was quite necessary for us to find some
one to take his place, and we were fortunate in
hearing of your powers.'

"I bowed.

"'There are five sovereigns here,' said he, walking up
to me, 'which will, I hope, be a sufficient fee.  But
remember,' he added, tapping me lightly on the chest
and giggling, 'if you speak to a human soul about
this--one human soul, mind--well, may God have mercy
upon your soul!"

"I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which
this insignificant-looking man inspired me.  I could
see him better now as the lamp-light shone upon him. 
His features were peaky and sallow, and his little
pointed beard was thready and ill-nourished.  He
pushed his face forward as he spoke and his lips and
eyelids were continually twitching like a man with St.
Vitus's dance.  I could not help thinking that his
strange, catchy little laugh was also a symptom of
some nervous malady.  The terror of his face lay in
his eyes, however, steel gray, and glistening coldly
with a malignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths.

"'We shall know if you speak of this,' said he.  'We
have our own means of information.  Now you will find
the carriage waiting, and my friend will see you on
your way.'

"I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle,
again obtaining that momentary glimpse of trees and a
garden.  Mr. Latimer followed closely at my heels, and
took his place opposite to me without a word.  In
silence we again drove for an interminable distance
with the windows raised, until at last, just after
midnight, the carriage pulled up.

"'You will get down here, Mr. Melas,' said my
companion.  'I am sorry to leave you so far from your
house, but there is no alternative.  Any attempt upon
your part to follow the carriage can only end in
injury to yourself.'

"He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time
to spring out when the coachman lashed the horse and
the carriage rattled away.  I looked around me in
astonishment.  I was on some sort of a heathy common
mottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes.  Far
away stretched a line of houses, with a light here and
there in the upper windows.  On the other side I saw
the red signal-lamps of a railway.

"The carriage which had brought me was already out of
sight.  I stood gazing round and wondering where on
earth I might be, when I saw some one coming towards
me in the darkness.  As he came up to me I made out
that he was a railway porter.

"'Can you tell me what place this is?' I asked.

"'Wandsworth Common,' said he.

"'Can I get a train into town?'

"'If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,'
said he, 'you'll just be in time for the last to
Victoria.'

"So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes.  I
do not know where I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor
anything save what I have told you.  But I know that
there is foul play going on, and I want to help that
unhappy man if I can.  I told the whole story to Mr.
Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to the
police."

We all sat in silence for some little time after
listening to this extraordinary narrative.  Then
Sherlock looked across at his brother.

"Any steps?" he asked.

Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on
the side-table.

"'Anybody supplying any information to the whereabouts
of a Greek gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens,
who is unable to speak English, will be rewarded.  A
similar reward paid to any one giving information
about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy.  X
2473.'  That was in all the dailies.  No answer."

"How about the Greek Legation?"

"I have inquired.  They know nothing."

"A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?"

"Sherlock has all the energy of the family," said
Mycroft, turning to me.  "Well, you take the case up
by all means, and let me know if you do any good."

"Certainly," answered my friend, rising from his
chair.  "I'll let you know, and Mr. Melas also.  In
the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly be on my
guard, if I were you, for of course they must know
through these advertisements that you have betrayed
them."

As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a
telegraph office and sent off several wires.

"You see, Watson," he remarked, "our evening has been
by no means wasted.  Some of my most interesting cases
have come to me in this way through Mycroft.  The
problem which we have just listened to, although it
can admit of but one explanation, has still some
distinguishing features."

"You have hopes of solving it?"

"Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular
indeed if we fail to discover the rest.  You must
yourself have formed some theory which will explain
the facts to which we have listened."

"In a vague way, yes."

"What was your idea, then?"

"It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl
had been carried off by the young Englishman named
Harold Latimer."

"Carried off from where?"

"Athens, perhaps."

Sherlock Holmes shook his head.  "This young man could
not talk a word of Greek.  The lady could talk English
fairly well.  Inference--that she had been in England
some little time, but he had not been in Greece."

"Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a
visit to England, and that this Harold had persuaded
her to fly with him."

"That is more probable."

"Then the brother--for that, I fancy, must be the
relationship--comes over from Greece to interfere.  He
imprudently puts himself into the power of the young
man and his older associate.  They seize him and use
violence towards him in order to make him sign some
papers to make over the girl's fortune--of which he
may be trustee--to them.  This he refuses to do.  In
order to negotiate with him they have to get an
interpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. Melas,
having used some other one before.  The girl is not
told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out
by the merest accident."

"Excellent, Watson!" cried Holmes.  "I really fancy
that you are not far from the truth.  You see that we
hold all the cards, and we have only to fear some
sudden act of violence on their part.  If they give us
time we must have them."

"But how can we find where this house lies?"

"Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's
name is or was Sophy Kratides, we should have no
difficulty in tracing her.  That must be our main
hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete
stranger.  It is clear that some time has elapsed
since this Harold established these relations with the
girl--some weeks, at any rate--since the brother in
Greece has had time to hear of it and come across.  If
they have been living in the same place during this
time, it is probable that we shall have some answer to
Mycroft's advertisement."

We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had
been talking.  Holmes ascended the stair first, and as
he opened the door of our room he gave a start of
surprise.  Looking over his shoulder, I was equally
astonished.  His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking
in the arm-chair.

"Come in, Sherlock!  Come in, sir," said he blandly,
smiling at our surprised faces.  "You don't expect
such energy from me, do you, Sherlock?  But somehow
this case attracts me."

"How did you get here?"

"I passed you in a hansom."

"There has been some new development?"

"I had an answer to my advertisement."

"Ah!"

"Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving."

"And to what effect?"

Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.

"Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal
cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak
constitution.  'Sir,' he says, 'in answer to your
advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you
that I know the young lady in question very well.  If
you should care to call upon me I could give you some
particulars as to her painful history.  She is living
at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham.  Yours
faithfully, J. Davenport.'

"He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes. 
"Do you not think that we might drive to him now,
Sherlock, and learn these particulars?"

"My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable
than the sister's story.  I think we should call at
Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson, and go straight
out to Beckenham.  We know that a man is being done to
death, and every hour may be vital."

"Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested. 
"We may need an interpreter."

"Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes.  "Send the boy for
a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once."  He
opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed
that he slipped his revolver into his pocket.  "Yes,"
said he, in answer to my glance; "I should say from
what we have heard, that we are dealing with a
particularly dangerous gang."

It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall
Mall, at the rooms of Mr. Melas.  A gentleman had just
called for him, and he was gone.

"Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes.

"I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened
the door; "I only know that he drove away with the
gentleman in a carriage."

"Did the gentleman give a name?"

"No, sir."

"He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?"

"Oh, no, sir.  He was a little gentleman, with
glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his
ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was
talking."

"Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly.  "This
grows serious," he observed, as we drove to Scotland
Yard.  "These men have got hold of Melas again.  He is
a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware
from their experience the other night.  This villain
was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into
his presence.  No doubt they want his professional
services, but, having used him, they may be inclined
to punish him for what they will regard as his
treachery."

Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to
Beckenham as soon or sooner than the carriage.  On
reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more than an
hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply
with the legal formalities which would enable us to
enter the house.  It was a quarter to ten before we
reached London Bridge, and half past before the four
of us alighted on the Beckenham platform.  A drive of
half a mile brought us to The Myrtles--a large, dark
house standing back from the road in its own grounds. 
Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up the
drive together.

"The windows are all dark," remarked the inspector. 
"The house seems deserted."

"Our birds are flown and the nest empty," said Holmes.

"Why do you say so?"

"A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out
during the last hour."

The inspector laughed.  "I saw the wheel-tracks in the
light of the gate-lamp, but where does the luggage
come in?"

"You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the
other way.  But the outward-bound ones were very much
deeper--so much so that we can say for a certainty
that there was a very considerable weight on the
carriage."

"You get a trifle beyond me there," said the
inspector, shrugging his shoulder.  "It will not be an
easy door to force, but we will try if we cannot make
some one hear us."

He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the
bell, but without any success.  Holmes had slipped
away, but he came back in a few minutes.

"I have a window open," said he.

"It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force,
and not against it, Mr. Holmes," remarked the
inspector, as he noted the clever way in which my
friend had forced back the catch.  "Well, I think that
under the circumstances we may enter without an
invitation."

One after the other we made our way into a large
apartment, which was evidently that in which Mr. Melas
had found himself.  The inspector had lit his lantern,
and by its light we could see the two doors, the
curtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he
had described them.  On the table lay two glasses, and
empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal.

"What is that?" asked Holmes, suddenly.

We all stood still and listened.  A low moaning sound
was coming from somewhere over our heads.  Holmes
rushed to the door and out into the hall.  The dismal
noise came from upstairs.  He dashed up, the inspector
and I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed
as quickly as his great bulk would permit.

Three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was
from the central of these that the sinister sounds
were issuing, sinking sometimes into a dull mumble and
rising again into a shrill whine.  It was locked, but
the key had been left on the outside.  Holmes flung
open the door and rushed in, but he was out again in
an instant, with his hand to his throat."

"It's charcoal," he cried.  "Give it time.  It will
clear."

Peering in, we could see that the only light in the
room came from a dull blue flame which flickered from
a small brass tripod in the centre.  It threw a livid,
unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadows
beyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which
crouched against the wall.  From the open door there
reeked a horrible poisonous exhalation which set us
gasping and coughing.  Holmes rushed to the top of the
stairs to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing
into the room, he threw up the window and hurled the
brazen tripod out into the garden.

"We can enter in a minute," he gasped, darting out
again.  "Where is a candle?  I doubt if we could
strike a match in that atmosphere.  Hold the light at
the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!"

With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged
them out into the well-lit hall.  Both of them were
blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen, congested
faces and protruding eyes.  Indeed, so distorted were
their features that, save for his black beard and
stout figure, we might have failed to recognize in one
of them the Greek interpreter who had parted from us
only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club.  His
hands and feet were securely strapped together, and he
bore over one eye the marks of a violent blow.  The
other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a
tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several
strips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque
pattern over his face.  He had ceased to moan as we
laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at
least our aid had come too late.  Mr. Melas, however,
still lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of
ammonia and brandy I had the satisfaction of seeing
him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had
drawn him back from that dark valley in which all
paths meet.

It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one
which did but confirm our own deductions.  His
visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a
life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed
him with the fear of instant and inevitable death that
he had kidnapped him for the second time.  Indeed, it
was almost mesmeric, the effect which this giggling
ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist,
for he could not speak of him save with trembling
hands and a blanched cheek.  He had been taken swiftly
to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second
interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which
the two Englishmen had menaced their prisoner with
instant death if he did not comply with their demands. 
Finally, finding him proof against every threat, they
had hurled him back into his prison, and after
reproaching Melas with his treachery, which appeared
from the newspaper advertisement, they had stunned him
with a blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing
more until he found us bending over him.

And this was the singular case of the Grecian
Interpreter, the explanation of which is still
involved in some mystery.  We were able to find out,
by communicating with the gentleman who had answered
the advertisement, that the unfortunate young lady
came of a wealthy Grecian family, and that she had
been on a visit to some friends in England.  While
there she had met a young man named Harold Latimer,
who had acquired an ascendancy over he and had
eventually persuaded her to fly with him.  Her
friends, shocked at the event, had contented
themselves with informing her brother at Athens, and
had then washed their hands of the matter.  The
brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently
placed himself in the power of Latimer and of his
associate, whose name was Wilson Kemp--a man of the
foulest antecedents. These two, finding that through
his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their
hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavored by
cruelty and starvation to make him sign away his own
and his sister's property.  They had kept him in the
house without the girl's knowledge, and the plaster
over the face had been for the purpose of making
recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a
glimpse of him.  Her feminine perception, however, had
instantly seen through the disguise when, on the
occasion of the interpreter's visit, she had seen him
for the first time.  The poor girl, however, was
herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the
house except the man who acted as coachman, and his
wife, both of whom were tools of the conspirators. 
Finding that their secret was out, and that their
prisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with
the girl had fled away at a few hours' notice from the
furnished house which they had hired, having first, as
they thought, taken vengeance both upon the man who
had defied and the one who had betrayed them.

Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached
us from Buda-Pesth.  It told how two Englishmen who
had been traveling with a woman had met with a tragic
end.  They had each been stabbed, it seems, and the
Hungarian police were of opinion that they had
quarreled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each
other.  Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different
way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one
could find the Grecian girl, one might learn how the
wrongs of herself and her brother came to be avenged.



Adventure X


The Naval Treaty


The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was
made memorable by three cases of interest, in which I
had the privilege of being associated with Sherlock
Holmes and of studying his methods.  I find them
recorded in my notes under the headings of "The
Adventure of the Second Stain," "The Adventure of the
Naval Treaty," and "The Adventure of the Tired
Captain."  The first of these, however, deals with
interest of such importance and implicates so many of
the first families in the kingdom that for many years
it will be impossible to make it public.  No case,
however, in which Holmes was engaged has ever
illustrated the value of his analytical methods so
clearly or has impressed those who were associated
with him so deeply.  I still retain an almost verbatim
report of the interview in which he demonstrated the
true facts of the case to Monsieur Dubugue of the
Paris police, and Fritz von Waldbaum, the well-known
specialist of Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their
energies upon what proved to be side-issues.  The new
century will have come, however, before the story can
be safely told.  Meanwhile I pass on to the second on
my list, which promised also at one time to be of
national importance, and was marked by several
incidents which give it a quite unique character.

During my school-days I had been intimately associated
with a lad named Percy Phelps, who was of much the
same age as myself, though he was two classes ahead of
me.  He was a very brilliant boy, and carried away
every prize which the school had to offer, finished
his exploits by winning a scholarship which sent him
on to continue his triumphant career at Cambridge.  He
was, I remember, extremely well connected, and even
when we were all little boys together we knew that his
mother's brother was Lord Holdhurst, the great
conservative politician.  This gaudy relationship did
him little good at school.  On the contrary, it seemed
rather a piquant thing to us to chevy him about the
playground and hit him over the shins with a wicket. 
But it was another thing when he came out into the
world.  I heard vaguely that his abilities and the
influences which he commanded had won him a good
position at the Foreign Office, and then he passed
completely out of my mind until the following letter
recalled his existence:


Briarbrae, Woking.
My dear Watson,--I have no doubt that you can remember
"Tadpole" Phelps, who was in the fifth form when you
were in the third.  It is possible even that you may
have heard that through my uncle's influence I
obtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office, and
that I was in a situation of trust and honor until a
horrible misfortune came suddenly to blast my career.

There is no use writing of the details of that
dreadful event.  In the event of your acceding to my
request it is probably that I shall have to narrate
them to you.  I have only just recovered from nine
weeks of brain-fever, and am still exceedingly weak. 
Do you think that you could bring your friend Mr.
Holmes down to see me?  I should like to have his
opinion of the case, though the authorities assure me
that nothing more can be done.  Do try to bring him
down, and as soon as possible.  Every minute seems an
hour while I live in this state of horrible suspense. 
Assure him that if I have not asked his advice sooner
it was not because I did not appreciate his talents,
but because I have been off my head ever since the
blow fell.  Now I am clear again, though I dare not
think of it too much for fear of a relapse.  I am still
so weak that I have to write, as you see, by dictating.
Do try to bring him.

Your old school-fellow,

Percy Phelps.


There was something that touched me as I read this
letter, something pitiable in the reiterated appeals
to bring Holmes.  So moved was I that even had it been
a difficult matter I should have tried it, but of
course I knew well that Holmes loved his art, so that
he was ever as ready to bring his aid as his client
could be to receive it.  My wife agreed with me that
not a moment should be lost in laying the matter
before him, and so within an hour of breakfast-time I
found myself back once more in the old rooms in Baker
Street.

Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his
dressing-gown, and working hard over a chemical
investigation.  A large curved retort was boiling
furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner, and
the distilled drops were condensing into a two-litre
measure.  My friend hardly glanced up as I entered,
and I, seeing that his investigation must be of
importance, seated myself in an arm-chair and waited. 
He dipped into this bottle or that, drawing out a few
drops of each with his glass pipette, and finally
brought a test-tube containing a solution over to the
table.  In his right hand he held a slip of
litmus-paper.

"You come at a crisis, Watson," said he.  "If this
paper remains blue, all is well.  If it turns red, it
means a man's life."  He dipped it into the test-tube
and it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson. 
"Hum!  I thought as much!" he cried.  "I will be at
your service in an instant, Watson.  You will find
tobacco in the Persian slipper."  He turned to his
desk and scribbled off several telegrams, which were
handed over to the page-boy.  Then he threw himself
down into the chair opposite, and drew up his knees
until his fingers clasped round his long, thin shins.

"A very commonplace little murder," said he.  "You've
got something better, I fancy.  You are the stormy
petrel of crime, Watson.  What is it?"

I handed him the letter, which he read with the most
concentrated attention.

"It does not tell us very much, does it?" he remarked,
as he handed it back to me.

"Hardly anything."

"And yet the writing is of interest."

"But the writing is not his own."

"Precisely.  It is a woman's."

"A man's surely," I cried.

"No, a woman's, and a woman of rare character.  You
see, at the commencement of an investigation it is
something to know that your client is in close contact
with some one who, for good or evil, has an
exceptional nature.  My interest is already awakened
in the case.  If you are ready we will start at once
for Woking, and see this diplomatist who is in such
evil case, and the lady to whom he dictates his
letters."

We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at
Waterloo, and in a little under an hour we found
ourselves among the fir-woods and the heather of
Woking.  Briarbrae proved to be a large detached house
standing in extensive grounds within a few minutes'
walk of the station.  On sending in our cards we were
shown into an elegantly appointed drawing-room, where
we were joined in a few minutes by a rather stout man
who received us with much hospitality.  His age may
have been nearer forty than thirty, but his cheeks
were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that he still
conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous
boy.

"I am so glad that you have come," said he, shaking
our hands with effusion.  "Percy has been inquiring
for you all morning.  Ah, poor old chap, he clings to
any straw!  His father and his mother asked me to see
you, for the mere mention of the subject is very
painful to them."

"We have had no details yet," observed Holmes.  "I
perceive that you are not yourself a member of the
family."

Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing
down, he began to laugh.

"Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket,"
said he.  "For a moment I thought you had done
something clever.  Joseph Harrison is my name, and as
Percy is to marry my sister Annie I shall at least be
a relation by marriage.  You will find my sister in
his room, for she has nursed him hand-and-foot this
two months back.  Perhaps we'd better go in at once,
for I know how impatient he is."

The chamber in which we were shown was on the same
floor as the drawing-room.  It was furnished partly as
a sitting and partly as a bedroom, with flowers
arranged daintily in every nook and corner.  A young
man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near
the open window, through which came the rich scent of
the garden and the balmy summer air.  A woman was
sitting beside him, who rose as we entered.

"Shall I leave, Percy?" she asked.

He clutched her hand to detain her.  "How are you,
Watson?" said he, cordially.  "I should never have
known you under that moustache, and I dare say you
would not be prepared to swear to me.  This I presume
is your celebrated friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

I introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. 
The stout young man had left us, but his sister still
remained with her hand in that of the invalid.  She
was a striking-looking woman, a little short and thick
for symmetry, but with a beautiful olive complexion,
large, dark, Italian eyes, and a wealth of deep black
hair.  Her rich tints made the white face of her
companion the more worn and haggard by the contrast.

"I won't waste your time," said he, raising himself
upon the sofa.  "I'll plunge into the matter without
further preamble.  I was a happy and successful man,
Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of being married, when a
sudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all my
prospects in life.

"I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign
Office, and through the influences of my uncle, Lord
Holdhurst, I rose rapidly to a responsible position. 
When my uncle became foreign minister in this
administration he gave me several missions of trust,
and as I always brought them to a successful
conclusion, he came at last to have the utmost
confidence in my ability and tact.

"Nearly ten weeks ago--to be more accurate, on the 23d
of May--he called me into his private room, and, after
complimenting me on the good work which I had done, he
informed me that he had a new commission of trust for
me to execute.

"'This,' said he, taking a gray roll of paper from his
bureau, 'is the original of that secret treaty between
England and Italy of which, I regret to say, some
rumors have already got into the public press.  It is
of enormous importance that nothing further should
leak out.  The French or the Russian embassy would pay
an immense sum to learn the contents of these papers. 
They should not leave my bureau were it not that it is
absolutely necessary to have them copied.  You have a
desk in your office?"

"'Yes, sir.'

"'Then take the treaty and lock it up there.  I shall
give directions that you may remain behind when the
others go, so that you may copy it at your leisure
without fear of being overlooked.  When you have
finished, relock both the original and the draft in
the desk, and hand them over to me personally
to-morrow morning.'

"I took the papers and--"

"Excuse me an instant," said Holmes.  "Were you alone
during this conversation?"

"Absolutely."

"In a large room?"

"Thirty feet each way."

"In the centre?"

"Yes, about it."

"And speaking low?"

"My uncle's voice is always remarkably low.  I hardly
spoke at all."

"Thank you," said Holmes, shutting his eyes; "pray go
on."

"I did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the
other clerks had departed.  One of them in my room,
Charles Gorot, had some arrears of work to make up, so
I left him there and went out to dine.  When I
returned he was gone.  I was anxious to hurry my work,
for I knew that Joseph--the Mr. Harrison whom you saw
just now--was in town, and that he would travel down
to Woking by the eleven-o'clock train, and I wanted if
possible to catch it.

"When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that
it was of such importance that my uncle had been
guilty of no exaggeration in what he had said. 
Without going into details, I may say that it defined
the position of Great Britain towards the Triple
Alliance, and fore-shadowed the policy which this
country would pursue in the event of the French fleet
gaining a complete ascendancy over that of Italy in
the Mediterranean.  The questions treated in it were
purely naval.  At the end were the signatures of the
high dignitaries who had signed it.  I glanced my eyes
over it, and then settled down to my task of copying.

"It was a long document, written in the French
language, and containing twenty-six separate articles. 
I copied as quickly as I could, but at nine o'clock I
had only done nine articles, and it seemed hopeless
for me to attempt to catch my train.  I was feeling
drowsy and stupid, partly from my dinner and also from
the effects of a long day's work.  A cup of coffee
would clear my brain.  A commissionnaire remains all
night in a little lodge at the foot of the stairs, and
is in the habit of making coffee at his spirit-lamp
for any of the officials who may be working over time. 
I rang the bell, therefore, to summon him.

"To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the
summons, a large, coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an
apron.  She explained that she was the
commissionnaire's wife, who did the charing, and I
gave her the order for the coffee.

"I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more
drowsy than ever, I rose and walked up and down the
room to stretch my legs.  My coffee had not yet come,
and I wondered what was the cause of the delay could
be.  Opening the door, I started down the corridor to
find out.  There was a straight passage, dimly
lighted, which led from the room in which I had been
working, and was the only exit from it.  It ended in a
curving staircase, with the commissionnaire's lodge in
the passage at the bottom.  Half way down this
staircase is a small landing, with another passage
running into it at right angles.  This second one
leads by means of a second small stair to a side door,
used by servants, and also as a short cut by clerks
when coming from Charles Street.  Here is a rough
chart of the place."

"Thank you.  I think that I quite follow you," said
Sherlock Holmes.

"It is of the utmost importance that you should notice
this point.  I went down the stairs and into the hall,
where I found the commissionnaire fast asleep in his
box, with the kettle boiling furiously upon the
spirit-lamp.  I took off the kettle and blew out the
lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor.  Then
I put out my hand and was about to shake the man, who
was still sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head
rang loudly, and he woke with a start.

"'Mr. Phelps, sir!' said he, looking at me in
bewilderment.

"'I came down to see if my coffee was ready.'

"'I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir.' 
He looked at me and then up at the still quivering
bell with an ever-growing astonishment upon his face.

"'If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?' he
asked.

"'The bell!' I cried.  'What bell is it?'

"'It's the bell of the room you were working in.'

"A cold hand seemed to close round my heart.  Some
one, then, was in that room where my precious treaty
lay upon the table.  I ran frantically up the stair
and along the passage.  There was no one in the
corridors, Mr. Holmes.  There was no one in the room. 
All was exactly as I left it, save only that the
papers which had been committed to my care had been
taken from the desk on which they lay.  The copy was
there, and the original was gone."

Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands.  I
could see that the problem was entirely to his heart. 
"Pray, what did you do then?" he murmured.

"I recognized in an instant that the thief must have
come up the stairs from the side door.  Of course I
must have met him if he had come the other way."

"You were satisfied that he could not have been
concealed in the room all the time, or in the corridor
which you have just described as dimly lighted?"

"It is absolutely impossible.  A rat could not conceal
himself either in the room or the corridor.  There is
no cover at all."

"Thank you.  Pray proceed."

"The commissionnaire, seeing by my pale face that
something was to be feared, had followed me upstairs. 
Now we both rushed along the corridor and down the
steep steps which led to Charles Street.  The door at
the bottom was closed, but unlocked.  We flung it open
and rushed out.  I can distinctly remember that as we
did so there came three chimes from a neighboring
clock.  It was quarter to ten."

"That is of enormous importance," said Holmes, making
a note upon his shirt-cuff.

"The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was
falling.  There was no one in Charles Street, but a
great traffic was going on, as usual, in Whitehall, at
the extremity.  We rushed along the pavement,
bare-headed as we were, and at the far corner we found
a policeman standing.

"'A robbery has been committed,' I gasped.  'A
document of immense value has been stolen from the
Foreign Office.  Has any one passed this way?'

"'I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour,
sir,' said he; 'only one person has passed during that
time--a woman, tall and elderly, with a Paisley
shawl.'

"'Ah, that is only my wife,' cried the
commissionnaire; 'has no one else passed?'

"'No one.'

"'Then it must be the other way that the thief took,'
cried the fellow, tugging at my sleeve.

"'But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he
made to draw me away increased my suspicions.

"'Which way did the woman go?' I cried.

"'I don't know, sir.  I noticed her pass, but I had no
special reason for watching her.  She seemed to be in
a hurry.'

"'How long ago was it?'

"'Oh, not very many minutes.'

"'Within the last five?'

"'Well, it could not be more than five.'

"'You're only wasting your time, sir, and every minute
now is of importance,' cried the commissionnaire;
'take my word for it that my old woman has nothing to
do with it, and come down to the other end of the
street.  Well, if you won't, I will.'  And with that
he rushed off in the other direction.

"But I was after him in an instant and caught him by
the sleeve.

"'Where do you live?' said I.

"'16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,' he answered.  'But don't let
yourself be drawn away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps. 
Come to the other end of the street and let us see if
we can hear of anything.'

"Nothing was to be lost by following his advice.  With
the policeman we both hurried down, but only to find
the street full of traffic, many people coming and
going, but all only too eager to get to a place of
safety upon so wet a night.  There was no lounger who
could tell us who had passed.

"Then we returned to the office, and searched the
stairs and the passage without result.  The corridor
which led to the room was laid down with a kind of
creamy linoleum which shows an impression very easily. 
We examined it very carefully, but found no outline of
any footmark."

"Had it been raining all evening?"

"Since about seven."

"How is it, then, that the woman who came into the
room about nine left no traces with her muddy boots?"

"I am glad you raised the point.  It occurred to me at
the time.  The charwomen are in the habit of taking
off their boots at the commissionnaire's office, and
putting on list slippers."

"That is very clear.  There were no marks, then,
though the night was a wet one?  The chain of events
is certainly one of extraordinary interest.  What did
you do next?

"We examined the room also.  There is no possibility
of a secret door, and the windows are quite thirty
feet from the ground.  Both of them were fastened on
the inside.  The carpet prevents any possibility of a
trap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinary
whitewashed kind.  I will pledge my life that whoever
stole my papers could only have come through the
door."

"How about the fireplace?"

"They use none.  There is a stove.  The bell-rope
hangs from the wire just to the right of my desk. 
Whoever rang it must have come right up to the desk to
do it. But why should any criminal wish to ring the
bell?  It is a most insoluble mystery."

"Certainly the incident was unusual.  What were your
next steps?  You examined the room, I presume, to see
if the intruder had left any traces--any cigar-end or
dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle?"

"There was nothing of the sort."

"No smell?"

"Well,  we never thought of that."

"Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great
deal to us in such an investigation."

"I never smoke myself, so I think I should have
observed it if there had been any smell of tobacco. 
There was absolutely no clue of any kind.  The only
tangible fact was that the commissionnaire's wife--Mrs.
Tangey was the name--had hurried out of the place.  He
could give no explanation save that it was about the
time when the woman always went  home.  The policeman
and I agreed that our best plan would be to seize the
woman before she could get rid of the papers,
presuming that she had them.

"The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and
Mr. Forbes, the detective, came round at once and took
up the case with a great deal of energy.  We hired a
hansom, and in half an hour we were at the address
which had been given to us.  A young woman opened the
door, who proved to be Mrs. Tangey's eldest daughter. 
Her mother had not come back yet, and we were shown
into the front room to wait.

"About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and
here we made the one serious mistake for which I blame
myself.  Instead of opening the door ourselves, we
allowed the girl to do so.  We heard her say, 'Mother,
there are two men in the house waiting to see you,'
and an instant afterwards we heard the patter of feet
rushing down the passage.  Forbes flung open the door,
and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, but the
woman had got there before us.  She stared at us with
defiant eyes, and then, suddenly recognizing me, an
expression of absolute astonishment came over her
face.

"'Why, if it isn't Mr. Phelps, of the office!' she
cried.

"'Come, come, who did you think we were when you ran
away from us?' asked my companion.

"'I thought you were the brokers,' said she, 'we have
had some trouble with a tradesman.'

"'That's not quite good enough,' answered Forbes.  'We
have reason to believe that you have taken a paper of
importance from the Foreign Office, and that you ran in
here to dispose of it.  You must come back with us to
Scotland Yard to be searched.'

"It was in vain that she protested and resisted.  A
four-wheeler was brought, and we all three drove back
in it.  We had first made an examination of the
kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire, to see
whether she might have made away with the papers
during the instant that she was alone.  There were no
signs, however, of any ashes or scraps.  When we
reached Scotland Yard she was handed over at once to
the female searcher.  I waited in an agony of suspense
until she came back with her report.  There were no
signs of the papers.

"Then for the first time the horror of my situation
came in its full force.  Hitherto I had been acting,
and action had numbed thought.  I had been so
confident of regaining the treaty at once that I had
not dared to think of what would be the consequence if
I failed to do so.  But now there was nothing more to
be done, and I had leisure to realize my position.  It
was horrible.  Watson there would tell you that I was
a nervous, sensitive boy at school.  It is my nature. 
I thought of my uncle and of his colleagues in the
Cabinet, of the shame which I had brought upon him,
upon myself, upon every one connected with me.  What
though I was the victim of an extraordinary accident? 
No allowance is made for accidents where diplomatic
interests are at stake.  I was ruined, shamefully,
hopelessly ruined.  I don't know what I did.  I fancy
I must have made a scene.  I have a dim recollection
of a group of officials who crowded round me,
endeavoring to soothe me.  One of them drove down with
me to Waterloo, and saw me into the Woking train.  I
believe that he would have come all the way had it not
been that Dr. Ferrier, who lives near me, was going
down by that very train.  The doctor most kindly took
charge of me, and it was well he did so, for I had a
fit in the station, and before we reached home I was
practically a raving maniac.

"You can imagine the state of things here when they
were roused from their beds by the doctor's ringing
and found me in this condition.  Poor Annie here and
my mother were broken-hearted.  Dr. Ferrier had just
heard enough from the detective at the station to be
able to give an idea of what had happened, and his
story did not mend matters.  It was evident to all
that I was in for a long illness, so Joseph was
bundled out of this cheery bedroom, and it was turned
into a sick-room for me.  Here I have lain, Mr.
Holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving
with brain-fever.  If it had not been for Miss
Harrison here and for the doctor's care I should not
be speaking to you now.  She has nursed me by day and
a hired nurse has looked after me by night, for in my
mad fits I was capable of anything.  Slowly my reason
has cleared, but it is only during the last three days
that my memory has quite returned.  Sometimes I wish
that it never had.  The first thing that I did was to
wire to Mr. Forbes, who had the case in hand.  He came
out, and assures me that, though everything has been
done, no trace of a clue has been discovered.  The
commissionnaire and his wife have been examined in
every way without any light being thrown upon the
matter.  The suspicions of the police then rested upon
young Gorot, who, as you may remember, stayed over
time in the office that night.  His remaining behind
and his French name were really the only two points
which could suggest suspicion; but, as a matter of
fact, I did not begin work until he had gone, and his
people are of Huguenot extraction, but as English in
sympathy and tradition as you and I are.  Nothing was
found to implicate him in any way, and there the
matter dropped.  I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as
absolutely my last hope.  If you fail me, then my
honor as well as my position are forever forfeited."

The invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by
this long recital, while his nurse poured him out a
glass of some stimulating medicine.  Holmes sat
silently, with his head thrown back and his eyes
closed, in an attitude which might seem listless to a
stranger, but which I knew betokened the most intense
self-absorption.

"You statement has been so explicit," said he at last,
"that you have really left me very few questions to
ask.  There is one of the very utmost importance,
however.  Did you tell any one that you had this
special task to perform?"

"No one."

"Not Miss Harrison here, for example?"

"No.  I had not been back to Woking between getting
the order and executing the commission."

"And none of your people had by chance been to see
you?"

"None."

"Did any of them know their way about in the office?"

"Oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it."

"Still, of course, if you said nothing to any one
about the treaty these inquiries are irrelevant."

"I said nothing."

"Do you know anything of the commissionnaire?"

"Nothing except that he is an old soldier."

"What regiment?"

"Oh, I have heard--Coldstream Guards."

"Thank you.  I have no doubt I can get details from
Forbes.  The authorities are excellent at amassing
facts, though they do not always use them to
advantage.  What a lovely thing a rose is!"

He walked past the couch to the open window, and held
up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at
the dainty blend of crimson and green.  It was a new
phase of his character to me, for I had never before
seen him show any keen interest in natural objects.

"There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary
as in religion," said he, leaning with his back
against the shutters.  "It can be built up as an exact
science by the reasoner.  Our highest assurance of the
goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the
flowers.  All other things, our powers our desires,
our food, are all really necessary for our existence
in the first instance.  But this rose is an extra. 
Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life,
not a condition of it.  It is only goodness which
gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to
hope from the flowers."

Percy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during
this demonstration with surprise and a good deal of
disappointment written upon their faces.  He had
fallen into a reverie, with the moss-rose between his
fingers.  It had lasted some minutes before the young
lady broke in upon it.

"Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr.
Holmes?" she asked, with a touch of asperity in her
voice.

"Oh, the mystery!" he answered, coming back with a
start to the realities of life.  "Well, it would be
absurd to deny that the case is a very abstruse and
complicated one, but I can promise you that I will
look into the matter and let you know any points which
may strike me."

"Do you see any clue?"

"You have furnished me with seven, but, of course, I
must test them before I can pronounce upon their
value."

"You suspect some one?"

"I suspect myself."

"What!"

"Of coming to conclusions too rapidly."

"Then go to London and test your conclusions."

"Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison," said
Holmes, rising.  "I think, Watson, we cannot do
better.  Do not allow yourself to indulge in false
hopes, Mr. Phelps.  The affair is a very tangled one."

"I shall be in a fever until I see you again," cried
the diplomatist.

"Well, I'll come out be the same train to-morrow,
though it's more than likely that my report will be a
negative one."

"God bless you for promising to come," cried our
client.  "It gives me fresh life to know that
something is being done.  By the way, I have had a
letter from Lord Holdhurst."

"Ha!  What did he say?"

"He was cold, but not harsh.  I dare say my severe
illness prevented him from being that.  He repeated
that the matter was of the utmost importance, and
added that no steps would be taken about my future--by
which he means, of course, my dismissal--until my
health was restored and I had an opportunity of
repairing my misfortune."

"Well, that was reasonable and considerate," said
Holmes.  "Come, Watson, for we have a good day's work
before us in town."

Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and
we were soon whirling up in a Portsmouth train. 
Holmes was sunk in profound thought, and hardly opened
his mouth until we had passed Clapham Junction.

"It's a very cheery thing to come into London by any
of these lines which run high, and allow you to look
down upon the houses like this."

I thought he was joking, for the view was sordid
enough, but he soon explained himself.

"Look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising
up above the slates, like brick islands in a
lead-colored sea."

"The board-schools."

"Light-houses, my boy!  Beacons of the future! 
Capsules with hundreds of bright little seeds in each,
out of which will spring the wise, better England of
the future.  I suppose that man Phelps does not
drink?"

"I should not think so."

"Nor should I, but we are bound to take every
possibility into account.  The poor devil has
certainly got himself into very deep water, and it's a
question whether we shall ever be able to get him
ashore.  What did you think of Miss Harrison?"

"A girl of strong character."

"Yes, but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken.  She
and her brother are the only children of an
iron-master somewhere up Northumberland way.  He got
engaged to her when traveling last winter, and she
came down to be introduced to his people, with her
brother as escort.  Then came the smash, and she
stayed on to nurse her lover, while brother Joseph,
finding himself pretty snug, stayed on too.  I've been
making a few independent inquiries, you see.  But
to-day must be a day of inquiries."

"My practice--" I began.

"Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than
mine--" said Holmes, with some asperity.

"I was going to say that my practice could get along
very well for a day or two, since it is the slackest
time in the year."

"Excellent," said he, recovering his good-humor. 
"Then we'll look into this matter together.  I think
that we should begin by seeing Forbes.  He can
probably tell us all the details we want until we know
from what side the case is to be approached."

"You said you had a clue?"

"Well, we have several, but we can only test their
value by further inquiry.  The most difficult crime to
track is the one which is purposeless.  Now this is
not purposeless.  Who is it who profits by it?  There
is the French ambassador, there is the Russian, there
is whoever might sell it to either of these, and
there is Lord Holdhurst."

"Lord Holdhurst!"

"Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might
find himself in a position where he was not sorry to
have such a document accidentally destroyed."

"Not a statesman with the honorable record of Lord
Holdhurst?"

"It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard
it.  We shall see the noble lord to-day and find out
if he can tell us anything.  Meanwhile I have already
set inquiries on foot."

"Already?"

"Yes, I sent wires from Woking station to every
evening paper in London.  This advertisement will
appear in each of them."

He handed over a sheet torn from a note-book.  On it
was scribbled in pencil:  "L10 reward.  The number of
the cab which dropped a fare at or about the door of
the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter to ten
in the evening of May 23d.  Apply 221 B, Baker
Street."

"You are confident that the thief came in a cab?"

"If not, there is no harm done.  But if Mr. Phelps is
correct in stating that there is no hiding-place
either in the room or the corridors, then the person
must have come from outside.  If he came from outside
on so wet a night, and yet left no trace of damp upon
the linoleum, which was examined within a few minutes
of his passing, then it is exceeding probable that he
came in a cab.  Yes, I think that we may safely deduce
a cab."

"It sounds plausible."

"That is one of the clues of which I spoke.  It may
lead us to something.  And then, of course, there is
the bell--which is the most distinctive feature of the
case.  Why should the bell ring?  Was it the thief who
did it out of bravado?  Or was it some one who was
with the thief who did it in order to prevent the
crime?  Or was it an accident?  Or was it--?"  He sank
back into the state of intense and silent thought from
which he had emerged; but it seemed to me, accustomed
as I was to his every mood, that some new possibility
had dawned suddenly upon him.

It was twenty past three when we reached our terminus,
and after a hasty luncheon at the buffet we pushed on
at once to Scotland Yard.  Holmes had already wired to
Forbes, and we found him waiting to receive us--a
small, foxy man with a sharp but by no means amiable
expression.  He was decidedly frigid in his manner to
us, especially when he heard the errand upon which we
had come.

"I've heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes,"
said he, tartly.  "You are ready enough to use all the
information that the police can lay at your disposal,
and then you try to finish the case yourself and bring
discredit on them."

"On the contrary," said Holmes, "out of my last
fifty-three cases my name has only appeared in four,
and the police have had all the credit in forty-nine. 
I don't blame you for not knowing this, for you are
young and inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in
your new duties you will work with me and not against
me."

"I'd be very glad of a hint or two," said the
detective, changing his manner.  "I've certainly had
no credit from the case so far."

"What steps have you taken?"

"Tangey, the commissionnaire, has been shadowed.  He
left the Guards with a good character and we can find
nothing against him.  His wife is a bad lot, though. 
I fancy she knows more about this than appears."

"Have you shadowed her?"

"We have set one of our women on to her.  Mrs. Tangey
drinks, and our woman has been with her twice when she
was well on, but she could get nothing out of her."

"I understand that they have had brokers in the
house?"

"Yes, but they were paid off."

"Where did the money come from?"

"That was all right.  His pension was due.  They have
not shown any sign of being in funds."

"What explanation did she give of having answered the
bell when Mr. Phelps rang for the coffee?"

"She said that he husband was very tired and she
wished to relieve him."

"Well, certainly that would agree with his being found
a little later asleep in his chair.  There is nothing
against them then but the woman's character.  Did you
ask her why she hurried away that night?  Her haste
attracted the attention of the police constable."

"She was later than usual and wanted to get home."

"Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who
started at least twenty minutes after her, got home
before her?"

"She explains that by the difference between a 'bus
and a hansom."

"Did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she
ran into the back kitchen?"

"Because she had the money there with which to pay off
the brokers."

"She has at least an answer for everything.  Did you
ask her whether in leaving she met any one or saw any
one loitering about Charles Street?"

"She saw no one but the constable."

"Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty
thoroughly.  What else have you done?"

"The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine
weeks, but without result.  We can show nothing
against him."

"Anything else?"

"Well, we have nothing else to go upon--no evidence of
any kind."

"Have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?"

"Well, I must confess that it beats me.  It was a cool
hand, whoever it was, to go and give the alarm like
that."

"Yes, it was queer thing to do.  Many thanks to you
for what you have told me.  If I can put the man into
your hands you shall hear from me.  Come along,
Watson."

"Where are we going to now?" I asked, as we left the
office.

"We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the
cabinet minister and future premier of England."

We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was
still in his chambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes
sending in his card we were instantly shown up.  The
statesman received us with that old-fashioned courtesy
for which he is remarkable, and seated us on the two
luxuriant lounges on either side of the fireplace. 
Standing on the rug between us, with his slight, tall
figure, his sharp features, thoughtful face, and
curling hair prematurely tinged with gray, he seemed
to represent that not too common type, a nobleman who
is in truth noble.

"Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes," said
he, smiling.  "And, of course, I cannot pretend to be
ignorant of the object of your visit.  There has only
been one occurrence in these offices which could call
for your attention.  In whose interest are you acting,
may I ask?"

"In that of Mr. Percy Phelps," answered Holmes.

"Ah, my unfortunate nephew!  You can understand that
our kinship makes it the more impossible for me to
screen him in any way.  I fear that the incident must
have a very prejudicial effect upon his career."

"But if the document is found?"

"Ah, that, of course, would be different."

"I had one or two questions which I wished to ask you,
Lord Holdhurst."

"I shall be happy to give you any information in my
power."

"Was it in this room that you gave your instructions
as to the copying of the document?"

"It was."

"Then you could hardly have been overheard?"

"It is out of the question."

"Did you ever mention to any one that it was your
intention to give any one the treaty to be copied?"

"Never."

"You are certain of that?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, since you never said so, and Mr. Phelps never
said so, and nobody else knew anything of the matter,
then the thief's presence in the room was purely
accidental.  He saw his chance and he took it."

The statesman smiled.  "You take me out of my province
there," said he.

Holmes considered for a moment.  "There is another
very important point which I wish to discuss with
you," said he.  "You feared, as I understand, that
very grave results might follow from the details of
this treaty becoming known."

A shadow passed over the expressive face of the
statesman.  "Very grave results indeed."

"Any have they occurred?"

"Not yet."

"If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or
Russian Foreign Office, you would expect to hear of
it?"

"I should," said Lord Holdhurst, with a wry face.

"Since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and
nothing has been heard, it is not unfair to suppose
that for some reason the treaty has not reached them."

Lord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders.

"We can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief
took the treaty in order to frame it and hang it up."

"Perhaps he is waiting for a better price."

"If he waits a little longer he will get no price at
all.  The treaty will cease to be secret in a few
months."

"That is most important," said Holmes.  "Of course, it
is a possible supposition that the thief has had a
sudden illness--"

"An attack of brain-fever, for example?" asked the
statesman, flashing a swift glance at him.

"I did not say so," said Holmes, imperturbably.  "And
now, Lord Holdhurst, we have already taken up too much
of your valuable time, and we shall wish you
good-day."

"Every success to your investigation, be the criminal
who it may," answered the nobleman, as he bowed us out
the door.

"He's a fine fellow," said Holmes, as we came out into
Whitehall.  "But he has a struggle to keep up his
position.  He is far from rich and has many calls. 
You noticed, of course, that his boots had been
resoled.  Now, Watson, I won't detain you from your
legitimate work any longer.  I shall do nothing more
to-day, unless I have an answer to my cab
advertisement.  But I should be extremely obliged to
you if you would come down with me to Woking
to-morrow, by the same train which we took yesterday."


I met him accordingly next morning and we traveled
down to Woking together.  He had had no answer to his
advertisement, he said, and no fresh light had been
thrown upon the case.  He had, when he so willed it,
the utter immobility of countenance of a red Indian,
and I could not gather from his appearance whether he
was satisfied or not with the position of the case. 
His conversation, I remember, was about the Bertillon
system of measurements, and he expressed his
enthusiastic admiration of the French savant.

We found our client still under the charge of his
devoted nurse, but looking considerably better than
before.  He rose from the sofa and greeted us without
difficulty when we entered.

"Any news?" he asked, eagerly.

"My report, as I expected, is a negative one," said
Holmes.  "I have seen Forbes, and I have seen your
uncle, and I have set one or two trains of inquiry
upon foot which may lead to something."

"You have not lost heart, then?"

"By no means."

"God bless you for saying that!" cried Miss Harrison. 
"If we keep our courage and our patience the truth
must come out."

"We have more to tell you than you have for us," said
Phelps, reseating himself upon the couch.

"I hoped you might have something."

"Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and
one which might have proved to be a serious one."  His
expression grew very grave as he spoke, and a look of
something akin to fear sprang up in his eyes.  "Do you
know," said he, "that I begin to believe that I am the
unconscious centre of some monstrous conspiracy, and
that my life is aimed at as well as my honor?"

"Ah!" cried Holmes.

"It sounds incredible, for I have not, as far as I
know, an enemy in the world.  Yet from last night's
experience I can come to no other conclusion."

"Pray let me hear it."

"You must know that last night was the very first
night that I have ever slept without a nurse in the
room.  I was so much better that I thought I could
dispense with one.  I had a night-light burning,
however.  Well, about two in the morning I had sunk
into a light sleep when I was suddenly aroused by a
slight noise.  It was like the sound which a mouse
makes when it is gnawing a plank, and I lay listening
to it for some time under the impression that it must
come from that cause.  Then it grew louder, and
suddenly there came from the window a sharp metallic
snick.  I sat up in amazement.  There could be no
doubt what the sounds were now.  The first ones had
been caused by some one forcing an instrument through
the slit between the sashes, and the second by the
catch being pressed back.

"There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if
the person were waiting to see whether the noise had
awakened me.  Then I heard a gentle creaking as the
window was very slowly opened.  I could stand it no
longer, for my nerves are not what they used to be.  I
sprang out of bed and flung open the shutters.  A man
was crouching at the window.  I could see little of
him, for he was gone like a flash.  He was wrapped in
some sort of cloak which came across the lower part of
his face.  One thing only I am sure of, and that is
that he had some weapon in his hand.  It looked to me
like a long knife.  I distinctly saw the gleam of it
as he turned to run."

"This is most interesting," said Holmes.  "Pray what
did you do then?"

"I should have followed him through the open window if
I had been stronger.  As it was, I rang the bell and
roused the house.  It took me some little time, for
the bell rings in the kitchen and the servants all
sleep upstairs.  I shouted, however, and that brought
Joseph down, and he roused the others.  Joseph and the
groom found marks on the bed outside the window, but
the weather has been so dry lately that they found it
hopeless to follow the trail across the grass. 
There's a place, however, on the wooden fence which
skirts the road which shows signs, they tell me, as if
some one had got over, and had snapped the top of the
rail in doing so.  I have said nothing to the local
police yet, for I thought I had best have your opinion
first."

This tale of our client's appeared to have an
extraordinary effect upon Sherlock Holmes.  He rose
from his chair and paced about the room in
uncontrollable excitement.

"Misfortunes never come single," said Phelps, smiling,
though it was evident that his adventure had somewhat
shaken him.

"You have certainly had your share," said Holmes.  "Do
you think you could walk round the house with me?"

"Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine.  Joseph
will come, too."

"And I also," said Miss Harrison.

"I am afraid not," said Holmes, shaking his head.  "I
think I must ask you to remain sitting exactly where
you are."

The young lady resumed her seat with an air of
displeasure.  Her brother, however, had joined us and
we set off all four together.  We passed round the
lawn to the outside of the young diplomatist's window. 
There were, as he had said, marks upon the bed, but
they were hopelessly blurred and vague.  Holmes
stopped over them for an instant, and then rose
shrugging his shoulders.

"I don't think any one could make much of this," said
he.  "Let us go round the house and see why this
particular room was chosen by the burglar.  I should
have thought those larger windows of the drawing-room
and dining-room would have had more attractions for
him."

"They are more visible from the road," suggested Mr.
Joseph Harrison.

"Ah, yes, of course.  There is a door here which he
might have attempted.  What is it for?"

"It is the side entrance for trades-people.  Of course
it is locked at night."

"Have you ever had an alarm like this before?"

"Never," said our client.

"Do you keep plate in the house, or anything to
attract burglars?"

"Nothing of value."

Holmes strolled round the house with his hands in his
pockets and a negligent air which was unusual with
him.

"By the way," said he to Joseph Harrison, "you found
some place, I understand, where the fellow scaled the
fence.  Let us have a look at that!"

The plump young man led us to a spot where the top of
one of the wooden rails had been cracked.  A small
fragment of the wood was hanging down.  Holmes pulled
it off and examined it critically.

"Do you think that was done last night?  It looks
rather old, does it not?"

"Well, possibly so."

"There are no marks of any one jumping down upon the
other side.  No, I fancy we shall get no help here. 
Let us go back to the bedroom and talk the matter
over."

Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the
arm of his future brother-in-law.  Holmes walked
swiftly across the lawn, and we were at the open
window of the bedroom long before the others came up.

"Miss Harrison," said Holmes, speaking with the utmost
intensity of manner, "you must stay where you are all
day.  Let nothing prevent you from staying where you
are all day.  It is of the utmost importance."

"Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes," said the girl
in astonishment.

"When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the
outside and keep the key.  Promise to do this."

"But Percy?"

"He will come to London with us."

"And am I to remain here?"

"It is for his sake.  You can serve him.  Quick! 
Promise!"

She gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two
came up.

"Why do you sit moping there, Annie?" cried her
brother.  "Come out into the sunshine!"

"No, thank you, Joseph.  I have a slight headache and
this room is deliciously cool and soothing."

"What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?" asked our
client.

"Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not
lose sight of our main inquiry.  It would be a very
great help to me if you would come up to London with
us."

"At once?"

"Well, as soon as you conveniently can.  Say in an
hour."

"I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any
help."

"The greatest possible."

"Perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?"

"I was just going to propose it."

"Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me,
he will find the bird flown.  We are all in your
hands, Mr. Holmes, and you must tell us exactly what
you would like done.  Perhaps you would prefer that
Joseph came with us so as to look after me?"

"Oh, no; my friend Watson is a medical man, you know,
and he'll look after you.  We'll have our lunch here,
if you will permit us, and then we shall all three set
off for town together."

It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison
excused herself from leaving the bedroom, in
accordance with Holmes's suggestion.  What the object
of my friend's manoeuvres was I could not conceive,
unless it were to keep the lady away from Phelps, who,
rejoiced by his returning health and by the prospect
of action, lunched with us in the dining-room.  Holmes
had a still more startling surprise for us, however,
for, after accompanying us down to the station and
seeing us into our carriage, he calmly announced that
he had no intention of leaving Woking.

"There are one or two small points which I should
desire to clear up before I go," said he.  "Your
absence, Mr. Phelps, will in some ways rather assist
me.  Watson, when you reach London you would oblige me
by driving at once to Baker Street with our friend
here, and remaining with him until I see you again. 
It is fortunate that you are old school-fellows, as
you must have much to talk over.  Mr. Phelps can have
the spare bedroom to-night, and I will be with you in
time for breakfast, for there is a train which will
take me into Waterloo at eight."

"But how about our investigation in London?" asked
Phelps, ruefully.

"We can do that to-morrow.  I think that just at
present I can be of more immediate use here."

"You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be
back to-morrow night," cried Phelps, as we began to
move from the platform.

"I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae," answered
Holmes, and waved his hand to us cheerily as we shot
out from the station.

Phelps and I talked it over on our journey, but
neither of us could devise a satisfactory reason for
this new development.

"I suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the
burglary last night, if a burglar it was.  For myself,
I don't believe it was an ordinary thief."

"What is your own idea, then?"

"Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves
or not, but I believe there is some deep political
intrigue going on around me, and that for some reason
that passes my understanding my life is aimed at by
the conspirators.  It sounds high-flown and absurd,
but consider the facts!  Why should a thief try to
break in at a bedroom window, where there could be no
hope of any plunder, and why should he come with a
long knife in his hand?"

"You are sure it was not a house-breaker's jimmy?"

"Oh, no, it was a knife.  I saw the flash of the blade
quite distinctly."

"But why on earth should you be pursued with such
animosity?"

"Ah, that is the question."

"Well, if Holmes takes the same view, that would
account for his action, would it not?  Presuming that
your theory is correct, if he can lay his hands upon
the man who threatened you last night he will have
gone a long way towards finding who took the naval
treaty.  It is absurd to suppose that you have two
enemies, one of whom robs you, while the other
threatens your life."

"But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae."

"I have known him for some time," said I, "but I never
knew him do anything yet without a very good reason,"
and with that our conversation drifted off on to other
topics.

But it was a weary day for me.  Phelps was still weak
after his long illness, and his misfortune made him
querulous and nervous.  In vain I endeavored to
interest him in Afghanistan, in India, in social
questions, in anything which might take his mind out
of the groove.  He would always come back to his lost
treaty, wondering, guessing, speculating, as to what
Holmes was doing, what steps Lord Holdhurst was
taking, what news we should have in the morning.  As
the evening wore on his excitement became quite
painful.

"You have implicit faith in Holmes?" he asked.

"I have seen him do some remarkable things."

"But he never brought light into anything quite so
dark as this?"

"Oh, yes; I have known him solve questions which
presented fewer clues than yours."

"But not where such large interests are at stake?"

"I don't know that.  To my certain knowledge he has
acted on behalf of three of the reigning houses of
Europe in very vital matters."

"But you know him well, Watson.  He is such an
inscrutable fellow that I never quite know what to
make of him.  Do you think he is hopeful?  Do you
think he expects to make a success of it?"

"He has said nothing."

"That is a bad sign."

"On the contrary, I have noticed that when he is off
the trail he generally says so.  It is when he is on a
scent and is not quite absolutely sure yet that it is
the right one that he is most taciturn.  Now, my dear
fellow, we can't help matters by making ourselves
nervous about them, so let me implore you to go to bed
and so be fresh for whatever may await us to-morrow."

I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my
advice, though I knew from his excited manner that
there was not much hope of sleep for him.  Indeed, his
mood was infectious, for I lay tossing half the night
myself, brooding over this strange problem, and
inventing a hundred theories, each of which was more
impossible than the last.  Why had Holmes remained at
Woking?  Why had he asked Miss Harrison to remain in
the sick-room all day?  Why had he been so careful not
to inform the people at Briarbrae that he intended to
remain near them?  I cudgelled my brains until I fell
asleep in the endeavor to find some explanation which
would cover all these facts.

It was seven o'clock when I awoke, and I set off at
once for Phelps's room, to find him haggard and spent
after a sleepless night.  His first question was
whether Holmes had arrived yet.

"He'll be here when he promised," said I, "and not an
instant sooner or later."

And my words were true, for shortly after eight a
hansom dashed up to the door and our friend got out of
it.  Standing in the window we saw that his left hand
was swathed in a bandage and that his face was very
grim and pale.  He entered the house, but it was some
little time before he came upstairs.

"He looks like a beaten man," cried Phelps.

I was forced to confess that he was right.  "After
all," said I, "the clue of the matter lies probably
here in town."

Phelps gave a groan.

"I don't know how it is," said he, "but I had hoped
for so much from his return.  But surely his hand was
not tied up like that yesterday.  What can be the
matter?"

"You are not wounded, Holmes?" I asked, as my friend
entered the room.

"Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness,"
he answered, nodding his good-mornings to us.  "This
case of yours, Mr. Phelps, is certainly one of the
darkest which I have ever investigated."

"I feared that you would find it beyond you."

"It has been a most remarkable experience."

"That bandage tells of adventures," said I.  "Won't
you tell us what has happened?"

"After breakfast, my dear Watson.  Remember that I
have breathed thirty miles of Surrey air this morning. 
I suppose that there has been no answer from my cabman
advertisement?  Well, well, we cannot expect to score
every time."

The table was all laid, and just as I was about to
ring Mrs. Hudson entered with the tea and coffee.  A
few minutes later she brought in three covers, and we
all drew up to the table, Holmes ravenous, I curious,
and Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression.

"Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion," said Holmes,
uncovering a dish of curried chicken.  "Her cuisine is
a little limited, but she has as good an idea of
breakfast as a Scotch-woman.  What have you here,
Watson?"

"Ham and eggs," I answered.

"Good!  What are you going to take, Mr.
Phelps--curried fowl or eggs, or will you help
yourself?"

"Thank you.  I can eat nothing," said Phelps.

"Oh, come!  Try the dish before you."

"Thank you, I would really rather not."

"Well, then," said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle,
"I suppose that you have no objection to helping me?"

Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a
scream, and sat there staring with a face as white as
the plate upon which he looked.  Across the centre of
it was lying a little cylinder of blue-gray paper.  He
caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then
danced madly about the room, pressing it to his bosom
and shrieking out in his delight.  Then he fell back
into an arm-chair so limp and exhausted with his own
emotions that we had to pour brandy down his throat to
keep him from fainting.

"There!  there!" said Holmes, soothing, patting him
upon the shoulder.  "It was too bad to spring it on
you like this, but Watson here will tell you that I
never can resist a touch of the dramatic."

Phelps seized his hand and kissed it.  "God bless
you!" he cried.  "You have saved my honor."

"Well, my own was at stake, you know," said Holmes. 
"I assure you it is just as hateful to me to fail in a
case as it can be to you to blunder over a
commission."

Phelps thrust away the precious document into the
innermost pocket of his coat.

"I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any
further, and yet I am dying to know how you got it and
where it was."

Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned
his attention to the ham and eggs.  Then he rose, lit
his pipe, and settled himself down into his chair.

"I'll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do
it afterwards," said he.  "After leaving you at the
station I went for a charming walk through some
admirable Surrey scenery to a pretty little village
called Ripley, where I had my tea at an inn, and took
the precaution of filling my flask and of putting a
paper of sandwiches in my pocket.  There I remained
until evening, when I set off for Woking again, and
found myself in the high-road outside Briarbrae just
after sunset.

"Well, I waited until the road was clear--it is never
a very frequented one at any time, I fancy--and then I
clambered over the fence into the grounds."

"Surely the gate was open!" ejaculated Phelps.

"Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters.  I
chose the place where the three fir-trees stand, and
behind their screen I got over without the least
chance of any one in the house being able to see me. 
I crouched down among the bushes on the other side,
and crawled from one to the other--witness the
disreputable state of my trouser knees--until I had
reached the clump of rhododendrons just opposite to
your bedroom window.  There I squatted down and
awaited developments.

"The blind was not down in your room, and I could see
Miss Harrison sitting there reading by the table.  It
was quarter-past ten when she closed her book,
fastened the shutters, and retired.

"I heard her shut the door, and felt quite sure that
she had turned the key in the lock."

"The key!" ejaculated Phelps.

"Yes; I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock
the door on the outside and take the key with her when
she went to bed.  She carried out every one of my
injunctions to the letter, and certainly without her
cooperation you would not have that paper in you
coat-pocket.  She departed then and the lights went
out, and I was left squatting in the
rhododendron-bush.

"The night was fine, but still it was a very weary
vigil.  Of course it has the sort of excitement about
it that the sportsman feels when he lies beside the
water-course and waits for the big game.  It was very
long, though--almost as long, Watson, as when you and
I waited in that deadly room when we looked into the
little problem of the Speckled Band.  There was a
church-clock down at Woking which struck the quarters,
and I thought more than once that it had stopped.  At
last however about two in the morning, I suddenly
heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushed back and
the creaking of a key.  A moment later the servants'
door was opened, and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out
into the moonlight."

"Joseph!" ejaculated Phelps.

"He was bare-headed, but he had a black coat thrown
over his shoulder so that he could conceal his face in
an instant if there were any alarm.  He walked on
tiptoe under the shadow of the wall, and when he
reached the window he worked a long-bladed knife
through the sash and pushed back the catch.  Then he
flung open the window, and putting his knife through
the crack in the shutters, he thrust the bar up and
swung them open.

"From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside
of the room and of every one of his movements.  He lit
the two candles which stood upon the mantelpiece, and
then he proceeded to turn back the corner of the
carpet in the neighborhood of the door.  Presently he
stopped and picked out a square piece of board, such
as is usually left to enable plumbers to get at the
joints of the gas-pipes.  This one covered, as a
matter of fact, the T joint which gives off the pipe
which supplies the kitchen underneath.  Out of this
hiding-place he drew that little cylinder of paper,
pushed down the board, rearranged the carpet, blew out
the candles, and walked straight into my arms as I
stood waiting for him outside the window.

"Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him
credit for, has Master Joseph.  He flew at me with his
knife, and I had to grasp him twice, and got a cut
over the knuckles, before I had the upper hand of him. 
He looked murder out of the only eye he could see with
when we had finished, but he listened to reason and
gave up the papers.  Having got them I let my man go,
but I wired full particulars to Forbes this morning. 
If he is quick enough to catch his bird, well and good. 
But if, as I shrewdly suspect, he finds the nest empty
before he gets there, why, all the better for the
government.  I fancy that Lord Holdhurst for one, and
Mr. Percy Phelps for another, would very much rather
that the affair never got as far as a police-court.

"My God!" gasped our client.  "Do you tell me that
during these long ten weeks of agony the stolen papers
were within the very room with me all the time?"

"So it was."

"And Joseph!  Joseph a villain and a thief!"

"Hum!  I am afraid Joseph's character is a rather
deeper and more dangerous one than one might judge
from his appearance.  From what I have heard from him
this morning, I gather that he has lost heavily in
dabbling with stocks, and that he is ready to do
anything on earth to better his fortunes.  Being an
absolutely selfish man, when a chance presented itself
he did not allow either his sister's happiness or your
reputation to hold his hand."

Percy Phelps sank back in his chair.  "My head
whirls," said he.  "Your words have dazed me."

"The principal difficulty in your case," remarked
Holmes, in his didactic fashion, "lay in the fact of
there being too much evidence.  What was vital was
overlaid and hidden by what was irrelevant.  Of all
the facts which were presented to us we had to pick
just those which we deemed to be essential, and then
piece them together in their order, so as to
reconstruct this very remarkable chain of events.  I
had already begun to suspect Joseph, from the fact
that you had intended to travel home with him that
night, and that therefore it was a likely enough thing
that he should call for you, knowing the Foreign
Office well, upon his way.  When I heard that some one
had been so anxious to get into the bedroom, in which
no one but Joseph could have concealed anything--you
told us in your narrative how you had turned Joseph
out when you arrived with the doctor--my suspicions
all changed to certainties, especially as the attempt
was made on the first night upon which the nurse was
absent, showing that the intruder was well acquainted
with the ways of the house."

"How blind I have been!"

"The facts of the case, as far as I have worked them
out, are these:  this Joseph Harrison entered the
office through the Charles Street door, and knowing
his way he walked straight into your room the instant
after you left it.  Finding no one there he promptly
rang the bell, and at the instant that he did so his
eyes caught the paper upon the table.  A glance showed
him that chance had put in his way a State document of
immense value, and in an instant he had thrust it into
his pocket and was gone.  A few minutes elapsed, as
you remember, before the sleepy commissionnaire drew
your attention to the bell, and those were just enough
to give the thief time to make his escape.

"He made his way to Woking by the first train, and
having examined his booty and assured himself that it
really was of immense value, he had concealed it in
what he thought was a very safe place, with the
intention of taking it out again in a day or two, and
carrying it to the French embassy, or wherever he
thought that a long price was to be had.  Then came
your sudden return.  He, without a moment's warning,
was bundled out of his room, and from that time onward
there were always at least two of you there to prevent
him from regaining his treasure.  The situation to him
must have been a maddening one.  But at last he
thought he saw his chance.  He tried to steal in, but
was baffled by your wakefulness.  You remember that
you did not take your usual draught that night."

"I remember."

"I fancy that he had taken steps to make that draught
efficacious, and that he quite relied upon your being
unconscious.  Of course, I understood that he would
repeat the attempt whenever it could be done with
safety.  Your leaving the room gave him the chance he
wanted.  I kept Miss Harrison in it all day so that he
might not anticipate us.  Then, having given him the
idea that the coast was clear, I kept guard as I have
described.  I already knew that the papers were
probably in the room, but I had no desire to rip up
all the planking and skirting in search of them.  I
let him take them, therefore, from the hiding-place,
and so saved myself an infinity of trouble.  Is there
any other point which I can make clear?"

"Why did he try the window on the first occasion," I
asked, "when he might have entered by the door?"

"In reaching the door he would have to pass seven
bedrooms.  On the other hand, he could get out on to
the lawn with ease.  Anything else?"

"You do not think," asked Phelps, "that he had any
murderous intention?  The knife was only meant as a
tool."

"It may be so," answered Holmes, shrugging his
shoulders.  "I can only say for certain that Mr.
Joseph Harrison is a gentleman to whose mercy I should
be extremely unwilling to trust."



Adventure XI


The Final Problem


It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to
write these the last words in which I shall ever
record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr.
Sherlock Holmes was distinguished.  In an incoherent
and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion,
I have endeavored to give some account of my strange
experiences in his company from the chance which first
brought us together at the period of the "Study in
Scarlet," up to the time of his interference in the
matter of the "Naval Treaty"--an interference which
had the unquestionable effect of preventing a serious
international complication.  It was my intention to
have stopped there, and to have said nothing of that
event which has created a void in my life which the
lapse of two years has done little to fill.  My hand
has been forced, however, by the recent letters in
which Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his
brother, and I have no choice but to lay the facts
before the public exactly as they occurred.  I alone
know the absolute truth of the matter, and I am
satisfied that the time has come when no good purpose
is to be served by its suppression.  As far as I know,
there have been only three accounts in the public
press:  that in the Journal de Geneve on May 6th,
1891, the Reuter's despatch in the English papers on
May 7th, and finally the recent letter to which I have
alluded.  Of these the first and second were extremely
condensed, while the last is, as I shall now show, an
absolute perversion of the facts.  It lies with me to
tell for the first time what really took place between
Professor Moriarty and Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my
subsequent start in private practice, the very
intimate relations which had existed between Holmes
and myself became to some extent modified.  He still
came to me from time to time when he desired a
companion in his investigation, but these occasions
grew more and more seldom, until I find that in the
year 1890 there were only three cases of which I
retain any record.  During the winter of that year and
the early spring of 1891, I saw in the papers that he
had been engaged by the French government upon a
matter of supreme importance, and I received two notes
from Holmes, dated from Narbonne and from Nimes, from
which I gathered that his stay in France was likely to
be a long one.  It was with some surprise, therefore,
that I saw him walk into my consulting-room upon the
evening of April 24th.  It struck me that he was
looking even paler and thinner than usual.

"Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely,"
he remarked, in answer to my look rather than to my
words; "I have been a little pressed of late.  Have
you any objection to my closing your shutters?"

The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the
table at which I had been reading.  Holmes edged his
way round the wall and flinging the shutters together,
he bolted them securely.

"You are afraid of something?" I asked.

"Well, I am."

"Of what?"

"Of air-guns."

"My dear Holmes, what do you mean?"

"I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to
understand that I am by no means a nervous man.  At
the same time, it is stupidity rather than courage to
refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you. 
Might I trouble you for a match?"  He drew in the
smoke of his cigarette as if the soothing influence
was grateful to him.

"I must apologize for calling so late," said he, "and
I must further beg you to be so unconventional as to
allow me to leave your house presently by scrambling
over your back garden wall."

"But what does it all mean?" I asked.

He held out his hand, and I saw in the light of the
lamp that two of his knuckles were burst and bleeding.

"It is not an airy nothing, you see," said he,
smiling.  "On the contrary, it is solid enough for a
man to break his hand over.  Is Mrs. Watson in?"

"She is away upon a visit."

"Indeed!  You are alone?"

"Quite."

"Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that
you should come away with me for a week to the
Continent."

"Where?"

"Oh, anywhere.  It's all the same to me."

There was something very strange in all this.  It was
not Holmes's nature to take an aimless holiday, and
something about his pale, worn face told me that his
nerves were at their highest tension.  He saw the
question in my eyes, and, putting his finger-tips
together and his elbows upon his knees, he explained
the situation.

"You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?"
said he.

"Never."

"Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!"
he cried.  "The man pervades London, and no one has
heard of him.  That's what puts him on a pinnacle in
the records of crime.  I tell you, Watson, in all
seriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I could
free society of him, I should feel that my own career
had reached its summit, and I should be prepared to
turn to some more placid line in life.  Between
ourselves, the recent cases in which I have been of
assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, and to
the French republic, have left me in such a position
that I could continue to live in the quiet fashion
which is most congenial to me, and to concentrate my
attention upon my chemical researches.  But I could
not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair,
if I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty
were walking the streets of London unchallenged."

"What has he done, then?"

"His career has been an extraordinary one.  He is a
man of good birth and excellent education, endowed by
nature with a phenomenal mathematical faculty.  At the
age of twenty-one he wrote a treatise upon the
Binomial Theorem, which has had a European vogue.  On
the strength of it he won the Mathematical Chair at
one of our smaller universities, and had, to all
appearances, a most brilliant career before him.  But
the man had hereditary tendencies of the most
diabolical kind.  A criminal strain ran in his blood,
which, instead of being modified, was increased and
rendered infinitely more dangerous by his
extraordinary mental powers.  Dark rumors gathered
round him in the university town, and eventually he
was compelled to resign his chair and to come down to
London, where he set up as an army coach.  So much is
known to the world, but what I am telling you now is
what I have myself discovered.

"As you are aware, Watson, there is no one who knows
the higher criminal world of London so well as I do. 
For years past I have continually been conscious of
some power behind the malefactor, some deep organizing
power which forever stands in the way of the law, and
throws its shield over the wrong-doer.  Again and again
in cases of the most varying sorts--forgery cases,
robberies, murders--I have felt the presence of this
force, and I have deduced its action in many of those
undiscovered crimes in which I have not been
personally consulted.  For years I have endeavored to
break through the veil which shrouded it, and at last
the time came when I seized my thread and followed it,
until it led me, after a thousand cunning windings, to
ex-Professor Moriarty of mathematical celebrity.

"He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson.  He is the
organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that
is undetected in this great city.  He is a genius, a
philosopher, an abstract thinker.  He has a brain of
the first order.  He sits motionless, like a spider in
the center of its web, but that web has a thousand
radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of
them.  He does little himself.  He only plans.  But
his agents are numerous and splendidly organized.  Is
there a crime to be done, a paper to be abstracted, we
will say, a house to be rifled, a man to be
removed--the word is passed to the Professor, the
matter is organized and carried out.  The agent may be
caught.  In that case money is found for his bail or
his defence.  But the central power which uses the
agent is never caught--never so much as suspected. 
This was the organization which I deduced, Watson, and
which I devoted my whole energy to exposing and
breaking up.

"But the Professor was fenced round with safeguards so
cunningly devised that, do what I would, it seemed
impossible to get evidence which would convict in a
court of law.  You know my powers, my dear Watson, and
yet at the end of three months I was forced to confess
that I had at last met an antagonist who was my
intellectual equal.  My horror at his crimes was lost
in my admiration at his skill.  But at last he made a
trip--only a little, little trip--but it was more than
he could afford when I was so close upon him.  I had
my chance, and, starting from that point, I have woven
my net round him until now it is all ready to close. 
In three days--that is to say, on Monday next--matters
will be ripe, and the Professor, with all the
principal members of his gang, will be in the hands of
the police.  Then will come the greatest criminal
trial of the century, the clearing up of over forty
mysteries, and the rope for all of them; but if we
move at all prematurely, you understand, they may slip
out of our hands even at the last moment.

"Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge
of Professor Moriarty, all would have been well.  But
he was too wily for that.  He saw every step which I
took to draw my toils round him.  Again and again he
strove to break away, but I as often headed him off. 
I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of
that silent contest could be written, it would take
its place as the most brilliant bit of
thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection. 
Never have I risen to such a height, and never have I
been so hard pressed by an opponent.  He cut deep, and
yet I just undercut him.  This morning the last steps
were taken, and three days only were wanted to
complete the business.  I was sitting in my room
thinking the matter over, when the door opened and
Professor Moriarty stood before me.

"My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must
confess to a start when I saw the very man who had
been so much in my thoughts standing there on my
threshhold.  His appearance was quite familiar to me. 
He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out
in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken
in his head.  He is clean-shaven, pale, and
ascetic-looking, retaining something of the professor
in his features.  His shoulders are rounded from much
study, and his face protrudes forward, and is forever
slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously
reptilian fashion.  He peered at me with great
curiosity in his puckered eyes.

"'You have less frontal development than I should have
expected,' said he, at last.  'It is a dangerous habit
to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's
dressing-gown.'

"The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly
recognized the extreme personal danger in which I lay. 
The only conceivable escape for him lay in silencing
my tongue.  In an instant I had slipped the revolver
from the drawer into my pocket, and was covering him
through the cloth.  At his remark I drew the weapon
out and laid it cocked upon the table.  He still
smiled and blinked, but there was something about his
eyes which made me feel very glad that I had it there.

"'You evidently don't know me,' said he.

"'On the contrary,' I answered, 'I think it is fairly
evident that I do.  Pray take a chair.  I can spare
you five minutes if you have anything to say.'

"'All that I have to say has already crossed your
mind,' said he.

"'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,' I
replied.

"'You stand fast?'

"'Absolutely.'

"He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the
pistol from the table.  But he merely drew out a
memorandum-book in which he had scribbled some dates.

"'You crossed my path on the 4th of January,' said
he.  'On the 23d you incommoded me; by the middle of
February I was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the
end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans;
and now, at the close of April, I find myself placed
in such a position through your continual persecution
that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty. 
The situation is becoming an impossible one.'

"'Have you any suggestion to make?' I asked.

"'You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,' said he, swaying his
face about.  'You really must, you know.'

"'After Monday,' said I.

"'Tut, tut,' said he.  'I am quite sure that a man of
your intelligence will see that there can be but one
outcome to this affair.  It is necessary that you
should withdraw.  You have worked things in such a
fashion that we have only one resource left.  It has been
an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which
you have grappled with this affair, and I say,
unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to be
forced to take any extreme measure.  You smile, sir,
but I assure you that it really would.'

"'Danger is part of my trade,' I remarked.

"'That is not danger,' said he.  'It is inevitable
destruction.  You stand in the way not merely of an
individual, but of a mighty organization, the full
extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have
been unable to realize.  You must stand clear, Mr.
Holmes, or be trodden under foot.'

"'I am afraid,' said I, rising, 'that in the pleasure
of this conversation I am neglecting business of
importance which awaits me elsewhere.'

"He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his
head sadly.

"'Well, well,' said he, at last.  'It seems a pity,
but I have done what I could.  I know every move of
your game.  You can do nothing before Monday.  It has
been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes.  You hope
to place me in the dock.  I tell you that I will never
stand in the dock.  You hope to beat me.  I tell you
that you will never beat me.  If you are clever enough
to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I
shall do as much to you.'

"'You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty,'
said I.  'Let me pay you one in return when I say that
if I were assured of the former eventuality I would,
in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept the
latter.'

"'I can promise you the one, but not the other,' he
snarled, and so turned his rounded back upon me, and
went peering and blinking out of the room.

"That was my singular interview with Professor
Moriarty.  I confess that it left an unpleasant effect
upon my mind.  His soft, precise fashion of speech
leaves a conviction of sincerity which a mere bully
could not produce.  Of course, you will say:  'Why not
take police precautions against him?'  the reason is
that I am well convinced that it is from his agents
the blow will fall.  I have the best proofs that it
would be so."

"You have already been assaulted?"

"My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who
lets the grass grow under his feet.  I went out about
mid-day to transact some business in Oxford Street. 
As I passed the corner which leads from Bentinck
Street on to the Welbeck Street crossing a two-horse
van furiously driven whizzed round and was on me like
a flash.  I sprang for the foot-path and saved myself
by the fraction of a second.  The van dashed round by
Marylebone Lane and was gone in an instant.  I kept to
the pavement after that, Watson, but as I walked down
Vere Street a brick came down from the roof of one of
the houses, and was shattered to fragments at my feet. 
I called the police and had the place examined.  There
were slates and bricks piled up on the roof
preparatory to some repairs, and they would have me
believe that the wind had toppled over one of these. 
Of course I knew better, but I could prove nothing.  I
took a cab after that and reached my brother's rooms
in Pall Mall, where I spent the day.  Now I have come
round to you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough
with a bludgeon.  I knocked him down, and the police
have him in custody; but I can tell you with the most
absolute confidence that no possible connection will
ever be traced between the gentleman upon whose front
teeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring
mathematical coach, who is, I dare say, working out
problems upon a black-board ten miles away.  You will
not wonder, Watson, that my first act on entering your
rooms was to close your shutters, and that I have been
compelled to ask your permission to leave the house by
some less conspicuous exit than the front door."

I had often admired my friend's courage, but never
more than now, as he sat quietly checking off a series
of incidents which must have combined to make up a day
of horror.

"You will spend the night here?" I said.

"No, my friend, you might find me a dangerous guest. 
I have my plans laid, and all will be well.  Matters
have gone so far now that they can move without my
help as far as the arrest goes, though my presence is
necessary for a conviction.  It is obvious, therefore,
that I cannot do better than get away for the few days
which remain before the police are at liberty to act. 
It would be a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you
could come on to the Continent with me."

"The practice is quiet," said I, "and I have an
accommodating neighbor.  I should be glad to come."

"And to start to-morrow morning?"

"If necessary."

"Oh yes, it is most necessary.  Then these are your
instructions, and I beg, my dear Watson, that you will
obey them to the letter, for you are now playing a
double-handed game with me against the cleverest rogue
and the most powerful syndicate of criminals in
Europe.  Now listen!  You will dispatch whatever
luggage you intend to take by a trusty messenger
unaddressed to Victoria to-night.  In the morning you
will send for a hansom, desiring your man to take
neither the first nor the second which may present
itself.  Into this hansom you will jump, and you will
drive to the Strand end of the Lowther Arcade,
handing the address to the cabman upon a slip of
paper, with a request that he will not throw it away. 
Have your fare ready, and the instant that your cab
stops, dash through the Arcade, timing yourself to
reach the other side at a quarter-past nine.  You will
find a small brougham waiting close to the curb,
driven by a fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped at
the collar with red.  Into this you will step, and you
will reach Victoria in time for the Continental
express."

"Where shall I meet you?"

"At the station.  The second first-class carriage from
the front will be reserved for us."

"The carriage is our rendezvous, then?"

"Yes."

It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the
evening.  It was evident to me that he thought he might
bring trouble to the roof he was under, and that that
was the motive which impelled him to go.  With a few
hurried words as to our plans for the morrow he rose
and came out with me into the garden, clambering over
the wall which leads into Mortimer Street, and
immediately whistling for a hansom, in which I heard
him drive away.

In the morning I obeyed Holmes's injunctions to the
letter.  A hansom was procured with such precaution as
would prevent its being one which was placed ready for
us, and I drove immediately after breakfast to the
Lowther Arcade, through which I hurried at the top of
my speed.  A brougham was waiting with a very massive
driver wrapped in a dark cloak, who, the instant that
I had stepped in, whipped up the horse and rattled off
to Victoria Station.  On my alighting there he turned
the carriage, and dashed away again without so much as
a look in my direction.

So far all had gone admirably.  My luggage was waiting
for me, and I had no difficulty in finding the
carriage which Holmes had indicated, the less so as it
was the only one in the train which was marked
"Engaged."  My only source of anxiety now was the
non-appearance of Holmes.  The station clock marked
only seven minutes from the time when we were due to
start.  In vain I searched among the groups of
travellers and leave-takers for the lithe figure of
my friend.  There was no sign of him.  I spent a few
minutes in assisting a venerable Italian priest, who
was endeavoring to make a porter understand, in his
broken English, that his luggage was to be booked
through to Paris.  Then, having taken another look
round, I returned to my carriage, where I found that
the porter, in spite of the ticket, had given me my
decrepit Italian friend as a traveling companion.  It
was useless for me to explain to him that his presence
was an intrusion, for my Italian was even more limited
than his English, so I shrugged my shoulders
resignedly, and continued to look out anxiously for my
friend.  A chill of fear had come over me, as I
thought that his absence might mean that some blow had
fallen during the night.  Already the doors had all
been shut and the whistle blown, when--

"My dear Watson," said a voice, "you have not even
condescended to say good-morning."

I turned in uncontrollable astonishment.  The aged
ecclesiastic had turned his face towards me.  For an
instant the wrinkles were smoothed away, the nose drew
away from the chin, the lower lip ceased to protrude
and the mouth to mumble, the dull eyes regained their
fire, the drooping figure expanded.  The next the
whole frame collapsed again, and Holmes had gone as
quickly as he had come.

"Good heavens!" I cried; "how you startled me!"

"Every precaution is still necessary," he whispered. 
"I have reason to think that they are hot upon our
trail.  Ah, there is Moriarty himself."

The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. 
Glancing back, I saw a tall man pushing his way
furiously through the crowd, and waving his hand as if
he desired to have the train stopped.  It was too
late, however, for we were rapidly gathering momentum,
and an instant later had shot clear of the station.

"With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it
rather fine," said Holmes, laughing.  He rose, and
throwing off the black cassock and hat which had
formed his disguise, he packed them away in a
hand-bag.

"Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?"

"No."

"You haven't' seen about Baker Street, then?"

"Baker Street?"

"They set fire to our rooms last night.  No great harm
was done."

"Good heavens, Holmes! this is intolerable."

"They must have lost my track completely after their
bludgeon-man was arrested.  Otherwise they could not
have imagined that I had returned to my rooms.  They
have evidently taken the precaution of watching you,
however, and that is what has brought Moriarty to
Victoria.  You could not have made any slip in
coming?"

"I did exactly what you advised."

"Did you find your brougham?"

"Yes, it was waiting."

"Did you recognize your coachman?"

"No."

"It was my brother Mycroft.  It is an advantage to get
about in such a case without taking a mercenary into
your confidence.  But we must plan what we are to do
about Moriarty now."

"As this is an express, and as the boat runs in
connection with it, I should think we have shaken him
off very effectively."

"My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my
meaning when I said that this man may be taken as
being quite on the same intellectual plane as myself. 
You do not imagine that if I were the pursuer I should
allow myself to be baffled by so slight an obstacle. 
Why, then, should you think so meanly of him?"

"What will he do?"

"What I should do?"

"What would you do, then?"

"Engage a special."

"But it must be late."

"By no means.  This train stops at Canterbury; and
there is always at least a quarter of an hour's delay
at the boat.  He will catch us there."

"One would think that we were the criminals.  Let us
have him arrested on his arrival."

"It would be to ruin the work of three months.  We
should get the big fish, but the smaller would dart
right and left out of the net.  On Monday we should
have them all.  No, an arrest is inadmissible."

"What then?"

"We shall get out at Canterbury."

"And then?"

"Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to
Newhaven, and so over to Dieppe.  Moriarty will again
do what I should do.  He will get on to Paris, mark
down our luggage, and wait for two days at the depot. 
In the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a couple
of carpet-bags, encourage the manufactures of the
countries through which we travel, and make our way at
our leisure into Switzerland, via Luxembourg and
Basle."

At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find
that we should have to wait an hour before we could
get a train to Newhaven.

I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly
disappearing luggage-van which contained my wardrobe,
when Holmes pulled my sleeve and pointed up the line.

"Already, you see," said he.

Far away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a
thin spray of smoke.  A minute later a carriage and
engine could be seen flying along the open curve which
leads to the station.  We had hardly time to take our
place behind a pile of luggage when it passed with a
rattle and a roar, beating a blast of hot air into our
faces.

"There he goes," said Holmes, as we watched the
carriage swing and rock over the points. "There are
limits, you see, to our friend's intelligence.  It
would have been a coup-de-maitre had he deduced what
I would deduce and acted accordingly."

"And what would he have done had he overtaken us?"

"There cannot be the least doubt that he would have
made a murderous attack upon me.  It is, however, a
game at which two may play.  The question now is
whether we should take a premature lunch here, or run
our chance of starving before we reach the buffet at
Newhaven."


We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two
days there, moving on upon the third day as far as
Strasburg.  On the Monday morning Holmes had
telegraphed to the London police, and in the evening
we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel.  Holmes
tore it open, and then with a bitter curse hurled it
into the grate.

"I might have known it!" he groaned.  "He has
escaped!"

"Moriarty?"

"They have secured the whole gang with the exception
of him.  He has given them the slip.  Of course, when
I had left the country there was no one to cope with
him.  But I did think that I had put the game in their
hands.  I think that you had better return to England,
Watson."

"Why?"

"Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. 
This man's occupation is gone.  He is lost if he
returns to London.  If I read his character right he
will devote his whole energies to revenging himself
upon me.  He said as much in our short interview, and
I fancy that he meant it.  I should certainly
recommend you to return to your practice."

It was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who
was an old campaigner as well as an old friend.  We
sat in the Strasburg salle-à-manger arguing the
question for half an hour, but the same night we had
resumed our journey and were well on our way to
Geneva.

For a charming week we wandered up the Valley of the
Rhone, and then, branching off at Leuk, we made our
way over the Gemmi Pass, still deep in snow, and so,
by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen.  It was a lovely
trip, the dainty green of the spring below, the virgin
white of the winter above; but it was clear to me that
never for one instant did Holmes forget the shadow
which lay across him.  In the homely Alpine villages
or in the lonely mountain passes, I could tell by his
quick glancing eyes and his sharp scrutiny of every
face that passed us, that he was well convinced that,
walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves clear
of the danger which was dogging our footsteps.

Once, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and
walked along the border of the melancholy Daubensee, a
large rock which had been dislodged from the ridge
upon our right clattered down and roared into the lake
behind us.  In an instant Holmes had raced up on to
the ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned
his neck in every direction.  It was in vain that our
guide assured him that a fall of stones was a common
chance in the spring-time at that spot.  He said
nothing, but he smiled at me with the air of a man who
sees the fulfillment of that which he had expected.

And yet for all his watchfulness he was never
depressed.  On the contrary, I can never recollect
having seen him in such exuberant spirits.  Again and
again he recurred to the fact that if he could be
assured that society was freed from Professor Moriarty
he would cheerfully bring his own career to a
conclusion.

"I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that
I have not lived wholly in vain," he remarked.  "If my
record were closed to-night I could still survey it
with equanimity.  The air of London is the sweeter for
my presence.  In over a thousand cases I am not aware
that I have ever used my powers upon the wrong side. 
Of late I have been tempted to look into the problems
furnished by nature rather than those more superficial
ones for which our artificial state of society is
responsible.  Your memoirs will draw to an end,
Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by the
capture or extinction of the most dangerous and
capable criminal in Europe."

I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which
remains for me to tell.  It is not a subject on which
I would willingly dwell, and yet I am conscious that a
duty devolves upon me to omit no detail.

It was on the 3d of May that we reached the little
village of Meiringen, where we put up at the
Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the elder. 
Our landlord was an intelligent  man, and spoke
excellent English, having served for three years as
waiter at the Grosvenor Hotel in London.  At his
advice, on the afternoon of the 4th we set off
together, with the intention of crossing the hills and
spending the night at the hamlet of Rosenlaui.  We had
strict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the
falls of Reichenbach, which are about half-way up the
hill, without making a small detour to see them.

It is indeed, a fearful place.  The torrent, swollen
by the melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss,
from which the spray rolls up like the smoke from a
burning house.  The shaft into which the river hurls
itself is an immense chasm, lined by glistening
coal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming,
boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over
and shoots the stream onward over its jagged lip.  The
long sweep of green water roaring forever down, and
the thick flickering curtain of spray hissing forever
upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and
clamor.  We stood near the edge peering down at the
gleam of the breaking water far below us against the
black rocks, and listening to the half-human shout
which came booming up with the spray out of the abyss.

The path has been cut half-way round the fall to
afford a complete view, but it ends abruptly, and the
traveler has to return as he came.  We had turned to
do so, when we saw a Swiss lad come running along it
with a letter in his hand.  It bore the mark of the
hotel which we had just left, and was addressed to me
by the landlord.  It appeared that within a very few
minutes of our leaving, an English lady had arrived
who was in the last stage of consumption.  She had
wintered at Davos Platz, and was journeying now to
join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhage
had overtaken her.  It was thought that she could
hardly live a few hours, but it would be a great
consolation to her to see an English doctor, and, if I
would only return, etc.  The good Steiler assured me
in a postscript that he would himself look upon my
compliance as a very great favor, since the lady
absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he
could not but feel that he was incurring a great
responsibility.

The appeal was one which could not be ignored.  It was
impossible to refuse the request of a
fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange land.  Yet I
had my scruples about leaving Holmes.  It was finally
agreed, however, that he should retain the young Swiss
messenger with him as guide and companion while I
returned to Meiringen.  My friend would stay some
little time at the fall, he said, and would then walk
slowly over the hill to Rosenlaui, where I was to
rejoin him in the evening.  As I turned away I saw
Holmes, with his back against a rock and his arms
folded, gazing down at the rush of the waters.  It was
the last that I was ever destined to see of him in
this world.

When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked
back.  It was impossible, from that position, to see
the fall, but I could see the curving path which winds
over the shoulder of the hill and leads to it.  Along
this a man was, I remember, walking very rapidly.

I could see his black figure clearly outlined against
the green behind him.  I noted him, and the energy with
which he walked but he passed from my mind again as I
hurried on upon my errand.

It may have been a little over an hour before I
reached Meiringen.  Old Steiler was standing at the
porch of his hotel.

"Well," said I, as I came hurrying up, "I trust that
she is no worse?"

A look of surprise passed over his face, and at the
first quiver of his eyebrows my heart turned to lead
in my breast.

"You did not write this?" I said, pulling the letter
from my pocket.  "There is no sick Englishwoman in the
hotel?"

"Certainly not!" he cried.  "But it has the hotel mark
upon it!  Ha, it must have been written by that tall
Englishman who came in after you had gone.  He said--"

But I waited for none of the landlord's explanations. 
In a tingle of fear I was already running down the
village street, and making for the path which I had so
lately descended.  It had taken me an hour to come
down.  For all my efforts two more had passed before I
found myself at the fall of Reichenbach once more. 
There was Holmes's Alpine-stock still leaning against
the rock by which I had left him.  But there was no
sign of him, and it was in vain that I shouted.  My
only answer was my own voice reverberating in a
rolling echo from the cliffs around me.

It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me
cold and sick.  He had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. 
He had remained on that three-foot path, with sheer
wall on one side and sheer drop on the other, until
his enemy had overtaken him.  The young Swiss had gone
too.  He had probably been in the pay of Moriarty, and
had left the two men together.  And then what had
happened?  Who was to tell us what had happened then?

I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I
was dazed with the horror of the thing.  Then I began
to think of Holmes's own methods and to try to
practise them in reading this tragedy.  It was, alas,
only too easy to do.  During our conversation we had
not gone to the end of the path, and the Alpine-stock
marked the place where we had stood.  The blackish
soil is kept forever soft by the incessant drift of
spray, and a bird would leave its tread upon it.  Two
lines of footmarks were clearly marked along the
farther end of the path, both leading away from me. 
There were none returning.  A few yards from the end
the soil was all ploughed up into a patch of mud, and
the branches and ferns which fringed the chasm were
torn and bedraggled.  I lay upon my face and peered
over with the spray spouting up all around me.  It had
darkened since I left, and now I could only see here
and there the glistening of moisture upon the black
walls, and far away down at the end of the shaft the
gleam of the broken water.  I shouted; but only the
same half-human cry of the fall was borne back to my
ears.

But it was destined that I should after all have a
last word of greeting from my friend and comrade.  I
have said that his Alpine-stock had been left leaning
against a rock which jutted on to the path.  From the
top of this bowlder the gleam of something bright
caught my eye, and, raising my hand, I found that it
came from the silver cigarette-case which he used to
carry.  As I took it up a small square of paper upon
which it had lain fluttered down on to the ground. 
Unfolding it, I found that it consisted of three pages
torn from his note-book and addressed to me.  It was
characteristic of the man that the direction was a
precise, and the writing as firm and clear, as though
it had been written in his study.

My dear Watson [it said], I write these few lines
through the courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my
convenience for the final discussion of those
questions which lie between us.  He has been giving me
a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the
English police and kept himself informed of our
movements.  They certainly confirm the very high
opinion which I had formed of his abilities.  I am
pleased to think that I shall be able to free society
from any further effects of his presence, though I
fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my
friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you.  I
have already explained to you, however, that my career
had in any case reached its crisis, and that no
possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to
me than this.  Indeed, if I may make a full confession
to you, I was quite convinced that the letter from
Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart on
that errand under the persuasion that some development
of this sort would follow.  Tell Inspector Patterson
that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are
in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and
inscribed "Moriarty."  I made every disposition of my
property before leaving England, and handed it to my
brother Mycroft.  Pray give my greetings to Mrs.
Watson, and believe me to be, my dear fellow,

Very sincerely yours,

Sherlock Holmes


A few words may suffice to tell the little that
remains.  An examination by experts leaves little
doubt that a personal contest between the two men
ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a
situation, in their reeling over, locked in each
other's arms.  Any attempt at recovering the bodies
was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that
dreadful caldron of swirling water and seething foam,
will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and
the foremost champion of the law of their generation. 
The Swiss youth was never found again, and there can
be no doubt that he was one of the numerous agents
whom Moriarty kept in this employ.  As to the gang, it
will be within the memory of the public how completely
the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed
their organization, and how heavily the hand of the
dead man weighed upon them.  Of their terrible chief
few details came out during the proceedings, and if I
have now been compelled to make a clear statement of
his career it is due to those injudicious champions
who have endeavored to clear his memory by attacks
upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the
wisest man whom I have ever known.





End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes