"THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES,\n\nA Collection of Holmes Adventures\n\n\nby Sir Arthur Conan Doyle\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n\n     The Adventure Of The Empty House\n\n     The Adventure Of The Norwood Builder\n\n     The Adventure Of The Dancing Men\n\n     The Adventure Of The Solitary Cyclist\n\n     The Adventure Of The Priory School\n\n     The Adventure Of Black Peter\n\n     The Adventure Of Charles Augustus Milverton\n\n     The Adventure Of The Six Napoleons\n\n     The Adventure Of The Three Students\n\n     The Adventure Of The Golden Pince-Nez\n\n     The Adventure Of The Missing Three-Quarter\n\n     The Adventure Of The Abbey Grange\n\n     The Adventure Of The Second Stain\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE\n\n\nIt was in the spring of the year 1894 that all London was interested,\nand the fashionable world dismayed, by the murder of the Honourable\nRonald Adair under most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. The\npublic has already learned those particulars of the crime which came out\nin the police investigation, but a good deal was suppressed upon that\noccasion, since the case for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly\nstrong that it was not necessary to bring forward all the facts. Only\nnow, at the end of nearly ten years, am I allowed to supply those\nmissing links which make up the whole of that remarkable chain. The\ncrime was of interest in itself, but that interest was as nothing to\nme compared to the inconceivable sequel, which afforded me the greatest\nshock and surprise of any event in my adventurous life. Even now,\nafter this long interval, I find myself thrilling as I think of it, and\nfeeling once more that sudden flood of joy, amazement, and incredulity\nwhich utterly submerged my mind. Let me say to that public, which has\nshown some interest in those glimpses which I have occasionally given\nthem of the thoughts and actions of a very remarkable man, that they\nare not to blame me if I have not shared my knowledge with them, for I\nshould have considered it my first duty to do so, had I not been barred\nby a positive prohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn\nupon the third of last month.\n\nIt can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmes had\ninterested me deeply in crime, and that after his disappearance I never\nfailed to read with care the various problems which came before the\npublic. And I even attempted, more than once, for my own private\nsatisfaction, to employ his methods in their solution, though with\nindifferent success. There was none, however, which appealed to me like\nthis tragedy of Ronald Adair. As I read the evidence at the inquest,\nwhich led up to a verdict of willful murder against some person or\npersons unknown, I realized more clearly than I had ever done the loss\nwhich the community had sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes. There\nwere points about this strange business which would, I was sure, have\nspecially appealed to him, and the efforts of the police would have been\nsupplemented, or more probably anticipated, by the trained observation\nand the alert mind of the first criminal agent in Europe. All day, as\nI drove upon my round, I turned over the case in my mind and found no\nexplanation which appeared to me to be adequate. At the risk of telling\na twice-told tale, I will recapitulate the facts as they were known to\nthe public at the conclusion of the inquest.\n\nThe Honourable Ronald Adair was the second son of the Earl of Maynooth,\nat that time governor of one of the Australian colonies. Adair's mother\nhad returned from Australia to undergo the operation for cataract, and\nshe, her son Ronald, and her daughter Hilda were living together at\n427 Park Lane. The youth moved in the best society--had, so far as was\nknown, no enemies and no particular vices. He had been engaged to Miss\nEdith Woodley, of Carstairs, but the engagement had been broken off by\nmutual consent some months before, and there was no sign that it had\nleft any very profound feeling behind it. For the rest {sic} the man's\nlife moved in a narrow and conventional circle, for his habits were\nquiet and his nature unemotional. Yet it was upon this easy-going young\naristocrat that death came, in most strange and unexpected form, between\nthe hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the night of March 30, 1894.\n\nRonald Adair was fond of cards--playing continually, but never for such\nstakes as would hurt him. He was a member of the Baldwin, the Cavendish,\nand the Bagatelle card clubs. It was shown that, after dinner on the day\nof his death, he had played a rubber of whist at the latter club. He had\nalso played there in the afternoon. The evidence of those who had played\nwith him--Mr. Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel Moran--showed that\nthe game was whist, and that there was a fairly equal fall of the cards.\nAdair might have lost five pounds, but not more. His fortune was a\nconsiderable one, and such a loss could not in any way affect him. He\nhad played nearly every day at one club or other, but he was a cautious\nplayer, and usually rose a winner. It came out in evidence that, in\npartnership with Colonel Moran, he had actually won as much as four\nhundred and twenty pounds in a sitting, some weeks before, from Godfrey\nMilner and Lord Balmoral. So much for his recent history as it came out\nat the inquest.\n\nOn the evening of the crime, he returned from the club exactly at ten.\nHis mother and sister were out spending the evening with a relation. The\nservant deposed that she heard him enter the front room on the second\nfloor, generally used as his sitting-room. She had lit a fire there, and\nas it smoked she had opened the window. No sound was heard from the room\nuntil eleven-twenty, the hour of the return of Lady Maynooth and her\ndaughter. Desiring to say good-night, she attempted to enter her son's\nroom. The door was locked on the inside, and no answer could be got to\ntheir cries and knocking. Help was obtained, and the door forced. The\nunfortunate young man was found lying near the table. His head had been\nhorribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet, but no weapon of any\nsort was to be found in the room. On the table lay two banknotes for\nten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten in silver and gold, the money\narranged in little piles of varying amount. There were some figures also\nupon a sheet of paper, with the names of some club friends opposite\nto them, from which it was conjectured that before his death he was\nendeavouring to make out his losses or winnings at cards.\n\nA minute examination of the circumstances served only to make the case\nmore complex. In the first place, no reason could be given why the\nyoung man should have fastened the door upon the inside. There was the\npossibility that the murderer had done this, and had afterwards escaped\nby the window. The drop was at least twenty feet, however, and a bed of\ncrocuses in full bloom lay beneath. Neither the flowers nor the earth\nshowed any sign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marks\nupon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road.\nApparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who had fastened the\ndoor. But how did he come by his death? No one could have climbed up to\nthe window without leaving traces. Suppose a man had fired through the\nwindow, he would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with a\nrevolver inflict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane is a frequented\nthoroughfare; there is a cab stand within a hundred yards of the house.\nNo one had heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man and there the\nrevolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will,\nand so inflicted a wound which must have caused instantaneous death.\nSuch were the circumstances of the Park Lane Mystery, which were further\ncomplicated by entire absence of motive, since, as I have said, young\nAdair was not known to have any enemy, and no attempt had been made to\nremove the money or valuables in the room.\n\nAll day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavouring to hit upon\nsome theory which could reconcile them all, and to find that line\nof least resistance which my poor friend had declared to be the\nstarting-point of every investigation. I confess that I made little\nprogress. In the evening I strolled across the Park, and found myself\nabout six o'clock at the Oxford Street end of Park Lane. A group of\nloafers upon the pavements, all staring up at a particular window,\ndirected me to the house which I had come to see. A tall, thin man with\ncoloured glasses, whom I strongly suspected of being a plain-clothes\ndetective, was pointing out some theory of his own, while the others\ncrowded round to listen to what he said. I got as near him as I could,\nbut his observations seemed to me to be absurd, so I withdrew again in\nsome disgust. As I did so I struck against an elderly, deformed man,\nwho had been behind me, and I knocked down several books which he was\ncarrying. I remember that as I picked them up, I observed the title\nof one of them, THE ORIGIN OF TREE WORSHIP, and it struck me that the\nfellow must be some poor bibliophile, who, either as a trade or as a\nhobby, was a collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured to apologize\nfor the accident, but it was evident that these books which I had so\nunfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes of their\nowner. With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I saw his\ncurved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng.\n\nMy observations of No. 427 Park Lane did little to clear up the problem\nin which I was interested. The house was separated from the street by\na low wall and railing, the whole not more than five feet high. It was\nperfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into the garden, but\nthe window was entirely inaccessible, since there was no waterpipe or\nanything which could help the most active man to climb it. More puzzled\nthan ever, I retraced my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my study\nfive minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to\nsee me. To my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book\ncollector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of white\nhair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedged under\nhis right arm.\n\n\"You're surprised to see me, sir,\" said he, in a strange, croaking\nvoice.\n\nI acknowledged that I was.\n\n\"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you go into\nthis house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, I'll just\nstep in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if I was a bit\ngruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that I am much\nobliged to him for picking up my books.\"\n\n\"You make too much of a trifle,\" said I. \"May I ask how you knew who I\nwas?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of yours,\nfor you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church Street,\nand very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir.\nHere's BRITISH BIRDS, and CATULLUS, and THE HOLY WAR--a bargain, every\none of them. With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that\nsecond shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir?\"\n\nI moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again,\nSherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose\nto my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then\nit appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time\nin my life. Certainly a gray mist swirled before my eyes, and when it\ncleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of\nbrandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his\nhand.\n\n\"My dear Watson,\" said the well-remembered voice, \"I owe you a thousand\napologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected.\"\n\nI gripped him by the arms.\n\n\"Holmes!\" I cried. \"Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you are\nalive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful\nabyss?\"\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" said he. \"Are you sure that you are really fit to\ndiscuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily\ndramatic reappearance.\"\n\n\"I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my eyes. Good\nheavens! to think that you--you of all men--should be standing in my\nstudy.\" Again I gripped him by the sleeve, and felt the thin, sinewy arm\nbeneath it. \"Well, you're not a spirit anyhow,\" said I. \"My dear chap,\nI'm overjoyed to see you. Sit down, and tell me how you came alive out\nof that dreadful chasm.\"\n\nHe sat opposite to me, and lit a cigarette in his old, nonchalant\nmanner. He was dressed in the seedy frockcoat of the book merchant, but\nthe rest of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old books\nupon the table. Holmes looked even thinner and keener than of old, but\nthere was a dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which told me that his\nlife recently had not been a healthy one.\n\n\"I am glad to stretch myself, Watson,\" said he. \"It is no joke when a\ntall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end.\nNow, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations, we have, if I\nmay ask for your cooperation, a hard and dangerous night's work in front\nof us. Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account of the whole\nsituation when that work is finished.\"\n\n\"I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear now.\"\n\n\"You'll come with me to-night?\"\n\n\"When you like and where you like.\"\n\n\"This is, indeed, like the old days. We shall have time for a mouthful\nof dinner before we need go. Well, then, about that chasm. I had no\nserious difficulty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason that\nI never was in it.\"\n\n\"You never were in it?\"\n\n\"No, Watson, I never was in it. My note to you was absolutely genuine.\nI had little doubt that I had come to the end of my career when I\nperceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late Professor Moriarty\nstanding upon the narrow pathway which led to safety. I read an\ninexorable purpose in his gray eyes. I exchanged some remarks with him,\ntherefore, and obtained his courteous permission to write the short note\nwhich you afterwards received. I left it with my cigarette-box and my\nstick, and I walked along the pathway, Moriarty still at my heels. When\nI reached the end I stood at bay. He drew no weapon, but he rushed at me\nand threw his long arms around me. He knew that his own game was up, and\nwas only anxious to revenge himself upon me. We tottered together upon\nthe brink of the fall. I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or\nthe Japanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been very\nuseful to me. I slipped through his grip, and he with a horrible scream\nkicked madly for a few seconds, and clawed the air with both his hands.\nBut for all his efforts he could not get his balance, and over he went.\nWith my face over the brink, I saw him fall for a long way. Then he\nstruck a rock, bounded off, and splashed into the water.\"\n\nI listened with amazement to this explanation, which Holmes delivered\nbetween the puffs of his cigarette.\n\n\"But the tracks!\" I cried. \"I saw, with my own eyes, that two went down\nthe path and none returned.\"\n\n\"It came about in this way. The instant that the Professor had\ndisappeared, it struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky chance\nFate had placed in my way. I knew that Moriarty was not the only man who\nhad sworn my death. There were at least three others whose desire for\nvengeance upon me would only be increased by the death of their leader.\nThey were all most dangerous men. One or other would certainly get me.\nOn the other hand, if all the world was convinced that I was dead they\nwould take liberties, these men, they would soon lay themselves open,\nand sooner or later I could destroy them. Then it would be time for me\nto announce that I was still in the land of the living. So rapidly does\nthe brain act that I believe I had thought this all out before Professor\nMoriarty had reached the bottom of the Reichenbach Fall.\n\n\"I stood up and examined the rocky wall behind me. In your picturesque\naccount of the matter, which I read with great interest some months\nlater, you assert that the wall was sheer. That was not literally\ntrue. A few small footholds presented themselves, and there was some\nindication of a ledge. The cliff is so high that to climb it all was\nan obvious impossibility, and it was equally impossible to make my way\nalong the wet path without leaving some tracks. I might, it is true,\nhave reversed my boots, as I have done on similar occasions, but the\nsight of three sets of tracks in one direction would certainly have\nsuggested a deception. On the whole, then, it was best that I should\nrisk the climb. It was not a pleasant business, Watson. The fall roared\nbeneath me. I am not a fanciful person, but I give you my word that\nI seemed to hear Moriarty's voice screaming at me out of the abyss. A\nmistake would have been fatal. More than once, as tufts of grass came\nout in my hand or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock, I\nthought that I was gone. But I struggled upward, and at last I reached a\nledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss, where I could\nlie unseen, in the most perfect comfort. There I was stretched, when\nyou, my dear Watson, and all your following were investigating in the\nmost sympathetic and inefficient manner the circumstances of my death.\n\n\"At last, when you had all formed your inevitable and totally erroneous\nconclusions, you departed for the hotel, and I was left alone. I\nhad imagined that I had reached the end of my adventures, but a very\nunexpected occurrence showed me that there were surprises still in store\nfor me. A huge rock, falling from above, boomed past me, struck the\npath, and bounded over into the chasm. For an instant I thought that\nit was an accident, but a moment later, looking up, I saw a man's head\nagainst the darkening sky, and another stone struck the very ledge upon\nwhich I was stretched, within a foot of my head. Of course, the meaning\nof this was obvious. Moriarty had not been alone. A confederate--and\neven that one glance had told me how dangerous a man that confederate\nwas--had kept guard while the Professor had attacked me. From a\ndistance, unseen by me, he had been a witness of his friend's death and\nof my escape. He had waited, and then making his way round to the top of\nthe cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where his comrade had failed.\n\n\"I did not take long to think about it, Watson. Again I saw that grim\nface look over the cliff, and I knew that it was the precursor of\nanother stone. I scrambled down on to the path. I don't think I could\nhave done it in cold blood. It was a hundred times more difficult than\ngetting up. But I had no time to think of the danger, for another stone\nsang past me as I hung by my hands from the edge of the ledge. Halfway\ndown I slipped, but, by the blessing of God, I landed, torn and\nbleeding, upon the path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over the\nmountains in the darkness, and a week later I found myself in Florence,\nwith the certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me.\n\n\"I had only one confidant--my brother Mycroft. I owe you many apologies,\nmy dear Watson, but it was all-important that it should be thought I\nwas dead, and it is quite certain that you would not have written so\nconvincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourself thought\nthat it was true. Several times during the last three years I have taken\nup my pen to write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionate\nregard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray\nmy secret. For that reason I turned away from you this evening when\nyou upset my books, for I was in danger at the time, and any show of\nsurprise and emotion upon your part might have drawn attention to my\nidentity and led to the most deplorable and irreparable results. As to\nMycroft, I had to confide in him in order to obtain the money which\nI needed. The course of events in London did not run so well as I had\nhoped, for the trial of the Moriarty gang left two of its most dangerous\nmembers, my own most vindictive enemies, at liberty. I travelled for\ntwo years in Tibet, therefore, and amused myself by visiting Lhassa,\nand spending some days with the head lama. You may have read of the\nremarkable explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson, but I am sure\nthat it never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your\nfriend. I then passed through Persia, looked in at Mecca, and paid a\nshort but interesting visit to the Khalifa at Khartoum the results of\nwhich I have communicated to the Foreign Office. Returning to France, I\nspent some months in a research into the coal-tar derivatives, which I\nconducted in a laboratory at Montpellier, in the south of France. Having\nconcluded this to my satisfaction and learning that only one of my\nenemies was now left in London, I was about to return when my movements\nwere hastened by the news of this very remarkable Park Lane Mystery,\nwhich not only appealed to me by its own merits, but which seemed to\noffer some most peculiar personal opportunities. I came over at once to\nLondon, called in my own person at Baker Street, threw Mrs. Hudson into\nviolent hysterics, and found that Mycroft had preserved my rooms and my\npapers exactly as they had always been. So it was, my dear Watson, that\nat two o'clock to-day I found myself in my old armchair in my own old\nroom, and only wishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in\nthe other chair which he has so often adorned.\"\n\nSuch was the remarkable narrative to which I listened on that April\nevening--a narrative which would have been utterly incredible to me had\nit not been confirmed by the actual sight of the tall, spare figure and\nthe keen, eager face, which I had never thought to see again. In some\nmanner he had learned of my own sad bereavement, and his sympathy was\nshown in his manner rather than in his words. \"Work is the best antidote\nto sorrow, my dear Watson,\" said he; \"and I have a piece of work for us\nboth to-night which, if we can bring it to a successful conclusion, will\nin itself justify a man's life on this planet.\" In vain I begged him\nto tell me more. \"You will hear and see enough before morning,\" he\nanswered. \"We have three years of the past to discuss. Let that suffice\nuntil half-past nine, when we start upon the notable adventure of the\nempty house.\"\n\nIt was indeed like old times when, at that hour, I found myself seated\nbeside him in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket, and the thrill of\nadventure in my heart. Holmes was cold and stern and silent. As the\ngleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his austere features, I saw that\nhis brows were drawn down in thought and his thin lips compressed. I\nknew not what wild beast we were about to hunt down in the dark jungle\nof criminal London, but I was well assured, from the bearing of this\nmaster huntsman, that the adventure was a most grave one--while the\nsardonic smile which occasionally broke through his ascetic gloom boded\nlittle good for the object of our quest.\n\nI had imagined that we were bound for Baker Street, but Holmes stopped\nthe cab at the corner of Cavendish Square. I observed that as he stepped\nout he gave a most searching glance to right and left, and at every\nsubsequent street corner he took the utmost pains to assure that he was\nnot followed. Our route was certainly a singular one. Holmes's knowledge\nof the byways of London was extraordinary, and on this occasion he\npassed rapidly and with an assured step through a network of mews and\nstables, the very existence of which I had never known. We emerged at\nlast into a small road, lined with old, gloomy houses, which led us into\nManchester Street, and so to Blandford Street. Here he turned swiftly\ndown a narrow passage, passed through a wooden gate into a deserted\nyard, and then opened with a key the back door of a house. We entered\ntogether, and he closed it behind us.\n\nThe place was pitch dark, but it was evident to me that it was an empty\nhouse. Our feet creaked and crackled over the bare planking, and my\noutstretched hand touched a wall from which the paper was hanging in\nribbons. Holmes's cold, thin fingers closed round my wrist and led me\nforward down a long hall, until I dimly saw the murky fanlight over the\ndoor. Here Holmes turned suddenly to the right and we found ourselves\nin a large, square, empty room, heavily shadowed in the corners, but\nfaintly lit in the centre from the lights of the street beyond. There\nwas no lamp near, and the window was thick with dust, so that we could\nonly just discern each other's figures within. My companion put his hand\nupon my shoulder and his lips close to my ear.\n\n\"Do you know where we are?\" he whispered.\n\n\"Surely that is Baker Street,\" I answered, staring through the dim\nwindow.\n\n\"Exactly. We are in Camden House, which stands opposite to our own old\nquarters.\"\n\n\"But why are we here?\"\n\n\"Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque pile. Might\nI trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little nearer to the window,\ntaking every precaution not to show yourself, and then to look up at our\nold rooms--the starting-point of so many of your little fairy-tales? We\nwill see if my three years of absence have entirely taken away my power\nto surprise you.\"\n\nI crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. As my eyes\nfell upon it, I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The blind was down,\nand a strong light was burning in the room. The shadow of a man who\nwas seated in a chair within was thrown in hard, black outline upon the\nluminous screen of the window. There was no mistaking the poise of the\nhead, the squareness of the shoulders, the sharpness of the features.\nThe face was turned half-round, and the effect was that of one of\nthose black silhouettes which our grandparents loved to frame. It was a\nperfect reproduction of Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw out my\nhand to make sure that the man himself was standing beside me. He was\nquivering with silent laughter.\n\n\"Well?\" said he.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I cried. \"It is marvellous.\"\n\n\"I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety,\"\nsaid he, and I recognized in his voice the joy and pride which the\nartist takes in his own creation. \"It really is rather like me, is it\nnot?\"\n\n\"I should be prepared to swear that it was you.\"\n\n\"The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur Oscar Meunier, of\nGrenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. It is a bust in\nwax. The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street this\nafternoon.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest possible reason for\nwishing certain people to think that I was there when I was really\nelsewhere.\"\n\n\"And you thought the rooms were watched?\"\n\n\"I KNEW that they were watched.\"\n\n\"By whom?\"\n\n\"By my old enemies, Watson. By the charming society whose leader lies\nin the Reichenbach Fall. You must remember that they knew, and only\nthey knew, that I was still alive. Sooner or later they believed that I\nshould come back to my rooms. They watched them continuously, and this\nmorning they saw me arrive.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"Because I recognized their sentinel when I glanced out of my window. He\nis a harmless enough fellow, Parker by name, a garroter by trade, and a\nremarkable performer upon the jew's-harp. I cared nothing for him. But\nI cared a great deal for the much more formidable person who was behind\nhim, the bosom friend of Moriarty, the man who dropped the rocks over\nthe cliff, the most cunning and dangerous criminal in London. That is\nthe man who is after me to-night Watson, and that is the man who is\nquite unaware that we are after him.\"\n\nMy friend's plans were gradually revealing themselves. From this\nconvenient retreat, the watchers were being watched and the trackers\ntracked. That angular shadow up yonder was the bait, and we were the\nhunters. In silence we stood together in the darkness and watched the\nhurrying figures who passed and repassed in front of us. Holmes was\nsilent and motionless; but I could tell that he was keenly alert, and\nthat his eyes were fixed intently upon the stream of passers-by. It was\na bleak and boisterous night and the wind whistled shrilly down the\nlong street. Many people were moving to and fro, most of them muffled in\ntheir coats and cravats. Once or twice it seemed to me that I had seen\nthe same figure before, and I especially noticed two men who appeared\nto be sheltering themselves from the wind in the doorway of a house\nsome distance up the street. I tried to draw my companion's attention to\nthem; but he gave a little ejaculation of impatience, and continued\nto stare into the street. More than once he fidgeted with his feet and\ntapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall. It was evident to me\nthat he was becoming uneasy, and that his plans were not working out\naltogether as he had hoped. At last, as midnight approached and\nthe street gradually cleared, he paced up and down the room in\nuncontrollable agitation. I was about to make some remark to him, when\nI raised my eyes to the lighted window, and again experienced almost as\ngreat a surprise as before. I clutched Holmes's arm, and pointed upward.\n\n\"The shadow has moved!\" I cried.\n\nIt was indeed no longer the profile, but the back, which was turned\ntowards us.\n\nThree years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of his temper or\nhis impatience with a less active intelligence than his own.\n\n\"Of course it has moved,\" said he. \"Am I such a farcical bungler,\nWatson, that I should erect an obvious dummy, and expect that some of\nthe sharpest men in Europe would be deceived by it? We have been in\nthis room two hours, and Mrs. Hudson has made some change in that figure\neight times, or once in every quarter of an hour. She works it from the\nfront, so that her shadow may never be seen. Ah!\" He drew in his breath\nwith a shrill, excited intake. In the dim light I saw his head thrown\nforward, his whole attitude rigid with attention. Outside the street\nwas absolutely deserted. Those two men might still be crouching in the\ndoorway, but I could no longer see them. All was still and dark, save\nonly that brilliant yellow screen in front of us with the black figure\noutlined upon its centre. Again in the utter silence I heard that thin,\nsibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement. An instant\nlater he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I\nfelt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were\nquivering. Never had I known my friend more moved, and yet the dark\nstreet still stretched lonely and motionless before us.\n\nBut suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses had already\ndistinguished. A low, stealthy sound came to my ears, not from the\ndirection of Baker Street, but from the back of the very house in which\nwe lay concealed. A door opened and shut. An instant later steps\ncrept down the passage--steps which were meant to be silent, but which\nreverberated harshly through the empty house. Holmes crouched back\nagainst the wall, and I did the same, my hand closing upon the handle\nof my revolver. Peering through the gloom, I saw the vague outline of a\nman, a shade blacker than the blackness of the open door. He stood for\nan instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing, into the\nroom. He was within three yards of us, this sinister figure, and I had\nbraced myself to meet his spring, before I realized that he had no idea\nof our presence. He passed close beside us, stole over to the window,\nand very softly and noiselessly raised it for half a foot. As he sank to\nthe level of this opening, the light of the street, no longer dimmed by\nthe dusty glass, fell full upon his face. The man seemed to be beside\nhimself with excitement. His two eyes shone like stars, and his\nfeatures were working convulsively. He was an elderly man, with a thin,\nprojecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache.\nAn opera hat was pushed to the back of his head, and an evening dress\nshirt-front gleamed out through his open overcoat. His face was gaunt\nand swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. In his hand he carried what\nappeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down upon the floor it gave\na metallic clang. Then from the pocket of his overcoat he drew a bulky\nobject, and he busied himself in some task which ended with a loud,\nsharp click, as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place. Still\nkneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all his weight and\nstrength upon some lever, with the result that there came a long,\nwhirling, grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click. He\nstraightened himself then, and I saw that what he held in his hand was\na sort of gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. He opened it at the\nbreech, put something in, and snapped the breech-lock. Then, crouching\ndown, he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window,\nand I saw his long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as\nit peered along the sights. I heard a little sigh of satisfaction as\nhe cuddled the butt into his shoulder; and saw that amazing target,\nthe black man on the yellow ground, standing clear at the end of his\nforesight. For an instant he was rigid and motionless. Then his finger\ntightened on the trigger. There was a strange, loud whiz and a long,\nsilvery tinkle of broken glass. At that instant Holmes sprang like a\ntiger on to the marksman's back, and hurled him flat upon his face. He\nwas up again in a moment, and with convulsive strength he seized\nHolmes by the throat, but I struck him on the head with the butt of my\nrevolver, and he dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon him, and as\nI held him my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. There was the\nclatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two policemen in uniform,\nwith one plain-clothes detective, rushed through the front entrance and\ninto the room.\n\n\"That you, Lestrade?\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It's good to see you back in\nLondon, sir.\"\n\n\"I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetected murders in\none year won't do, Lestrade. But you handled the Molesey Mystery with\nless than your usual--that's to say, you handled it fairly well.\"\n\nWe had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with a\nstalwart constable on each side of him. Already a few loiterers had\nbegun to collect in the street. Holmes stepped up to the window, closed\nit, and dropped the blinds. Lestrade had produced two candles, and the\npolicemen had uncovered their lanterns. I was able at last to have a\ngood look at our prisoner.\n\nIt was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was turned\ntowards us. With the brow of a philosopher above and the jaw of a\nsensualist below, the man must have started with great capacities for\ngood or for evil. But one could not look upon his cruel blue eyes, with\ntheir drooping, cynical lids, or upon the fierce, aggressive nose and\nthe threatening, deep-lined brow, without reading Nature's plainest\ndanger-signals. He took no heed of any of us, but his eyes were fixed\nupon Holmes's face with an expression in which hatred and amazement were\nequally blended. \"You fiend!\" he kept on muttering. \"You clever, clever\nfiend!\"\n\n\"Ah, Colonel!\" said Holmes, arranging his rumpled collar. \"'Journeys end\nin lovers' meetings,' as the old play says. I don't think I have had the\npleasure of seeing you since you favoured me with those attentions as I\nlay on the ledge above the Reichenbach Fall.\"\n\nThe colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance. \"You\ncunning, cunning fiend!\" was all that he could say.\n\n\"I have not introduced you yet,\" said Holmes. \"This, gentlemen, is\nColonel Sebastian Moran, once of Her Majesty's Indian Army, and the best\nheavy-game shot that our Eastern Empire has ever produced. I believe\nI am correct Colonel, in saying that your bag of tigers still remains\nunrivalled?\"\n\nThe fierce old man said nothing, but still glared at my companion. With\nhis savage eyes and bristling moustache he was wonderfully like a tiger\nhimself.\n\n\"I wonder that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old a SHIKARI,\"\nsaid Holmes. \"It must be very familiar to you. Have you not tethered a\nyoung kid under a tree, lain above it with your rifle, and waited for\nthe bait to bring up your tiger? This empty house is my tree, and you\nare my tiger. You have possibly had other guns in reserve in case there\nshould be several tigers, or in the unlikely supposition of your own aim\nfailing you. These,\" he pointed around, \"are my other guns. The parallel\nis exact.\"\n\nColonel Moran sprang forward with a snarl of rage, but the constables\ndragged him back. The fury upon his face was terrible to look at.\n\n\"I confess that you had one small surprise for me,\" said Holmes. \"I did\nnot anticipate that you would yourself make use of this empty house and\nthis convenient front window. I had imagined you as operating from the\nstreet, where my friend, Lestrade and his merry men were awaiting you.\nWith that exception, all has gone as I expected.\"\n\nColonel Moran turned to the official detective.\n\n\"You may or may not have just cause for arresting me,\" said he, \"but at\nleast there can be no reason why I should submit to the gibes of this\nperson. If I am in the hands of the law, let things be done in a legal\nway.\"\n\n\"Well, that's reasonable enough,\" said Lestrade. \"Nothing further you\nhave to say, Mr. Holmes, before we go?\"\n\nHolmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor, and was\nexamining its mechanism.\n\n\"An admirable and unique weapon,\" said he, \"noiseless and of tremendous\npower: I knew Von Herder, the blind German mechanic, who constructed it\nto the order of the late Professor Moriarty. For years I have been\naware of its existence though I have never before had the opportunity of\nhandling it. I commend it very specially to your attention, Lestrade and\nalso the bullets which fit it.\"\n\n\"You can trust us to look after that, Mr. Holmes,\" said Lestrade, as the\nwhole party moved towards the door. \"Anything further to say?\"\n\n\"Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer?\"\n\n\"What charge, sir? Why, of course, the attempted murder of Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes.\"\n\n\"Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to appear in the matter at all. To\nyou, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remarkable arrest which\nyou have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you! With your usual\nhappy mixture of cunning and audacity, you have got him.\"\n\n\"Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain--Colonel\nSebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair with an expanding\nbullet from an air-gun through the open window of the second-floor\nfront of No. 427 Park Lane, upon the thirtieth of last month. That's the\ncharge, Lestrade. And now, Watson, if you can endure the draught from\na broken window, I think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may\nafford you some profitable amusement.\"\n\nOur old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervision of\nMycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson. As I entered I\nsaw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the old landmarks were all\nin their place. There were the chemical corner and the acid-stained,\ndeal-topped table. There upon a shelf was the row of formidable\nscrap-books and books of reference which many of our fellow-citizens\nwould have been so glad to burn. The diagrams, the violin-case, and the\npipe-rack--even the Persian slipper which contained the tobacco--all\nmet my eyes as I glanced round me. There were two occupants of the\nroom--one, Mrs. Hudson, who beamed upon us both as we entered--the\nother, the strange dummy which had played so important a part in the\nevening's adventures. It was a wax-coloured model of my friend, so\nadmirably done that it was a perfect facsimile. It stood on a small\npedestal table with an old dressing-gown of Holmes's so draped round it\nthat the illusion from the street was absolutely perfect.\n\n\"I hope you observed all precautions, Mrs. Hudson?\" said Holmes.\n\n\"I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me.\"\n\n\"Excellent. You carried the thing out very well. Did you observe where\nthe bullet went?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I'm afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for it passed\nright through the head and flattened itself on the wall. I picked it up\nfrom the carpet. Here it is!\"\n\nHolmes held it out to me. \"A soft revolver bullet, as you perceive,\nWatson. There's genius in that, for who would expect to find such a\nthing fired from an airgun? All right, Mrs. Hudson. I am much obliged\nfor your assistance. And now, Watson, let me see you in your old seat\nonce more, for there are several points which I should like to discuss\nwith you.\"\n\nHe had thrown off the seedy frockcoat, and now he was the Holmes of old\nin the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he took from his effigy.\n\n\"The old SHIKARI'S nerves have not lost their steadiness, nor his eyes\ntheir keenness,\" said he, with a laugh, as he inspected the shattered\nforehead of his bust.\n\n\"Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack through the\nbrain. He was the best shot in India, and I expect that there are few\nbetter in London. Have you heard the name?\"\n\n\"No, I have not.\"\n\n\"Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember right, you had not\nheard the name of Professor James Moriarty, who had one of the great\nbrains of the century. Just give me down my index of biographies from\nthe shelf.\"\n\nHe turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair and blowing\ngreat clouds from his cigar.\n\n\"My collection of M's is a fine one,\" said he. \"Moriarty himself is\nenough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner,\nand Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews, who knocked out my left\ncanine in the waiting-room at Charing Cross, and, finally, here is our\nfriend of to-night.\"\n\nHe handed over the book, and I read:\n\nMORAN, SEBASTIAN, COLONEL. Unemployed. Formerly 1st Bangalore Pioneers.\nBorn London, 1840. Son of Sir Augustus Moran, C. B., once British\nMinister to Persia. Educated Eton and Oxford. Served in Jowaki Campaign,\nAfghan Campaign, Charasiab (despatches), Sherpur, and Cabul. Author of\nHEAVY GAME OF THE WESTERN HIMALAYAS (1881); THREE MONTHS IN THE\nJUNGLE (1884). Address: Conduit Street. Clubs: The Anglo-Indian, the\nTankerville, the Bagatelle Card Club.\n\n\nOn the margin was written, in Holmes's precise hand:\n\n\nThe second most dangerous man in London.\n\n\n\"This is astonishing,\" said I, as I handed back the volume. \"The man's\ncareer is that of an honourable soldier.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" Holmes answered. \"Up to a certain point he did well. He\nwas always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still told in India how\nhe crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger. There are some\ntrees, Watson, which grow to a certain height, and then suddenly develop\nsome unsightly eccentricity. You will see it often in humans. I have\na theory that the individual represents in his development the whole\nprocession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or\nevil stands for some strong influence which came into the line of his\npedigree. The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history of\nhis own family.\"\n\n\"It is surely rather fanciful.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't insist upon it. Whatever the cause, Colonel Moran began\nto go wrong. Without any open scandal, he still made India too\nhot to hold him. He retired, came to London, and again acquired an evil\nname. It was at this time that he was sought out by Professor Moriarty,\nto whom for a time he was chief of the staff. Moriarty supplied him\nliberally with money, and used him only in one or two very high-class\njobs, which no ordinary criminal could have undertaken. You may have\nsome recollection of the death of Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder, in 1887.\nNot? Well, I am sure Moran was at the bottom of it, but nothing could\nbe proved. So cleverly was the colonel concealed that, even when the\nMoriarty gang was broken up, we could not incriminate him. You remember\nat that date, when I called upon you in your rooms, how I put up the\nshutters for fear of air-guns? No doubt you thought me fanciful. I knew\nexactly what I was doing, for I knew of the existence of this remarkable\ngun, and I knew also that one of the best shots in the world would be\nbehind it. When we were in Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty,\nand it was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five minutes on the\nReichenbach ledge.\n\n\"You may think that I read the papers with some attention during my\nsojourn in France, on the look-out for any chance of laying him by the\nheels. So long as he was free in London, my life would really not have\nbeen worth living. Night and day the shadow would have been over me, and\nsooner or later his chance must have come. What could I do? I could not\nshoot him at sight, or I should myself be in the dock. There was no use\nappealing to a magistrate. They cannot interfere on the strength of what\nwould appear to them to be a wild suspicion. So I could do nothing. But\nI watched the criminal news, knowing that sooner or later I should get\nhim. Then came the death of this Ronald Adair. My chance had come at\nlast. Knowing what I did, was it not certain that Colonel Moran had done\nit? He had played cards with the lad, he had followed him home from the\nclub, he had shot him through the open window. There was not a doubt of\nit. The bullets alone are enough to put his head in a noose. I came\nover at once. I was seen by the sentinel, who would, I knew, direct\nthe colonel's attention to my presence. He could not fail to connect\nmy sudden return with his crime, and to be terribly alarmed. I was sure\nthat he would make an attempt to get me out of the way AT once, and\nwould bring round his murderous weapon for that purpose. I left him an\nexcellent mark in the window, and, having warned the police that they\nmight be needed--by the way, Watson, you spotted their presence in that\ndoorway with unerring accuracy--I took up what seemed to me to be a\njudicious post for observation, never dreaming that he would choose the\nsame spot for his attack. Now, my dear Watson, does anything remain for\nme to explain?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said I. \"You have not made it clear what was Colonel Moran's\nmotive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair?\"\n\n\"Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into those realms of conjecture,\nwhere the most logical mind may be at fault. Each may form his own\nhypothesis upon the present evidence, and yours is as likely to be\ncorrect as mine.\"\n\n\"You have formed one, then?\"\n\n\"I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. It came out in\nevidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had, between them, won a\nconsiderable amount of money. Now, Moran undoubtedly played foul--of that\nI have long been aware. I believe that on the day of the murder Adair had\ndiscovered that Moran was cheating. Very likely he had spoken to him\nprivately, and had threatened to expose him unless he voluntarily\nresigned his membership of the club, and promised not to play cards\nagain. It is unlikely that a youngster like Adair would at once make a\nhideous scandal by exposing a well known man so much older than himself.\nProbably he acted as I suggest. The exclusion from his clubs would mean\nruin to Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card-gains. He therefore\nmurdered Adair, who at the time was endeavouring to work out how\nmuch money he should himself return, since he could not profit by his\npartner's foul play. He locked the door lest the ladies should surprise\nhim and insist upon knowing what he was doing with these names and\ncoins. Will it pass?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth.\"\n\n\"It will be verified or disproved at the trial. Meanwhile, come what\nmay, Colonel Moran will trouble us no more. The famous air-gun of Von\nHerder will embellish the Scotland Yard Museum, and once again\nMr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examining those\ninteresting little problems which the complex life of London so\nplentifully presents.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE NORWOOD BUILDER\n\n\n\"From the point of view of the criminal expert,\" said Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes, \"London has become a singularly uninteresting city since the\ndeath of the late lamented Professor Moriarty.\"\n\n\"I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agree\nwith you,\" I answered.\n\n\"Well, well, I must not be selfish,\" said he, with a smile, as he pushed\nback his chair from the breakfast-table. \"The community is certainly\nthe gainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-work specialist,\nwhose occupation has gone. With that man in the field, one's morning\npaper presented infinite possibilities. Often it was only the smallest\ntrace, Watson, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell me\nthat the great malignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors of\nthe edges of the web remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the\ncentre. Petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage--to the man\nwho held the clue all could be worked into one connected whole. To the\nscientific student of the higher criminal world, no capital in Europe\noffered the advantages which London then possessed. But now----\" He\nshrugged his shoulders in humorous deprecation of the state of things\nwhich he had himself done so much to produce.\n\nAt the time of which I speak, Holmes had been back for some months,\nand I at his request had sold my practice and returned to share the old\nquarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchased my\nsmall Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demur the\nhighest price that I ventured to ask--an incident which only explained\nitself some years later, when I found that Verner was a distant relation\nof Holmes, and that it was my friend who had really found the money.\n\nOur months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated,\nfor I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the case\nof the papers of ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair of\nthe Dutch steamship FRIESLAND, which so nearly cost us both our lives.\nHis cold and proud nature was always averse, however, from anything\nin the shape of public applause, and he bound me in the most\nstringent terms to say no further word of himself, his methods, or his\nsuccesses--a prohibition which, as I have explained, has only now been\nremoved.\n\nMr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsical\nprotest, and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion,\nwhen our attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell,\nfollowed immediately by a hollow drumming sound, as if someone were\nbeating on the outer door with his fist. As it opened there came a\ntumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feet clattered up the stair, and an\ninstant later a wild-eyed and frantic young man, pale, disheveled, and\npalpitating, burst into the room. He looked from one to the other of us,\nand under our gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology was\nneeded for this unceremonious entry.\n\n\"I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes,\" he cried. \"You mustn't blame me. I am nearly\nmad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane.\"\n\nHe made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both his\nvisit and its manner, but I could see, by my companion's unresponsive\nface, that it meant no more to him than to me.\n\n\"Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane,\" said he, pushing his case across.\n\"I am sure that, with your symptoms, my friend Dr. Watson here would\nprescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warm these last few\ndays. Now, if you feel a little more composed, I should be glad if you\nwould sit down in that chair, and tell us very slowly and quietly who\nyou are, and what it is that you want. You mentioned your name, as if\nI should recognize it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts\nthat you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I\nknow nothing whatever about you.\"\n\nFamiliar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for me\nto follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, the\nsheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had\nprompted them. Our client, however, stared in amazement.\n\n\"Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes; and, in addition, I am the most\nunfortunate man at this moment in London. For heaven's sake, don't\nabandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I have finished\nmy story, make them give me time, so that I may tell you the whole\ntruth. I could go to jail happy if I knew that you were working for me\noutside.\"\n\n\"Arrest you!\" said Holmes. \"This is really most grati--most interesting.\nOn what charge do you expect to be arrested?\"\n\n\"Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood.\"\n\nMy companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, I am\nafraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction.\n\n\"Dear me,\" said he, \"it was only this moment at breakfast that I was\nsaying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases had disappeared\nout of our papers.\"\n\nOur visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the DAILY\nTELEGRAPH, which still lay upon Holmes's knee.\n\n\"If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what the\nerrand is on which I have come to you this morning. I feel as if my name\nand my misfortune must be in every man's mouth.\" He turned it over to\nexpose the central page. \"Here it is, and with your permission I\nwill read it to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The headlines are:\n'Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance of a Well Known\nBuilder. Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That is\nthe clue which they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know that\nit leads infallibly to me. I have been followed from London Bridge\nStation, and I am sure that they are only waiting for the warrant to\narrest me. It will break my mother's heart--it will break her heart!\"\nHe wrung his hands in an agony of apprehension, and swayed backward and\nforward in his chair.\n\nI looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of being the\nperpetrator of a crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired and handsome,\nin a washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue eyes, and a\nclean-shaven face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His age may have been\nabout twenty-seven, his dress and bearing that of a gentleman. From the\npocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of indorsed\npapers which proclaimed his profession.\n\n\"We must use what time we have,\" said Holmes. \"Watson, would you have\nthe kindness to take the paper and to read the paragraph in question?\"\n\nUnderneath the vigorous headlines which our client had quoted, I read\nthe following suggestive narrative:\n\n\"Late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred at Lower\nNorwood which points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr. Jonas\nOldacre is a well known resident of that suburb, where he has carried\non his business as a builder for many years. Mr. Oldacre is a bachelor,\nfifty-two years of age, and lives in Deep Dene House, at the Sydenham\nend of the road of that name. He has had the reputation of being a\nman of eccentric habits, secretive and retiring. For some years he has\npractically withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to have\nmassed considerable wealth. A small timber-yard still exists, however,\nat the back of the house, and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarm\nwas given that one of the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon upon\nthe spot, but the dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossible\nto arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed.\nUp to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinary\naccident, but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime. Surprise\nwas expressed at the absence of the master of the establishment from\nthe scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed, which showed that he had\ndisappeared from the house. An examination of his room revealed that the\nbed had not been slept in, that a safe which stood in it was open, that\na number of important papers were scattered about the room, and finally,\nthat there were signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces of blood\nbeing found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, which also\nshowed stains of blood upon the handle. It is known that Mr. Jonas\nOldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night, and\nthe stick found has been identified as the property of this person, who\nis a young London solicitor named John Hector McFarlane, junior partner\nof Graham and McFarlane, of 426 Gresham Buildings, E. C. The police\nbelieve that they have evidence in their possession which supplies\na very convincing motive for the crime, and altogether it cannot be\ndoubted that sensational developments will follow.\n\n\"LATER.--It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John Hector McFarlane\nhas actually been arrested on the charge of the murder of Mr. Jonas\nOldacre. It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. There\nhave been further and sinister developments in the investigation at\nNorwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in the room of the unfortunate\nbuilder it is now known that the French windows of his bedroom (which is\non the ground floor) were found to be open, that there were marks as\nif some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood-pile, and,\nfinally, it is asserted that charred remains have been found among the\ncharcoal ashes of the fire. The police theory is that a most sensational\ncrime has been committed, that the victim was clubbed to death in his\nown bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged across to\nthe wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of the\ncrime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left in\nthe experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who is\nfollowing up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and fingertips together to\nthis remarkable account.\n\n\"The case has certainly some points of interest,\" said he, in his\nlanguid fashion. \"May I ask, in the first place, Mr. McFarlane, how\nit is that you are still at liberty, since there appears to be enough\nevidence to justify your arrest?\"\n\n\"I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with my parents, Mr. Holmes,\nbut last night, having to do business very late with Mr. Jonas Oldacre,\nI stayed at an hotel in Norwood, and came to my business from there. I\nknew nothing of this affair until I was in the train, when I read what\nyou have just heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of my position,\nand I hurried to put the case into your hands. I have no doubt that I\nshould have been arrested either at my city office or at my home. A\nman followed me from London Bridge Station, and I have no doubt--Great\nheaven! what is that?\"\n\nIt was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy steps upon the\nstair. A moment later, our old friend Lestrade appeared in the doorway.\nOver his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemen\noutside.\n\n\"Mr. John Hector McFarlane?\" said Lestrade.\n\nOur unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face.\n\n\"I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower\nNorwood.\"\n\nMcFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank into his\nchair once more like one who is crushed.\n\n\"One moment, Lestrade,\" said Holmes. \"Half an hour more or less can make\nno difference to you, and the gentleman was about to give us an account\nof this very interesting affair, which might aid us in clearing it up.\"\n\n\"I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up,\" said Lestrade,\ngrimly.\n\n\"None the less, with your permission, I should be much interested to\nhear his account.\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse you anything, for\nyou have been of use to the force once or twice in the past, and we owe\nyou a good turn at Scotland Yard,\" said Lestrade. \"At the same time I\nmust remain with my prisoner, and I am bound to warn him that anything\nhe may say will appear in evidence against him.\"\n\n\"I wish nothing better,\" said our client. \"All I ask is that you should\nhear and recognize the absolute truth.\"\n\nLestrade looked at his watch. \"I'll give you half an hour,\" said he.\n\n\"I must explain first,\" said McFarlane, \"that I knew nothing of Mr.\nJonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me, for many years ago my\nparents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. I was very\nmuch surprised therefore, when yesterday, about three o'clock in the\nafternoon, he walked into my office in the city. But I was still more\nastonished when he told me the object of his visit. He had in his hand\nseveral sheets of a notebook, covered with scribbled writing--here they\nare--and he laid them on my table.\n\n\"'Here is my will,' said he. 'I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it into\nproper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.'\n\n\"I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when I\nfound that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me.\nHe was a strange little ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and when\nI looked up at him I found his keen gray eyes fixed upon me with an\namused expression. I could hardly believe my own as I read the terms of\nthe will; but he explained that he was a bachelor with hardly any living\nrelation, that he had known my parents in his youth, and that he had\nalways heard of me as a very deserving young man, and was assured that\nhis money would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could only stammer\nout my thanks. The will was duly finished, signed, and witnessed by\nmy clerk. This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as I have\nexplained, are the rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed me\nthat there were a number of documents--building leases, title-deeds,\nmortgages, scrip, and so forth--which it was necessary that I should see\nand understand. He said that his mind would not be easy until the whole\nthing was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at\nNorwood that night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters.\n'Remember, my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair until\neverything is settled. We will keep it as a little surprise for\nthem.' He was very insistent upon this point, and made me promise it\nfaithfully.\n\n\"You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refuse him\nanything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all my desire was\nto carry out his wishes in every particular. I sent a telegram home,\ntherefore, to say that I had important business on hand, and that it was\nimpossible for me to say how late I might be. Mr. Oldacre had told me\nthat he would like me to have supper with him at nine, as he might not\nbe home before that hour. I had some difficulty in finding his house,\nhowever, and it was nearly half-past before I reached it. I found\nhim----\"\n\n\"One moment!\" said Holmes. \"Who opened the door?\"\n\n\"A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper.\"\n\n\"And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said McFarlane.\n\n\"Pray proceed.\"\n\nMcFarlane wiped his damp brow, and then continued his narrative:\n\n\"I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supper\nwas laid out. Afterwards, Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, in\nwhich there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and took out a mass of\ndocuments, which we went over together. It was between eleven and twelve\nwhen we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper.\nHe showed me out through his own French window, which had been open all\nthis time.\"\n\n\"Was the blind down?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down. Yes, I\nremember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. I could\nnot find my stick, and he said, 'Never mind, my boy, I shall see a good\ndeal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come back\nto claim it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the papers made up\nin packets upon the table. It was so late that I could not get back to\nBlackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothing\nmore until I read of this horrible affair in the morning.\"\n\n\"Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes?\" said Lestrade,\nwhose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this remarkable\nexplanation.\n\n\"Not until I have been to Blackheath.\"\n\n\"You mean to Norwood,\" said Lestrade.\n\n\"Oh, yes, no doubt that is what I must have meant,\" said Holmes, with\nhis enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by more experiences than he\nwould care to acknowledge that that brain could cut through that which\nwas impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously at my companion.\n\n\"I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes,\" said he. \"Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables are at\nthe door, and there is a four-wheeler waiting.\" The wretched young man\narose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room. The\nofficers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained.\n\nHolmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will,\nand was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face.\n\n\"There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?\"\nsaid he, pushing them over.\n\nThe official looked at them with a puzzled expression.\n\n\"I can read the first few lines and these in the middle of the second\npage, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as print,\" said\nhe, \"but the writing in between is very bad, and there are three places\nwhere I cannot read it at all.\"\n\n\"What do you make of that?\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Well, what do YOU make of it?\"\n\n\"That it was written in a train. The good writing represents stations,\nthe bad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing over points.\nA scientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a\nsuburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great\ncity could there be so quick a succession of points. Granting that his\nwhole journey was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was an\nexpress, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge.\"\n\nLestrade began to laugh.\n\n\"You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories, Mr.\nHolmes,\" said he. \"How does this bear on the case?\"\n\n\"Well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that the\nwill was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday. It is\ncurious--is it not?--that a man should draw up so important a document\nin so haphazard a fashion. It suggests that he did not think it was\ngoing to be of much practical importance. If a man drew up a will which\nhe did not intend ever to be effective, he might do it so.\"\n\n\"Well, he drew up his own death warrant at the same time,\" said\nLestrade.\n\n\"Oh, you think so?\"\n\n\"Don't you?\"\n\n\"Well, it is quite possible, but the case is not clear to me yet.\"\n\n\"Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what COULD be clear? Here is a\nyoung man who learns suddenly that, if a certain older man dies, he will\nsucceed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to anyone, but\nhe arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that\nnight. He waits until the only other person in the house is in bed, and\nthen in the solitude of a man's room he murders him, burns his body in\nthe wood-pile, and departs to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains in\nthe room and also on the stick are very slight. It is probable that he\nimagined his crime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the\nbody were consumed it would hide all traces of the method of his\ndeath--traces which, for some reason, must have pointed to him. Is not\nall this obvious?\"\n\n\"It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle too obvious,\"\nsaid Holmes. \"You do not add imagination to your other great qualities,\nbut if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this young\nman, would you choose the very night after the will had been made to\ncommit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so very\nclose a relation between the two incidents? Again, would you choose an\noccasion when you are known to be in the house, when a servant has let\nyou in? And, finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the\nbody, and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal?\nConfess, Lestrade, that all this is very unlikely.\"\n\n\"As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that a criminal\nis often flurried, and does such things, which a cool man would avoid.\nHe was very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me another theory\nthat would fit the facts.\"\n\n\"I could very easily give you half a dozen,\" said Holmes. \"Here for\nexample, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you a free\npresent of it. The older man is showing documents which are of evident\nvalue. A passing tramp sees them through the window, the blind of which\nis only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp! He seizes a\nstick, which he observes there, kills Oldacre, and departs after burning\nthe body.\"\n\n\"Why should the tramp burn the body?\"\n\n\"For the matter of that, why should McFarlane?\"\n\n\"To hide some evidence.\"\n\n\"Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had been\ncommitted.\"\n\n\"And why did the tramp take nothing?\"\n\n\"Because they were papers that he could not negotiate.\"\n\nLestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner was less\nabsolutely assured than before.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, and while you\nare finding him we will hold on to our man. The future will show which\nis right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we know,\nnone of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man in\nthe world who had no reason for removing them, since he was heir-at-law,\nand would come into them in any case.\"\n\nMy friend seemed struck by this remark.\n\n\"I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very strongly\nin favour of your theory,\" said he. \"I only wish to point out that\nthere are other theories possible. As you say, the future will decide.\nGood-morning! I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in\nat Norwood and see how you are getting on.\"\n\nWhen the detective departed, my friend rose and made his preparations\nfor the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial task\nbefore him.\n\n\"My first movement Watson,\" said he, as he bustled into his frockcoat,\n\"must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath.\"\n\n\"And why not Norwood?\"\n\n\"Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to the\nheels of another singular incident. The police are making the mistake of\nconcentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens to\nbe the one which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that the\nlogical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some\nlight upon the first incident--the curious will, so suddenly made, and\nto so unexpected an heir. It may do something to simplify what followed.\nNo, my dear fellow, I don't think you can help me. There is no prospect\nof danger, or I should not dream of stirring out without you. I trust\nthat when I see you in the evening, I will be able to report that I have\nbeen able to do something for this unfortunate youngster, who has thrown\nhimself upon my protection.\"\n\nIt was late when my friend returned, and I could see, by a glance at his\nhaggard and anxious face, that the high hopes with which he had started\nhad not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away upon his violin,\nendeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At last he flung\ndown the instrument, and plunged into a detailed account of his\nmisadventures.\n\n\"It's all going wrong, Watson--all as wrong as it can go. I kept a bold\nface before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that for once the\nfellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my instincts\nare one way, and all the facts are the other, and I much fear that\nBritish juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence when\nthey will give the preference to my theories over Lestrade's facts.\"\n\n\"Did you go to Blackheath?\"\n\n\"Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that the late\nlamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable blackguard. The father was\naway in search of his son. The mother was at home--a little, fluffy,\nblue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of course, she\nwould not admit even the possibility of his guilt. But she would not\nexpress either surprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre. On\nthe contrary, she spoke of him with such bitterness that she was\nunconsciously considerably strengthening the case of the police for, of\ncourse, if her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion, it\nwould predispose him towards hatred and violence. 'He was more like a\nmalignant and cunning ape than a human being,' said she, 'and he always\nwas, ever since he was a young man.'\n\n\"'You knew him at that time?' said I.\n\n\"'Yes, I knew him well, in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. Thank\nheaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a\nbetter, if poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard a\nshocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I was\nso horrified at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more to\ndo with him.' She rummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced a\nphotograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife.\n'That is my own photograph,' she said. 'He sent it to me in that state,\nwith his curse, upon my wedding morning.'\n\n\"'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since he has left\nall his property to your son.'\n\n\"'Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, dead or alive!'\nshe cried, with a proper spirit. 'There is a God in heaven, Mr. Holmes,\nand that same God who has punished that wicked man will show, in His own\ngood time, that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.'\n\n\"Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing which would\nhelp our hypothesis, and several points which would make against it. I\ngave it up at last and off I went to Norwood.\n\n\"This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staring brick,\nstanding back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in front\nof it. To the right and some distance back from the road was the\ntimber-yard which had been the scene of the fire. Here's a rough plan\non a leaf of my notebook. This window on the left is the one which opens\ninto Oldacre's room. You can look into it from the road, you see. That\nis about the only bit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade was\nnot there, but his head constable did the honours. They had just found a\ngreat treasure-trove. They had spent the morning raking among the ashes\nof the burned wood-pile, and besides the charred organic remains they\nhad secured several discoloured metal discs. I examined them with\ncare, and there was no doubt that they were trouser buttons. I even\ndistinguished that one of them was marked with the name of 'Hyams,' who\nwas Oldacres tailor. I then worked the lawn very carefully for signs and\ntraces, but this drought has made everything as hard as iron. Nothing\nwas to be seen save that some body or bundle had been dragged through\na low privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile. All that, of\ncourse, fits in with the official theory. I crawled about the lawn with\nan August sun on my back, but I got up at the end of an hour no wiser\nthan before.\n\n\"Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examined that also.\nThe blood-stains were very slight, mere smears and discolourations, but\nundoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed, but there also the marks\nwere slight. There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client.\nHe admits it. Footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet,\nbut none of any third person, which again is a trick for the other\nside. They were piling up their score all the time and we were at a\nstandstill.\n\n\"Only one little gleam of hope did I get--and yet it amounted to\nnothing. I examined the contents of the safe, most of which had been\ntaken out and left on the table. The papers had been made up into sealed\nenvelopes, one or two of which had been opened by the police. They were\nnot, so far as I could judge, of any great value, nor did the bank-book\nshow that Mr. Oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances. But it\nseemed to me that all the papers were not there. There were allusions to\nsome deeds--possibly the more valuable--which I could not find. This, of\ncourse, if we could definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade's argument\nagainst himself, for who would steal a thing if he knew that he would\nshortly inherit it?\n\n\"Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent, I tried\nmy luck with the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name--a little,\ndark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tell\nus something if she would--I am convinced of it. But she was as close as\nwax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine. She wished\nher hand had withered before she had done so. She had gone to bed at\nhalf-past ten. Her room was at the other end of the house, and she could\nhear nothing of what had passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to\nthe best of her belief his stick, in the hall.  She\nhad been awakened by the alarm of fire. Her poor, dear\nmaster had certainly been murdered. Had he any enemies? Well, every man\nhad enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himself very much to himself, and only\nmet people in the way of business. She had seen the buttons, and was\nsure that they belonged to the clothes which he had worn last night.\nThe wood-pile was very dry, for it had not rained for a month. It burned\nlike tinder, and by the time she reached the spot, nothing could be seen\nbut flames. She and all the firemen smelled the burned flesh from\ninside it. She knew nothing of the papers, nor of Mr. Oldacre's private\naffairs.\n\n\"So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a failure. And yet--and yet--\"\nhe clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction--\"I KNOW it's all\nwrong. I feel it in my bones. There is something that has not come out,\nand that housekeeper knows it. There was a sort of sulky defiance in her\neyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge. However, there's no good\ntalking any more about it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance comes\nour way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure in\nthat chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patient public\nwill sooner or later have to endure.\"\n\n\"Surely,\" said I, \"the man's appearance would go far with any jury?\"\n\n\"That is a dangerous argument my dear Watson. You remember that terrible\nmurderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in '87? Was there\never a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school young man?\"\n\n\"It is true.\"\n\n\"Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory, this man is\nlost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presented\nagainst him, and all further investigation has served to strengthen it.\nBy the way, there is one curious little point about those papers which\nmay serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry. On looking over the\nbank-book I found that the low state of the balance was principally due\nto large checks which have been made out during the last year to Mr.\nCornelius. I confess that I should be interested to know who this\nMr. Cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has such very large\ntransactions. Is it possible that he has had a hand in the affair?\nCornelius might be a broker, but we have found no scrip to correspond\nwith these large payments. Failing any other indication, my researches\nmust now take the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentleman\nwho has cashed these checks. But I fear, my dear fellow, that our\ncase will end ingloriously by Lestrade hanging our client, which will\ncertainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard.\"\n\nI do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, but\nwhen I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright\neyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. The carpet round his\nchair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of\nthe morning papers. An open telegram lay upon the table.\n\n\"What do you think of this, Watson?\" he asked, tossing it across.\n\nIt was from Norwood, and ran as follows:\n\n\nImportant fresh evidence to hand. McFarlane's guilt definitely\nestablished. Advise you to abandon case. LESTRADE.\n\n\n\"This sounds serious,\" said I.\n\n\"It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory,\" Holmes answered,\nwith a bitter smile. \"And yet it may be premature to abandon the case.\nAfter all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and may\npossibly cut in a very different direction to that which Lestrade\nimagines. Take your breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together and\nsee what we can do. I feel as if I shall need your company and your\nmoral support today.\"\n\nMy friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities\nthat in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I\nhave known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from\npure inanition. \"At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force for\ndigestion,\" he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances. I was\nnot surprised, therefore, when this morning he left his untouched\nmeal behind him, and started with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbid\nsightseers were still gathered round Deep Dene House, which was just\nsuch a suburban villa as I had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade met\nus, his face flushed with victory, his manner grossly triumphant.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be wrong yet? Have you found\nyour tramp?\" he cried.\n\n\"I have formed no conclusion whatever,\" my companion answered.\n\n\"But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be correct, so you\nmust acknowledge that we have been a little in front of you this time,\nMr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"You certainly have the air of something unusual having occurred,\" said\nHolmes.\n\nLestrade laughed loudly.\n\n\"You don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us do,\" said he.\n\"A man can't expect always to have it his own way, can he, Dr. Watson?\nStep this way, if you please, gentlemen, and I think I can convince you\nonce for all that it was John McFarlane who did this crime.\"\n\nHe led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond.\n\n\"This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hat\nafter the crime was done,\" said he. \"Now look at this.\" With dramatic\nsuddenness he struck a match, and by its light exposed a stain of blood\nupon the whitewashed wall. As he held the match nearer, I saw that it\nwas more than a stain. It was the well-marked print of a thumb.\n\n\"Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am doing so.\"\n\n\"You are aware that no two thumb-marks are alike?\"\n\n\"I have heard something of the kind.\"\n\n\"Well, then, will you please compare that print with this wax impression\nof young McFarlane's right thumb, taken by my orders this morning?\"\n\nAs he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain, it did not take\na magnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly from the same\nthumb. It was evident to me that our unfortunate client was lost.\n\n\"That is final,\" said Lestrade.\n\n\"Yes, that is final,\" I involuntarily echoed.\n\n\"It is final,\" said Holmes.\n\nSomething in his tone caught my ear, and I turned to look at him. An\nextraordinary change had come over his face. It was writhing with inward\nmerriment. His two eyes were shining like stars. It seemed to me that\nhe was making desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of\nlaughter.\n\n\"Dear me! Dear me!\" he said at last. \"Well, now, who would have thought\nit? And how deceptive appearances may be, to be sure! Such a nice young\nman to look at! It is a lesson to us not to trust our own judgment, is\nit not, Lestrade?\"\n\n\"Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cock-sure, Mr.\nHolmes,\" said Lestrade. The man's insolence was maddening, but we could\nnot resent it.\n\n\"What a providential thing that this young man should press his right\nthumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! Such a very\nnatural action, too, if you come to think of it.\" Holmes was outwardly\ncalm, but his whole body gave a wriggle of suppressed excitement as he\nspoke.\n\n\"By the way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?\"\n\n\"It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the night constable's\nattention to it.\"\n\n\"Where was the night constable?\"\n\n\"He remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime was committed, so\nas to see that nothing was touched.\"\n\n\"But why didn't the police see this mark yesterday?\"\n\n\"Well, we had no particular reason to make a careful examination of the\nhall. Besides, it's not in a very prominent place, as you see.\"\n\n\"No, no--of course not. I suppose there is no doubt that the mark was\nthere yesterday?\"\n\nLestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out of his mind.\nI confess that I was myself surprised both at his hilarious manner and\nat his rather wild observation.\n\n\"I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of jail in the\ndead of the night in order to strengthen the evidence against himself,\"\nsaid Lestrade. \"I leave it to any expert in the world whether that is\nnot the mark of his thumb.\"\n\n\"It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb.\"\n\n\"There, that's enough,\" said Lestrade. \"I am a practical man, Mr.\nHolmes, and when I have got my evidence I come to my conclusions. If\nyou have anything to say, you will find me writing my report in the\nsitting-room.\"\n\nHolmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed to detect\ngleams of amusement in his expression.\n\n\"Dear me, this is a very sad development, Watson, is it not?\" said he.\n\"And yet there are singular points about it which hold out some hopes\nfor our client.\"\n\n\"I am delighted to hear it,\" said I, heartily. \"I was afraid it was all\nup with him.\"\n\n\"I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson. The fact is\nthat there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which our\nfriend attaches so much importance.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Holmes! What is it?\"\n\n\"Only this: that I KNOW that that mark was not there when I examined the\nhall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a little stroll round in\nthe sunshine.\"\n\nWith a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmth of hope\nwas returning, I accompanied my friend in a walk round the garden.\nHolmes took each face of the house in turn, and examined it with great\ninterest. He then led the way inside, and went over the whole building\nfrom basement to attic. Most of the rooms were unfurnished, but none the\nless Holmes inspected them all minutely. Finally, on the top corridor,\nwhich ran outside three untenanted bedrooms, he again was seized with a\nspasm of merriment.\n\n\"There are really some very unique features about this case, Watson,\"\nsaid he. \"I think it is time now that we took our friend Lestrade into\nour confidence. He has had his little smile at our expense, and perhaps\nwe may do as much by him, if my reading of this problem proves to be\ncorrect. Yes, yes, I think I see how we should approach it.\"\n\nThe Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlour when Holmes\ninterrupted him.\n\n\"I understood that you were writing a report of this case,\" said he.\n\n\"So I am.\"\n\n\"Don't you think it may be a little premature? I can't help thinking\nthat your evidence is not complete.\"\n\nLestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laid down\nhis pen and looked curiously at him.\n\n\"What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"Only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen.\"\n\n\"Can you produce him?\"\n\n\"I think I can.\"\n\n\"Then do so.\"\n\n\"I will do my best. How many constables have you?\"\n\n\"There are three within call.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" said Holmes. \"May I ask if they are all large, able-bodied\nmen with powerful voices?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what their voices have\nto do with it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other things as\nwell,\" said Holmes. \"Kindly summon your men, and I will try.\"\n\nFive minutes later, three policemen had assembled in the hall.\n\n\"In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw,\" said\nHolmes. \"I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. I think it will\nbe of the greatest assistance in producing the witness whom I require.\nThank you very much. I believe you have some matches in your pocket\nWatson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will ask you all to accompany me to the top\nlanding.\"\n\nAs I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran outside\nthree empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we were all marshalled\nby Sherlock Holmes, the constables grinning and Lestrade staring at\nmy friend with amazement, expectation, and derision chasing each other\nacross his features. Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer\nwho is performing a trick.\n\n\"Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets of water?\nPut the straw on the floor here, free from the wall on either side. Now\nI think that we are all ready.\"\n\nLestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry. \"I don't know whether\nyou are playing a game with us, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\" said he. \"If you\nknow anything, you can surely say it without all this tomfoolery.\"\n\n\"I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reason for\neverything that I do. You may possibly remember that you chaffed me a\nlittle, some hours ago, when the sun seemed on your side of the hedge,\nso you must not grudge me a little pomp and ceremony now. Might I ask\nyou, Watson, to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge of\nthe straw?\"\n\nI did so, and driven by the draught a coil of gray smoke swirled down\nthe corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed.\n\n\"Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade. Might\nI ask you all to join in the cry of 'Fire!'? Now then; one, two,\nthree----\"\n\n\"Fire!\" we all yelled.\n\n\"Thank you. I will trouble you once again.\"\n\n\"Fire!\"\n\n\"Just once more, gentlemen, and all together.\"\n\n\"Fire!\" The shout must have rung over Norwood.\n\nIt had hardly died away when an amazing thing happened. A door suddenly\nflew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of the\ncorridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit out\nof its burrow.\n\n\"Capital!\" said Holmes, calmly. \"Watson, a bucket of water over the\nstraw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with your\nprincipal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre.\"\n\nThe detective stared at the newcomer with blank amazement. The latter\nwas blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and peering at us\nand at the smouldering fire. It was an odious face--crafty, vicious,\nmalignant, with shifty, light-gray eyes and white lashes.\n\n\"What's this, then?\" said Lestrade, at last. \"What have you been doing\nall this time, eh?\"\n\nOldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red face\nof the angry detective.\n\n\"I have done no harm.\"\n\n\"No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. If it\nwasn't for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you would not have\nsucceeded.\"\n\nThe wretched creature began to whimper.\n\n\"I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke.\"\n\n\"Oh! a joke, was it? You won't find the laugh on your side, I promise\nyou. Take him down, and keep him in the sitting-room until I come. Mr.\nHolmes,\" he continued, when they had gone, \"I could not speak before the\nconstables, but I don't mind saying, in the presence of Dr. Watson,\nthat this is the brightest thing that you have done yet, though it is a\nmystery to me how you did it. You have saved an innocent man's life,\nand you have prevented a very grave scandal, which would have ruined my\nreputation in the Force.\"\n\nHolmes smiled, and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder.\n\n\"Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that your\nreputation has been enormously enhanced. Just make a few alterations in\nthat report which you were writing, and they will understand how hard it\nis to throw dust in the eyes of Inspector Lestrade.\"\n\n\"And you don't want your name to appear?\"\n\n\"Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps I shall get the credit\nalso at some distant day, when I permit my zealous historian to lay out\nhis foolscap once more--eh, Watson? Well, now, let us see where this rat\nhas been lurking.\"\n\nA lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feet\nfrom the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. It was lit within\nby slits under the eaves. A few articles of furniture and a supply of\nfood and water were within, together with a number of books and papers.\n\n\"There's the advantage of being a builder,\" said Holmes, as we came\nout. \"He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without any\nconfederate--save, of course, that precious housekeeper of his, whom I\nshould lose no time in adding to your bag, Lestrade.\"\n\n\"I'll take your advice. But how did you know of this place, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"I made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding in the house. When I\npaced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the corresponding\none below, it was pretty clear where he was. I thought he had not the\nnerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire. We could, of course, have\ngone in and taken him, but it amused me to make him reveal himself.\nBesides, I owed you a little mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in\nthe morning.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. But how in the\nworld did you know that he was in the house at all?\"\n\n\"The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it was final; and so it was, in a\nvery different sense. I knew it had not been there the day before. I pay\na good deal of attention to matters of detail, as you may have observed,\nand I had examined the hall, and was sure that the wall was clear.\nTherefore, it had been put on during the night.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"Very simply. When those packets were sealed up, Jonas Oldacre got\nMcFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb upon the soft\nwax. It would be done so quickly and so naturally, that I daresay the\nyoung man himself has no recollection of it. Very likely it just so\nhappened, and Oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would put it\nto. Brooding over the case in that den of his, it suddenly struck him\nwhat absolutely damning evidence he could make against McFarlane by\nusing that thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in the world for him to\ntake a wax impression from the seal, to moisten it in as much blood as\nhe could get from a pin-prick, and to put the mark upon the wall during\nthe night, either with his own hand or with that of his housekeeper.\nIf you examine among those documents which he took with him into\nhis retreat, I will lay you a wager that you find the seal with the\nthumb-mark upon it.\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\" said Lestrade. \"Wonderful! It's all as clear as crystal, as\nyou put it. But what is the object of this deep deception, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\nIt was amusing to me to see how the detective's overbearing manner had\nchanged suddenly to that of a child asking questions of its teacher.\n\n\"Well, I don't think that is very hard to explain. A very deep,\nmalicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is now waiting us\ndownstairs. You know that he was once refused by McFarlane's mother?\nYou don't! I told you that you should go to Blackheath first and Norwood\nafterwards. Well, this injury, as he would consider it, has rankled\nin his wicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed for\nvengeance, but never seen his chance. During the last year or two,\nthings have gone against him--secret speculation, I think--and he finds\nhimself in a bad way. He determines to swindle his creditors, and for\nthis purpose he pays large checks to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I\nimagine, himself under another name. I have not traced these checks\nyet, but I have no doubt that they were banked under that name at some\nprovincial town where Oldacre from time to time led a double existence.\nHe intended to change his name altogether, draw this money, and vanish,\nstarting life again elsewhere.\"\n\n\"Well, that's likely enough.\"\n\n\"It would strike him that in disappearing he might throw all pursuit off\nhis track, and at the same time have an ample and crushing revenge upon\nhis old sweetheart, if he could give the impression that he had been\nmurdered by her only child. It was a masterpiece of villainy, and he\ncarried it out like a master. The idea of the will, which would give\nan obvious motive for the crime, the secret visit unknown to his own\nparents, the retention of the stick, the blood, and the animal remains\nand buttons in the wood-pile, all were admirable. It was a net from\nwhich it seemed to me, a few hours ago, that there was no possible\nescape. But he had not that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge\nof when to stop. He wished to improve that which was already perfect--to\ndraw the rope tighter yet round the neck of his unfortunate victim--and\nso he ruined all. Let us descend, Lestrade. There are just one or two\nquestions that I would ask him.\"\n\nThe malignant creature was seated in his own parlour, with a policeman\nupon each side of him.\n\n\"It was a joke, my good sir--a practical joke, nothing more,\" he whined\nincessantly. \"I assure you, sir, that I simply concealed myself in order\nto see the effect of my disappearance, and I am sure that you would not\nbe so unjust as to imagine that I would have allowed any harm to befall\npoor young Mr. McFarlane.\"\n\n\"That's for a jury to decide,\" said Lestrade. \"Anyhow, we shall have you\non a charge of conspiracy, if not for attempted murder.\"\n\n\"And you'll probably find that your creditors will impound the banking\naccount of Mr. Cornelius,\" said Holmes.\n\nThe little man started, and turned his malignant eyes upon my friend.\n\n\"I have to thank you for a good deal,\" said he. \"Perhaps I'll pay my\ndebt some day.\"\n\nHolmes smiled indulgently.\n\n\"I fancy that, for some few years, you will find your time very fully\noccupied,\" said he. \"By the way, what was it you put into the wood-pile\nbesides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits, or what? You won't\ntell? Dear me, how very unkind of you! Well, well, I daresay that a\ncouple of rabbits would account both for the blood and for the charred\nashes. If ever you write an account, Watson, you can make rabbits serve\nyour turn.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE DANCING MEN\n\n\n\nHolmes had been seated for some hours in silence with his long,\nthin back curved over a chemical vessel in which he was brewing a\nparticularly malodorous product. His head was sunk upon his breast, and\nhe looked from my point of view like a strange, lank bird, with dull\ngray plumage and a black top-knot.\n\n\"So, Watson,\" said he, suddenly, \"you do not propose to invest in South\nAfrican securities?\"\n\nI gave a start of astonishment. Accustomed as I was to Holmes's curious\nfaculties, this sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughts was\nutterly inexplicable.\n\n\"How on earth do you know that?\" I asked.\n\nHe wheeled round upon his stool, with a steaming test-tube in his hand,\nand a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes.\n\n\"Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly taken aback,\" said he.\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because in five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly\nsimple.\"\n\n\"I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind.\"\n\n\"You see, my dear Watson,\"--he propped his test-tube in the rack, and\nbegan to lecture with the air of a professor addressing his class--\"it\nis not really difficult to construct a series of inferences, each\ndependent upon its predecessor and each simple in itself. If, after\ndoing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences and presents\none's audience with the starting-point and the conclusion, one may\nproduce a startling, though possibly a meretricious, effect. Now, it was\nnot really difficult, by an inspection of the groove between your left\nforefinger and thumb, to feel sure that you did NOT propose to invest\nyour small capital in the gold fields.\"\n\n\"I see no connection.\"\n\n\"Very likely not; but I can quickly show you a close connection. Here\nare the missing links of the very simple chain: 1. You had chalk between\nyour left finger and thumb when you returned from the club last night.\n2. You put chalk there when you play billiards, to steady the cue. 3.\nYou never play billiards except with Thurston. 4. You told me, four\nweeks ago, that Thurston had an option on some South African property\nwhich would expire in a month, and which he desired you to share with\nhim. 5. Your check book is locked in my drawer, and you have not asked\nfor the key. 6. You do not propose to invest your money in this manner.\"\n\n\"How absurdly simple!\" I cried.\n\n\"Quite so!\" said he, a little nettled. \"Every problem becomes very\nchildish when once it is explained to you. Here is an unexplained one.\nSee what you can make of that, friend Watson.\" He tossed a sheet of\npaper upon the table, and turned once more to his chemical analysis.\n\nI looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon the paper.\n\n\"Why, Holmes, it is a child's drawing,\" I cried.\n\n\"Oh, that's your idea!\"\n\n\"What else should it be?\"\n\n\"That is what Mr. Hilton Cubitt, of Riding Thorpe Manor, Norfolk, is\nvery anxious to know. This little conundrum came by the first post, and\nhe was to follow by the next train. There's a ring at the bell, Watson.\nI should not be very much surprised if this were he.\"\n\nA heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and an instant later there\nentered a tall, ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose clear eyes and\nflorid cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of Baker Street. He\nseemed to bring a whiff of his strong, fresh, bracing, east-coast air\nwith him as he entered. Having shaken hands with each of us, he was\nabout to sit down, when his eye rested upon the paper with the curious\nmarkings, which I had just examined and left upon the table.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of these?\" he cried. \"They told me\nthat you were fond of queer mysteries, and I don't think you can find a\nqueerer one than that. I sent the paper on ahead, so that you might have\ntime to study it before I came.\"\n\n\"It is certainly rather a curious production,\" said Holmes. \"At first\nsight it would appear to be some childish prank. It consists of a number\nof absurd little figures dancing across the paper upon which they\nare drawn. Why should you attribute any importance to so grotesque an\nobject?\"\n\n\"I never should, Mr. Holmes. But my wife does. It is frightening her to\ndeath. She says nothing, but I can see terror in her eyes. That's why I\nwant to sift the matter to the bottom.\"\n\nHolmes held up the paper so that the sunlight shone full upon it. It was\na page torn from a notebook. The markings were done in pencil, and ran\nin this way:\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\nHolmes examined it for some time, and then, folding it carefully up, he\nplaced it in his pocketbook.\n\n\"This promises to be a most interesting and unusual case,\" said he.\n\"You gave me a few particulars in your letter, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, but I\nshould be very much obliged if you would kindly go over it all again for\nthe benefit of my friend, Dr. Watson.\"\n\n\"I'm not much of a story-teller,\" said our visitor, nervously clasping\nand unclasping his great, strong hands. \"You'll just ask me anything\nthat I don't make clear. I'll begin at the time of my marriage last\nyear, but I want to say first of all that, though I'm not a rich man,\nmy people have been at Riding Thorpe for a matter of five centuries, and\nthere is no better known family in the County of Norfolk. Last year I\ncame up to London for the Jubilee, and I stopped at a boarding-house in\nRussell Square, because Parker, the vicar of our parish, was staying in\nit. There was an American young lady there--Patrick was the name--Elsie\nPatrick. In some way we became friends, until before my month was up\nI was as much in love as man could be. We were quietly married at a\nregistry office, and we returned to Norfolk a wedded couple. You'll\nthink it very mad, Mr. Holmes, that a man of a good old family should\nmarry a wife in this fashion, knowing nothing of her past or of\nher people, but if you saw her and knew her, it would help you to\nunderstand.\n\n\"She was very straight about it, was Elsie. I can't say that she did not\ngive me every chance of getting out of it if I wished to do so. 'I have\nhad some very disagreeable associations in my life,' said she, 'I wish\nto forget all about them. I would rather never allude to the past, for\nit is very painful to me. If you take me, Hilton, you will take a woman\nwho has nothing that she need be personally ashamed of, but you will\nhave to be content with my word for it, and to allow me to be silent\nas to all that passed up to the time when I became yours. If these\nconditions are too hard, then go back to Norfolk, and leave me to the\nlonely life in which you found me.' It was only the day before our\nwedding that she said those very words to me. I told her that I was\ncontent to take her on her own terms, and I have been as good as my\nword.\n\n\"Well we have been married now for a year, and very happy we have been.\nBut about a month ago, at the end of June, I saw for the first time\nsigns of trouble. One day my wife received a letter from America. I saw\nthe American stamp. She turned deadly white, read the letter, and threw\nit into the fire. She made no allusion to it afterwards, and I made\nnone, for a promise is a promise, but she has never known an easy hour\nfrom that moment. There is always a look of fear upon her face--a look\nas if she were waiting and expecting. She would do better to trust me.\nShe would find that I was her best friend. But until she speaks, I can\nsay nothing. Mind you, she is a truthful woman, Mr. Holmes, and whatever\ntrouble there may have been in her past life it has been no fault of\nhers. I am only a simple Norfolk squire, but there is not a man in\nEngland who ranks his family honour more highly than I do. She knows it\nwell, and she knew it well before she married me. She would never bring\nany stain upon it--of that I am sure.\n\n\"Well, now I come to the queer part of my story. About a week ago--it\nwas the Tuesday of last week--I found on one of the window-sills a\nnumber of absurd little dancing figures like these upon the paper. They\nwere scrawled with chalk. I thought that it was the stable-boy who had\ndrawn them, but the lad swore he knew nothing about it. Anyhow, they had\ncome there during the night. I had them washed out, and I only mentioned\nthe matter to my wife afterwards. To my surprise, she took it very\nseriously, and begged me if any more came to let her see them. None did\ncome for a week, and then yesterday morning I found this paper lying on\nthe sundial in the garden. I showed it to Elsie, and down she dropped\nin a dead faint. Since then she has looked like a woman in a dream, half\ndazed, and with terror always lurking in her eyes. It was then that I\nwrote and sent the paper to you, Mr. Holmes. It was not a thing that\nI could take to the police, for they would have laughed at me, but you\nwill tell me what to do. I am not a rich man, but if there is any danger\nthreatening my little woman, I would spend my last copper to shield\nher.\"\n\nHe was a fine creature, this man of the old English soil--simple,\nstraight, and gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes and broad,\ncomely face. His love for his wife and his trust in her shone in his\nfeatures. Holmes had listened to his story with the utmost attention,\nand now he sat for some time in silent thought.\n\n\"Don't you think, Mr. Cubitt,\" said he, at last, \"that your best plan\nwould be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to ask her to share\nher secret with you?\"\n\nHilton Cubitt shook his massive head.\n\n\"A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If Elsie wished to tell me she\nwould. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence. But I am\njustified in taking my own line--and I will.\"\n\n\"Then I will help you with all my heart. In the first place, have you\nheard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"I presume that it is a very quiet place. Any fresh face would cause\ncomment?\"\n\n\"In the immediate neighbourhood, yes. But we have several small\nwatering-places not very far away. And the farmers take in lodgers.\"\n\n\"These hieroglyphics have evidently a meaning. If it is a purely\narbitrary one, it may be impossible for us to solve it. If, on the other\nhand, it is systematic, I have no doubt that we shall get to the bottom\nof it. But this particular sample is so short that I can do nothing, and\nthe facts which you have brought me are so indefinite that we have no\nbasis for an investigation. I would suggest that you return to Norfolk,\nthat you keep a keen lookout, and that you take an exact copy of any\nfresh dancing men which may appear. It is a thousand pities that we\nhave not a reproduction of those which were done in chalk upon the\nwindow-sill. Make a discreet inquiry also as to any strangers in the\nneighbourhood. When you have collected some fresh evidence, come to me\nagain. That is the best advice which I can give you, Mr. Hilton Cubitt.\nIf there are any pressing fresh developments, I shall be always ready to\nrun down and see you in your Norfolk home.\"\n\nThe interview left Sherlock Holmes very thoughtful, and several times in\nthe next few days I saw him take his slip of paper from his notebook\nand look long and earnestly at the curious figures inscribed upon it. He\nmade no allusion to the affair, however, until one afternoon a fortnight\nor so later. I was going out when he called me back.\n\n\"You had better stay here, Watson.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt this morning. You remember\nHilton Cubitt, of the dancing men? He was to reach Liverpool Street at\none-twenty. He may be here at any moment. I gather from his wire that\nthere have been some new incidents of importance.\"\n\nWe had not long to wait, for our Norfolk squire came straight from the\nstation as fast as a hansom could bring him. He was looking worried and\ndepressed, with tired eyes and a lined forehead.\n\n\"It's getting on my nerves, this business, Mr. Holmes,\" said he, as he\nsank, like a wearied man, into an armchair. \"It's bad enough to feel\nthat you are surrounded by unseen, unknown folk, who have some kind of\ndesign upon you, but when, in addition to that, you know that it is just\nkilling your wife by inches, then it becomes as much as flesh and blood\ncan endure. She's wearing away under it--just wearing away before my\neyes.\"\n\n\"Has she said anything yet?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Holmes, she has not. And yet there have been times when the\npoor girl has wanted to speak, and yet could not quite bring herself\nto take the plunge. I have tried to help her, but I daresay I did it\nclumsily, and scared her from it. She has spoken about my old family,\nand our reputation in the county, and our pride in our unsullied honour,\nand I always felt it was leading to the point, but somehow it turned off\nbefore we got there.\"\n\n\"But you have found out something for yourself?\"\n\n\"A good deal, Mr. Holmes. I have several fresh dancing-men pictures for\nyou to examine, and, what is more important, I have seen the fellow.\"\n\n\"What, the man who draws them?\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw him at his work. But I will tell you everything in order.\nWhen I got back after my visit to you, the very first thing I saw next\nmorning was a fresh crop of dancing men. They had been drawn in chalk\nupon the black wooden door of the tool-house, which stands beside the\nlawn in full view of the front windows. I took an exact copy, and here\nit is.\" He unfolded a paper and laid it upon the table. Here is a copy\nof the hieroglyphics:\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\n\"Excellent!\" said Holmes. \"Excellent! Pray continue.\"\n\n\"When I had taken the copy, I rubbed out the marks, but, two mornings\nlater, a fresh inscription had appeared. I have a copy of it here:\"\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\nHolmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with delight.\n\n\"Our material is rapidly accumulating,\" said he.\n\n\"Three days later a message was left scrawled upon paper, and placed\nunder a pebble upon the sundial. Here it is. The characters are, as you\nsee, exactly the same as the last one. After that I determined to lie in\nwait, so I got out my revolver and I sat up in my study, which overlooks\nthe lawn and garden. About two in the morning I was seated by the\nwindow, all being dark save for the moonlight outside, when I heard\nsteps behind me, and there was my wife in her dressing-gown. She\nimplored me to come to bed. I told her frankly that I wished to see who\nit was who played such absurd tricks upon us. She answered that it was\nsome senseless practical joke, and that I should not take any notice of\nit.\n\n\"'If it really annoys you, Hilton, we might go and travel, you and I,\nand so avoid this nuisance.'\n\n\"'What, be driven out of our own house by a practical joker?' said I.\n'Why, we should have the whole county laughing at us.'\n\n\"'Well, come to bed,' said she, 'and we can discuss it in the morning.'\n\n\"Suddenly, as she spoke, I saw her white face grow whiter yet in the\nmoonlight, and her hand tightened upon my shoulder. Something was moving\nin the shadow of the tool-house. I saw a dark, creeping figure which\ncrawled round the corner and squatted in front of the door. Seizing my\npistol, I was rushing out, when my wife threw her arms round me and held\nme with convulsive strength. I tried to throw her off, but she clung to\nme most desperately. At last I got clear, but by the time I had opened\nthe door and reached the house the creature was gone. He had left a\ntrace of his presence, however, for there on the door was the very same\narrangement of dancing men which had already twice appeared, and which\nI have copied on that paper. There was no other sign of the fellow\nanywhere, though I ran all over the grounds. And yet the amazing thing\nis that he must have been there all the time, for when I examined the\ndoor again in the morning, he had scrawled some more of his pictures\nunder the line which I had already seen.\"\n\n\"Have you that fresh drawing?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is very short, but I made a copy of it, and here it is.\"\n\nAgain he produced a paper. The new dance was in this form:\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\n\"Tell me,\" said Holmes--and I could see by his eyes that he was much\nexcited--\"was this a mere addition to the first or did it appear to be\nentirely separate?\"\n\n\"It was on a different panel of the door.\"\n\n\"Excellent! This is far the most important of all for our purpose. It\nfills me with hopes. Now, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, please continue your most\ninteresting statement.\"\n\n\"I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes, except that I was angry with\nmy wife that night for having held me back when I might have caught the\nskulking rascal. She said that she feared that I might come to harm. For\nan instant it had crossed my mind that perhaps what she really feared\nwas that HE might come to harm, for I could not doubt that she knew who\nthis man was, and what he meant by these strange signals. But there is a\ntone in my wife's voice, Mr. Holmes, and a look in her eyes which forbid\ndoubt, and I am sure that it was indeed my own safety that was in her\nmind. There's the whole case, and now I want your advice as to what I\nought to do. My own inclination is to put half a dozen of my farm lads\nin the shrubbery, and when this fellow comes again to give him such a\nhiding that he will leave us in peace for the future.\"\n\n\"I fear it is too deep a case for such simple remedies,\" said Holmes.\n\"How long can you stay in London?\"\n\n\"I must go back to-day. I would not leave my wife alone all night for\nanything. She is very nervous, and begged me to come back.\"\n\n\"I daresay you are right. But if you could have stopped, I might\npossibly have been able to return with you in a day or two. Meanwhile\nyou will leave me these papers, and I think that it is very likely that\nI shall be able to pay you a visit shortly and to throw some light upon\nyour case.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes preserved his calm professional manner until our visitor\nhad left us, although it was easy for me, who knew him so well, to see\nthat he was profoundly excited. The moment that Hilton Cubitt's broad\nback had disappeared through the door my comrade rushed to the table,\nlaid out all the slips of paper containing dancing men in front of him,\nand threw himself into an intricate and elaborate calculation. For\ntwo hours I watched him as he covered sheet after sheet of paper with\nfigures and letters, so completely absorbed in his task that he had\nevidently forgotten my presence. Sometimes he was making progress and\nwhistled and sang at his work; sometimes he was puzzled, and would sit\nfor long spells with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye. Finally he sprang\nfrom his chair with a cry of satisfaction, and walked up and down the\nroom rubbing his hands together. Then he wrote a long telegram upon a\ncable form. \"If my answer to this is as I hope, you will have a very\npretty case to add to your collection, Watson,\" said he. \"I expect that\nwe shall be able to go down to Norfolk tomorrow, and to take our friend\nsome very definite news as to the secret of his annoyance.\"\n\nI confess that I was filled with curiosity, but I was aware that Holmes\nliked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his own way, so I\nwaited until it should suit him to take me into his confidence.\n\nBut there was a delay in that answering telegram, and two days of\nimpatience followed, during which Holmes pricked up his ears at every\nring of the bell. On the evening of the second there came a letter from\nHilton Cubitt. All was quiet with him, save that a long inscription had\nappeared that morning upon the pedestal of the sundial. He inclosed a\ncopy of it, which is here reproduced:\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\nHolmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some minutes, and then\nsuddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and dismay.\nHis face was haggard with anxiety.\n\n\"We have let this affair go far enough,\" said he. \"Is there a train to\nNorth Walsham to-night?\"\n\nI turned up the time-table. The last had just gone.\n\n\"Then we shall breakfast early and take the very first in the morning,\"\nsaid Holmes. \"Our presence is most urgently needed. Ah! here is our\nexpected cablegram. One moment, Mrs. Hudson, there may be an answer. No,\nthat is quite as I expected. This message makes it even more essential\nthat we should not lose an hour in letting Hilton Cubitt know how\nmatters stand, for it is a singular and a dangerous web in which our\nsimple Norfolk squire is entangled.\"\n\nSo, indeed, it proved, and as I come to the dark conclusion of a story\nwhich had seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre, I experience\nonce again the dismay and horror with which I was filled. Would that I\nhad some brighter ending to communicate to my readers, but these are the\nchronicles of fact, and I must follow to their dark crisis the strange\nchain of events which for some days made Riding Thorpe Manor a household\nword through the length and breadth of England.\n\nWe had hardly alighted at North Walsham, and mentioned the name of our\ndestination, when the station-master hurried towards us. \"I suppose that\nyou are the detectives from London?\" said he.\n\nA look of annoyance passed over Holmes's face.\n\n\"What makes you think such a thing?\"\n\n\"Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has just passed through. But\nmaybe you are the surgeons. She's not dead--or wasn't by last accounts.\nYou may be in time to save her yet--though it be for the gallows.\"\n\nHolmes's brow was dark with anxiety.\n\n\"We are going to Riding Thorpe Manor,\" said he, \"but we have heard\nnothing of what has passed there.\"\n\n\"It's a terrible business,\" said the stationmaster. \"They are shot, both\nMr. Hilton Cubitt and his wife. She shot him and then herself--so the\nservants say. He's dead and her life is despaired of. Dear, dear, one\nof the oldest families in the county of Norfolk, and one of the most\nhonoured.\"\n\nWithout a word Holmes hurried to a carriage, and during the long seven\nmiles' drive he never opened his mouth. Seldom have I seen him so\nutterly despondent. He had been uneasy during all our journey from\ntown, and I had observed that he had turned over the morning papers with\nanxious attention, but now this sudden realization of his worst fears\nleft him in a blank melancholy. He leaned back in his seat, lost in\ngloomy speculation. Yet there was much around to interest us, for we\nwere passing through as singular a countryside as any in England, where\na few scattered cottages represented the population of to-day, while on\nevery hand enormous square-towered churches bristled up from the flat\ngreen landscape and told of the glory and prosperity of old East Anglia.\nAt last the violet rim of the German Ocean appeared over the green edge\nof the Norfolk coast, and the driver pointed with his whip to two old\nbrick and timber gables which projected from a grove of trees. \"That's\nRiding Thorpe Manor,\" said he.\n\nAs we drove up to the porticoed front door, I observed in front of it,\nbeside the tennis lawn, the black tool-house and the pedestalled sundial\nwith which we had such strange associations. A dapper little man, with\na quick, alert manner and a waxed moustache, had just descended from a\nhigh dog-cart. He introduced himself as Inspector Martin, of the Norfolk\nConstabulary, and he was considerably astonished when he heard the name\nof my companion.\n\n\"Why, Mr. Holmes, the crime was only committed at three this morning.\nHow could you hear of it in London and get to the spot as soon as I?\"\n\n\"I anticipated it. I came in the hope of preventing it.\"\n\n\"Then you must have important evidence, of which we are ignorant, for\nthey were said to be a most united couple.\"\n\n\"I have only the evidence of the dancing men,\" said Holmes. \"I will\nexplain the matter to you later. Meanwhile, since it is too late to\nprevent this tragedy, I am very anxious that I should use the knowledge\nwhich I possess in order to insure that justice be done. Will you\nassociate me in your investigation, or will you prefer that I should act\nindependently?\"\n\n\"I should be proud to feel that we were acting together, Mr. Holmes,\"\nsaid the inspector, earnestly.\n\n\"In that case I should be glad to hear the evidence and to examine the\npremises without an instant of unnecessary delay.\"\n\nInspector Martin had the good sense to allow my friend to do things\nin his own fashion, and contented himself with carefully noting the\nresults. The local surgeon, an old, white-haired man, had just come down\nfrom Mrs. Hilton Cubitt's room, and he reported that her injuries were\nserious, but not necessarily fatal. The bullet had passed through the\nfront of her brain, and it would probably be some time before she could\nregain consciousness. On the question of whether she had been shot or\nhad shot herself, he would not venture to express any decided opinion.\nCertainly the bullet had been discharged at very close quarters. There\nwas only the one pistol found in the room, two barrels of which had\nbeen emptied. Mr. Hilton Cubitt had been shot through the heart. It was\nequally conceivable that he had shot her and then himself, or that\nshe had been the criminal, for the revolver lay upon the floor midway\nbetween them.\n\n\"Has he been moved?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"We have moved nothing except the lady. We could not leave her lying\nwounded upon the floor.\"\n\n\"How long have you been here, Doctor?\"\n\n\"Since four o'clock.\"\n\n\"Anyone else?\"\n\n\"Yes, the constable here.\"\n\n\"And you have touched nothing?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"You have acted with great discretion. Who sent for you?\"\n\n\"The housemaid, Saunders.\"\n\n\"Was it she who gave the alarm?\"\n\n\"She and Mrs. King, the cook.\"\n\n\"Where are they now?\"\n\n\"In the kitchen, I believe.\"\n\n\"Then I think we had better hear their story at once.\"\n\nThe old hall, oak-panelled and high-windowed, had been turned into a\ncourt of investigation. Holmes sat in a great, old-fashioned chair, his\ninexorable eyes gleaming out of his haggard face. I could read in them\na set purpose to devote his life to this quest until the client whom he\nhad failed to save should at last be avenged. The trim Inspector Martin,\nthe old, gray-headed country doctor, myself, and a stolid village\npoliceman made up the rest of that strange company.\n\nThe two women told their story clearly enough. They had been aroused\nfrom their sleep by the sound of an explosion, which had been followed\na minute later by a second one. They slept in adjoining rooms, and Mrs.\nKing had rushed in to Saunders. Together they had descended the stairs.\nThe door of the study was open, and a candle was burning upon the table.\nTheir master lay upon his face in the centre of the room. He was quite\ndead. Near the window his wife was crouching, her head leaning against\nthe wall. She was horribly wounded, and the side of her face was red\nwith blood. She breathed heavily, but was incapable of saying anything.\nThe passage, as well as the room, was full of smoke and the smell of\npowder. The window was certainly shut and fastened upon the inside. Both\nwomen were positive upon the point. They had at once sent for the\ndoctor and for the constable. Then, with the aid of the groom and the\nstable-boy, they had conveyed their injured mistress to her room. Both\nshe and her husband had occupied the bed. She was clad in her dress--he\nin his dressing-gown, over his night-clothes. Nothing had been moved in\nthe study. So far as they knew, there had never been any quarrel between\nhusband and wife. They had always looked upon them as a very united\ncouple.\n\nThese were the main points of the servants' evidence. In answer to\nInspector Martin, they were clear that every door was fastened upon the\ninside, and that no one could have escaped from the house. In answer to\nHolmes, they both remembered that they were conscious of the smell of\npowder from the moment that they ran out of their rooms upon the top\nfloor. \"I commend that fact very carefully to your attention,\" said\nHolmes to his professional colleague. \"And now I think that we are in a\nposition to undertake a thorough examination of the room.\"\n\nThe study proved to be a small chamber, lined on three sides with books,\nand with a writing-table facing an ordinary window, which looked out\nupon the garden. Our first attention was given to the body of the\nunfortunate squire, whose huge frame lay stretched across the room. His\ndisordered dress showed that he had been hastily aroused from sleep.\nThe bullet had been fired at him from the front, and had remained in\nhis body, after penetrating the heart. His death had certainly been\ninstantaneous and painless. There was no powder-marking either upon his\ndressing-gown or on his hands. According to the country surgeon, the\nlady had stains upon her face, but none upon her hand.\n\n\"The absence of the latter means nothing, though its presence may\nmean everything,\" said Holmes. \"Unless the powder from a badly fitting\ncartridge happens to spurt backward, one may fire many shots without\nleaving a sign. I would suggest that Mr. Cubitt's body may now be\nremoved. I suppose, Doctor, you have not recovered the bullet which\nwounded the lady?\"\n\n\"A serious operation will be necessary before that can be done. But\nthere are still four cartridges in the revolver. Two have been fired and\ntwo wounds inflicted, so that each bullet can be accounted for.\"\n\n\"So it would seem,\" said Holmes. \"Perhaps you can account also for the\nbullet which has so obviously struck the edge of the window?\"\n\nHe had turned suddenly, and his long, thin finger was pointing to a hole\nwhich had been drilled right through the lower window-sash, about an\ninch above the bottom.\n\n\"By George!\" cried the inspector. \"How ever did you see that?\"\n\n\"Because I looked for it.\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\" said the country doctor. \"You are certainly right, sir.\nThen a third shot has been fired, and therefore a third person must have\nbeen present. But who could that have been, and how could he have got\naway?\"\n\n\"That is the problem which we are now about to solve,\" said Sherlock\nHolmes. \"You remember, Inspector Martin, when the servants said that on\nleaving their room they were at once conscious of a smell of powder, I\nremarked that the point was an extremely important one?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; but I confess I did not quite follow you.\"\n\n\"It suggested that at the time of the firing, the window as well as the\ndoor of the room had been open. Otherwise the fumes of powder could not\nhave been blown so rapidly through the house. A draught in the room was\nnecessary for that. Both door and window were only open for a very short\ntime, however.\"\n\n\"How do you prove that?\"\n\n\"Because the candle was not guttered.\"\n\n\"Capital!\" cried the inspector. \"Capital!\n\n\"Feeling sure that the window had been open at the time of the tragedy,\nI conceived that there might have been a third person in the affair, who\nstood outside this opening and fired through it. Any shot directed at\nthis person might hit the sash. I looked, and there, sure enough, was\nthe bullet mark!\"\n\n\"But how came the window to be shut and fastened?\"\n\n\"The woman's first instinct would be to shut and fasten the window. But,\nhalloa! What is this?\"\n\nIt was a lady's hand-bag which stood upon the study table--a trim little\nhandbag of crocodile-skin and silver. Holmes opened it and turned\nthe contents out. There were twenty fifty-pound notes of the Bank of\nEngland, held together by an india-rubber band--nothing else.\n\n\"This must be preserved, for it will figure in the trial,\" said Holmes,\nas he handed the bag with its contents to the inspector. \"It is now\nnecessary that we should try to throw some light upon this third bullet,\nwhich has clearly, from the splintering of the wood, been fired from\ninside the room. I should like to see Mrs. King, the cook, again. You\nsaid, Mrs. King, that you were awakened by a LOUD explosion. When you\nsaid that, did you mean that it seemed to you to be louder than the\nsecond one?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep, so it is hard to judge. But it\ndid seem very loud.\"\n\n\"You don't think that it might have been two shots fired almost at the\nsame instant?\"\n\n\"I am sure I couldn't say, sir.\"\n\n\"I believe that it was undoubtedly so. I rather think, Inspector Martin,\nthat we have now exhausted all that this room can teach us. If you will\nkindly step round with me, we shall see what fresh evidence the garden\nhas to offer.\"\n\nA flower-bed extended up to the study window, and we all broke into an\nexclamation as we approached it. The flowers were trampled down, and the\nsoft soil was imprinted all over with footmarks. Large, masculine feet\nthey were, with peculiarly long, sharp toes. Holmes hunted about among\nthe grass and leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird. Then, with\na cry of satisfaction, he bent forward and picked up a little brazen\ncylinder.\n\n\"I thought so,\" said he, \"the revolver had an ejector, and here is the\nthird cartridge. I really think, Inspector Martin, that our case is\nalmost complete.\"\n\nThe country inspector's face had shown his intense amazement at the\nrapid and masterful progress of Holmes's investigation. At first he\nhad shown some disposition to assert his own position, but now he was\novercome with admiration, and ready to follow without question wherever\nHolmes led.\n\n\"Whom do you suspect?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'll go into that later. There are several points in this problem which\nI have not been able to explain to you yet. Now that I have got so far,\nI had best proceed on my own lines, and then clear the whole matter up\nonce and for all.\"\n\n\"Just as you wish, Mr. Holmes, so long as we get our man.\"\n\n\"I have no desire to make mysteries, but it is impossible at the moment\nof action to enter into long and complex explanations. I have the\nthreads of this affair all in my hand. Even if this lady should never\nrecover consciousness, we can still reconstruct the events of last night\nand insure that justice be done. First of all, I wish to know whether\nthere is any inn in this neighbourhood known as 'Elrige's'?\"\n\nThe servants were cross-questioned, but none of them had heard of such a\nplace. The stable-boy threw a light upon the matter by remembering that\na farmer of that name lived some miles off, in the direction of East\nRuston.\n\n\"Is it a lonely farm?\"\n\n\"Very lonely, sir.\"\n\n\"Perhaps they have not heard yet of all that happened here during the\nnight?\"\n\n\"Maybe not, sir.\"\n\nHolmes thought for a little, and then a curious smile played over his\nface.\n\n\"Saddle a horse, my lad,\" said he. \"I shall wish you to take a note to\nElrige's Farm.\"\n\nHe took from his pocket the various slips of the dancing men. With these\nin front of him, he worked for some time at the study-table. Finally he\nhanded a note to the boy, with directions to put it into the hands\nof the person to whom it was addressed, and especially to answer no\nquestions of any sort which might be put to him. I saw the outside of\nthe note, addressed in straggling, irregular characters, very unlike\nHolmes's usual precise hand. It was consigned to Mr. Abe Slaney, Elriges\nFarm, East Ruston, Norfolk.\n\n\"I think, Inspector,\" Holmes remarked, \"that you would do well to\ntelegraph for an escort, as, if my calculations prove to be correct, you\nmay have a particularly dangerous prisoner to convey to the county jail.\nThe boy who takes this note could no doubt forward your telegram. If\nthere is an afternoon train to town, Watson, I think we should do well\nto take it, as I have a chemical analysis of some interest to finish,\nand this investigation draws rapidly to a close.\"\n\nWhen the youth had been dispatched with the note, Sherlock Holmes gave\nhis instructions to the servants. If any visitor were to call asking for\nMrs. Hilton Cubitt, no information should be given as to her condition,\nbut he was to be shown at once into the drawing-room. He impressed these\npoints upon them with the utmost earnestness. Finally he led the way\ninto the drawing-room, with the remark that the business was now out of\nour hands, and that we must while away the time as best we might until\nwe could see what was in store for us. The doctor had departed to his\npatients, and only the inspector and myself remained.\n\n\"I think that I can help you to pass an hour in an interesting and\nprofitable manner,\" said Holmes, drawing his chair up to the table,\nand spreading out in front of him the various papers upon which were\nrecorded the antics of the dancing men. \"As to you, friend Watson, I owe\nyou every atonement for having allowed your natural curiosity to remain\nso long unsatisfied. To you, Inspector, the whole incident may appeal\nas a remarkable professional study. I must tell you, first of all, the\ninteresting circumstances connected with the previous consultations\nwhich Mr. Hilton Cubitt has had with me in Baker Street.\" He then\nshortly recapitulated the facts which have already been recorded. \"I\nhave here in front of me these singular productions, at which one\nmight smile, had they not proved themselves to be the forerunners of\nso terrible a tragedy. I am fairly familiar with all forms of secret\nwritings, and am myself the author of a trifling monograph upon the\nsubject, in which I analyze one hundred and sixty separate ciphers,\nbut I confess that this is entirely new to me. The object of those who\ninvented the system has apparently been to conceal that these characters\nconvey a message, and to give the idea that they are the mere random\nsketches of children.\n\n\"Having once recognized, however, that the symbols stood for letters,\nand having applied the rules which guide us in all forms of secret\nwritings, the solution was easy enough. The first message submitted to\nme was so short that it was impossible for me to do more than to say,\nwith some confidence, that the symbol XXX stood for E. As you are aware,\nE is the most common letter in the English alphabet, and it predominates\nto so marked an extent that even in a short sentence one would expect\nto find it most often. Out of fifteen symbols in the first message, four\nwere the same, so it was reasonable to set this down as E. It is true\nthat in some cases the figure was bearing a flag, and in some cases not,\nbut it was probable, from the way in which the flags were distributed,\nthat they were used to break the sentence up into words. I accepted this\nas a hypothesis, and noted that E was represented by XXX.\n\n\"But now came the real difficulty of the inquiry. The order of\nthe English letters after E is by no means well marked, and any\npreponderance which may be shown in an average of a printed sheet may be\nreversed in a single short sentence. Speaking roughly, T, A, O, I, N, S,\nH, R, D, and L are the numerical order in which letters occur, but T,\nA, O, and I are very nearly abreast of each other, and it would be an\nendless task to try each combination until a meaning was arrived at.\nI therefore waited for fresh material. In my second interview with Mr.\nHilton Cubitt he was able to give me two other short sentences and one\nmessage, which appeared--since there was no flag--to be a single word.\nHere are the symbols. Now, in the single word I have already got the\ntwo E's coming second and fourth in a word of five letters. It might\nbe 'sever,' or 'lever,' or 'never.' There can be no question that\nthe latter as a reply to an appeal is far the most probable, and\nthe circumstances pointed to its being a reply written by the lady.\nAccepting it as correct, we are now able to say that the symbols stand\nrespectively for N, V, and R.\n\n\"Even now I was in considerable difficulty, but a happy thought put me\nin possession of several other letters. It occurred to me that if these\nappeals came, as I expected, from someone who had been intimate with the\nlady in her early life, a combination which contained two E's with\nthree letters between might very well stand for the name 'ELSIE.' On\nexamination I found that such a combination formed the termination of\nthe message which was three times repeated. It was certainly some appeal\nto 'Elsie.' In this way I had got my L, S, and I. But what appeal could\nit be? There were only four letters in the word which preceded 'Elsie,'\nand it ended in E. Surely the word must be 'COME.' I tried all other\nfour letters ending in E, but could find none to fit the case. So now I\nwas in possession of C, O, and M, and I was in a position to attack the\nfirst message once more, dividing it into words and putting dots for\neach symbol which was still unknown. So treated, it worked out in this\nfashion:\n\n\n.M .ERE ..E SL.NE.\n\n\n\"Now the first letter CAN only be A, which is a most useful discovery,\nsince it occurs no fewer than three times in this short sentence, and\nthe H is also apparent in the second word. Now it becomes:\n\n\nAM HERE A.E SLANE.\n\n\nOr, filling in the obvious vacancies in the name:\n\n\nAM HERE ABE SLANEY.\n\n\nI had so many letters now that I could proceed with considerable\nconfidence to the second message, which worked out in this fashion:\n\n\nA. ELRI. ES.\n\n\nHere I could only make sense by putting T and G for the missing letters,\nand supposing that the name was that of some house or inn at which the\nwriter was staying.\"\n\nInspector Martin and I had listened with the utmost interest to the full\nand clear account of how my friend had produced results which had led to\nso complete a command over our difficulties.\n\n\"What did you do then, sir?\" asked the inspector.\n\n\"I had every reason to suppose that this Abe Slaney was an American,\nsince Abe is an American contraction, and since a letter from America\nhad been the starting-point of all the trouble. I had also every cause\nto think that there was some criminal secret in the matter. The lady's\nallusions to her past, and her refusal to take her husband into her\nconfidence, both pointed in that direction. I therefore cabled to my\nfriend, Wilson Hargreave, of the New York Police Bureau, who has more\nthan once made use of my knowledge of London crime. I asked him whether\nthe name of Abe Slaney was known to him. Here is his reply: 'The most\ndangerous crook in Chicago.' On the very evening upon which I had his\nanswer, Hilton Cubitt sent me the last message from Slaney. Working with\nknown letters, it took this form:\n\n\nELSIE .RE.ARE TO MEET THY GO.\n\n\nThe addition of a P and a D completed a message which showed me that the\nrascal was proceeding from persuasion to threats, and my knowledge of\nthe crooks of Chicago prepared me to find that he might very rapidly\nput his words into action. I at once came to Norfolk with my friend and\ncolleague, Dr. Watson, but, unhappily, only in time to find that the\nworst had already occurred.\"\n\n\"It is a privilege to be associated with you in the handling of a case,\"\nsaid the inspector, warmly. \"You will excuse me, however, if I speak\nfrankly to you. You are only answerable to yourself, but I have to\nanswer to my superiors. If this Abe Slaney, living at Elrige's, is\nindeed the murderer, and if he has made his escape while I am seated\nhere, I should certainly get into serious trouble.\"\n\n\"You need not be uneasy. He will not try to escape.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"To fly would be a confession of guilt.\"\n\n\"Then let us go arrest him.\"\n\n\"I expect him here every instant.\"\n\n\"But why should he come.\"\n\n\"Because I have written and asked him.\"\n\n\"But this is incredible, Mr. Holmes! Why should he come because you\nhave asked him? Would not such a request rather rouse his suspicions and\ncause him to fly?\"\n\n\"I think I have known how to frame the letter,\" said Sherlock Holmes.\n\"In fact, if I am not very much mistaken, here is the gentleman himself\ncoming up the drive.\"\n\nA man was striding up the path which led to the door. He was a tall,\nhandsome, swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of gray flannel, with a Panama\nhat, a bristling black beard, and a great, aggressive hooked nose, and\nflourishing a cane as he walked. He swaggered up a path as if as if\nthe place belonged to him, and we heard his loud, confident peal at the\nbell.\n\n\"I think, gentlemen,\" said Holmes, quietly, \"that we had best take up\nour position behind the door. Every precaution is necessary when dealing\nwith such a fellow. You will need your handcuffs, Inspector. You can\nleave the talking to me.\"\n\nWe waited in silence for a minute--one of those minutes which one can\nnever forget. Then the door opened and the man stepped in. In an instant\nHolmes clapped a pistol to his head, and Martin slipped the handcuffs\nover his wrists. It was all done so swiftly and deftly that the fellow\nwas helpless before he knew that he was attacked. He glared from one to\nthe other of us with a pair of blazing black eyes. Then he burst into a\nbitter laugh.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this time. I seem to have\nknocked up against something hard. But I came here in answer to a letter\nfrom Mrs. Hilton Cubitt. Don't tell me that she is in this? Don't tell\nme that she helped to set a trap for me?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Hilton Cubitt was seriously injured, and is at death's door.\"\n\nThe man gave a hoarse cry of grief, which rang through the house.\n\n\"You're crazy!\" he cried, fiercely. \"It was he that was hurt, not she.\nWho would have hurt little Elsie? I may have threatened her--God forgive\nme!--but I would not have touched a hair of her pretty head. Take it\nback--you! Say that she is not hurt!\"\n\n\"She was found badly wounded, by the side of her dead husband.\"\n\nHe sank with a deep groan on the settee and buried his face in his\nmanacled hands. For five minutes he was silent. Then he raised his face\nonce more, and spoke with the cold composure of despair.\n\n\"I have nothing to hide from you, gentlemen,\" said he. \"If I shot the\nman he had his shot at me, and there's no murder in that. But if you\nthink I could have hurt that woman, then you don't know either me or\nher. I tell you, there was never a man in this world loved a woman more\nthan I loved her. I had a right to her. She was pledged to me years ago.\nWho was this Englishman that he should come between us? I tell you that\nI had the first right to her, and that I was only claiming my own.\n\n\"She broke away from your influence when she found the man that you\nare,\" said Holmes, sternly. \"She fled from America to avoid you, and she\nmarried an honourable gentleman in England. You dogged her and followed\nher and made her life a misery to her, in order to induce her to abandon\nthe husband whom she loved and respected in order to fly with you, whom\nshe feared and hated. You have ended by bringing about the death of a\nnoble man and driving his wife to suicide. That is your record in this\nbusiness, Mr. Abe Slaney, and you will answer for it to the law.\"\n\n\"If Elsie dies, I care nothing what becomes of me,\" said the American.\nHe opened one of his hands, and looked at a note crumpled up in his\npalm. \"See here, mister! he cried, with a gleam of suspicion in his\neyes, \"you're not trying to scare me over this, are you? If the lady is\nhurt as bad as you say, who was it that wrote this note?\" He tossed it\nforward on to the table.\n\n\"I wrote it, to bring you here.\"\n\n\"You wrote it? There was no one on earth outside the Joint who knew the\nsecret of the dancing men. How came you to write it?\"\n\n\"What one man can invent another can discover,\" said Holmes. There is a\ncab coming to convey you to Norwich, Mr. Slaney. But meanwhile, you have\ntime to make some small reparation for the injury you have wrought. Are\nyou aware that Mrs. Hilton Cubitt has herself lain under grave suspicion\nof the murder of her husband, and that it was only my presence here, and\nthe knowledge which I happened to possess, which has saved her from the\naccusation? The least that you owe her is to make it clear to the whole\nworld that she was in no way, directly or indirectly, responsible for\nhis tragic end.\"\n\n\"I ask nothing better,\" said the American. \"I guess the very best case I\ncan make for myself is the absolute naked truth.\"\n\n\"It is my duty to warn you that it will be used against you,\" cried the\ninspector, with the magnificent fair play of the British criminal law.\n\nSlaney shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"I'll chance that,\" said he. \"First of all, I want you gentlemen to\nunderstand that I have known this lady since she was a child. There were\nseven of us in a gang in Chicago, and Elsie's father was the boss of the\nJoint. He was a clever man, was old Patrick. It was he who invented that\nwriting, which would pass as a child's scrawl unless you just happened\nto have the key to it. Well, Elsie learned some of our ways, but she\ncouldn't stand the business, and she had a bit of honest money of her\nown, so she gave us all the slip and got away to London. She had been\nengaged to me, and she would have married me, I believe, if I had taken\nover another profession, but she would have nothing to do with anything\non the cross. It was only after her marriage to this Englishman that I\nwas able to find out where she was. I wrote to her, but got no answer.\nAfter that I came over, and, as letters were no use, I put my messages\nwhere she could read them.\n\n\"Well, I have been here a month now. I lived in that farm, where I had\na room down below, and could get in and out every night, and no one the\nwiser. I tried all I could to coax Elsie away. I knew that she read the\nmessages, for once she wrote an answer under one of them. Then my temper\ngot the better of me, and I began to threaten her. She sent me a letter\nthen, imploring me to go away, and saying that it would break her heart\nif any scandal should come upon her husband. She said that she would\ncome down when her husband was asleep at three in the morning, and speak\nwith me through the end window, if I would go away afterwards and leave\nher in peace. She came down and brought money with her, trying to bribe\nme to go. This made me mad, and I caught her arm and tried to pull\nher through the window. At that moment in rushed the husband with his\nrevolver in his hand. Elsie had sunk down upon the floor, and we were\nface to face. I was heeled also, and I held up my gun to scare him off\nand let me get away. He fired and missed me. I pulled off almost at the\nsame instant, and down he dropped. I made away across the garden, and as\nI went I heard the window shut behind me. That's God's truth, gentlemen,\nevery word of it, and I heard no more about it until that lad came\nriding up with a note which made me walk in here, like a jay, and give\nmyself into your hands.\"\n\nA cab had driven up whilst the American had been talking. Two uniformed\npolicemen sat inside. Inspector Martin rose and touched his prisoner on\nthe shoulder.\n\n\"It is time for us to go.\"\n\n\"Can I see her first?\"\n\n\"No, she is not conscious. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I only hope that if ever\nagain I have an important case, I shall have the good fortune to have\nyou by my side.\"\n\nWe stood at the window and watched the cab drive away. As I turned back,\nmy eye caught the pellet of paper which the prisoner had tossed upon the\ntable. It was the note with which Holmes had decoyed him.\n\n\"See if you can read it, Watson,\" said he, with a smile.\n\nIt contained no word, but this little line of dancing men:\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\n\"If you use the code which I have explained,\" said Holmes, \"you will\nfind that it simply means 'Come here at once.' I was convinced that\nit was an invitation which he would not refuse, since he could never\nimagine that it could come from anyone but the lady. And so, my dear\nWatson, we have ended by turning the dancing men to good when they have\nso often been the agents of evil, and I think that I have fulfilled my\npromise of giving you something unusual for your notebook. Three-forty\nis our train, and I fancy we should be back in Baker Street for dinner.\"\n\nOnly one word of epilogue. The American, Abe Slaney, was condemned to\ndeath at the winter assizes at Norwich, but his penalty was changed to\npenal servitude in consideration of mitigating circumstances, and the\ncertainty that Hilton Cubitt had fired the first shot. Of Mrs. Hilton\nCubitt I only know that I have heard she recovered entirely, and that\nshe still remains a widow, devoting her whole life to the care of the\npoor and to the administration of her husband's estate.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE SOLITARY CYCLIST\n\n\n\nFrom the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a\nvery busy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case of any\ndifficulty in which he was not consulted during those eight years, and\nthere were hundreds of private cases, some of them of the most intricate\nand extraordinary character, in which he played a prominent part. Many\nstartling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome of\nthis long period of continuous work. As I have preserved very full notes\nof all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them,\nit may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should select\nto lay before the public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule, and\ngive the preference to those cases which derive their interest not so\nmuch from the brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramatic\nquality of the solution. For this reason I will now lay before the\nreader the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclist\nof Charlington, and the curious sequel of our investigation, which\nculminated in unexpected tragedy. It is true that the circumstance did\nnot admit of any striking illustration of those powers for which my\nfriend was famous, but there were some points about the case which made\nit stand out in those long records of crime from which I gather the\nmaterial for these little narratives.\n\nOn referring to my notebook for the year 1895, I find that it was upon\nSaturday, the 23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith.\nHer visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he was\nimmersed at the moment in a very abstruse and complicated problem\nconcerning the peculiar persecution to which John Vincent Harden, the\nwell known tobacco millionaire, had been subjected. My friend, who\nloved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented\nanything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand.\nAnd yet, without a harshness which was foreign to his nature, it was\nimpossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful\nwoman, tall, graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker\nStreet late in the evening, and implored his assistance and advice. It\nwas vain to urge that his time was already fully occupied, for the\nyoung lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it was\nevident that nothing short of force could get her out of the room until\nshe had done so. With a resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes\nbegged the beautiful intruder to take a seat, and to inform us what it\nwas that was troubling her.\n\n\"At least it cannot be your health,\" said he, as his keen eyes darted\nover her, \"so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy.\"\n\nShe glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slight\nroughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge of\nthe pedal.\n\n\"Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to do\nwith my visit to you to-day.\"\n\nMy friend took the lady's ungloved hand, and examined it with as close\nan attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to a\nspecimen.\n\n\"You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business,\" said he, as he\ndropped it. \"I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you were\ntypewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You observe\nthe spatulate finger-ends, Watson, which is common to both professions?\nThere is a spirituality about the face, however\"--she gently turned it\ntowards the light--\"which the typewriter does not generate. This lady is\na musician.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music.\"\n\n\"In the country, I presume, from your complexion.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey.\"\n\n\"A beautiful neighbourhood, and full of the most interesting\nassociations. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that we took\nArchie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has happened to you,\nnear Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?\"\n\nThe young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the following\ncurious statement:\n\n\"My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith, who conducted the\norchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were left without\na relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went to\nAfrica twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from him\nsince. When father died, we were left very poor, but one day we were\ntold that there was an advertisement in the TIMES, inquiring for our\nwhereabouts. You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought that\nsomeone had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose name\nwas given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers and\nMr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa. They said that\nmy uncle was a friend of theirs, that he had died some months before in\ngreat poverty in Johannesburg, and that he had asked them with his last\nbreath to hunt up his relations, and see that they were in no want. It\nseemed strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when he\nwas alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead, but\nMr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had just\nheard of the death of his brother, and so felt responsible for our\nfate.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said Holmes. \"When was this interview?\"\n\n\"Last December--four months ago.\"\n\n\"Pray proceed.\"\n\n\"Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was for ever\nmaking eyes at me--a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustached young man, with\nhis hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. I thought that he\nwas perfectly hateful--and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me to\nknow such a person.\"\n\n\"Oh, Cyril is his name!\" said Holmes, smiling.\n\nThe young lady blushed and laughed.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Holmes, Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and we hope\nto be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how DID I get talking\nabout him? What I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was perfectly\nodious, but that Mr. Carruthers, who was a much older man, was more\nagreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person, but he\nhad polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left,\nand on finding that we were very poor, he suggested that I should come\nand teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. I said that I did not\nlike to leave my mother, on which he suggested that I should go home\nto her every week-end, and he offered me a hundred a year, which was\ncertainly splendid pay. So it ended by my accepting, and I went down\nto Chiltern Grange, about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was\na widower, but he had engaged a lady housekeeper, a very respectable,\nelderly person, called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. The\nchild was a dear, and everything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very\nkind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Every\nweek-end I went home to my mother in town.\n\n\"The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red-moustached\nMr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and oh! it seemed three\nmonths to me. He was a dreadful person--a bully to everyone else, but to\nme something infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of his\nwealth, said that if I married him I could have the finest diamonds in\nLondon, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seized\nme in his arms one day after dinner--he was hideously strong--and swore\nthat he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came\nin and tore him from me, on which he turned upon his own host, knocking\nhim down and cutting his face open. That was the end of his visit, as\nyou can imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day, and assured\nme that I should never be exposed to such an insult again. I have not\nseen Mr. Woodley since.\n\n\"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing which has\ncaused me to ask your advice to-day. You must know that every Saturday\nforenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station, in order to get the\n12:22 to town. The road from Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and at\none spot it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile between\nCharlington Heath upon one side and the woods which lie round\nCharlington Hall upon the other. You could not find a more lonely tract\nof road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or a\npeasant, until you reach the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks\nago I was passing this place, when I chanced to look back over my\nshoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also on a\nbicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. I\nlooked back before I reached Farnham, but the man was gone, so I thought\nno more about it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes,\nwhen, on my return on the Monday, I saw the same man on the same stretch\nof road. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again,\nexactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kept\nhis distance and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainly\nwas very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested in\nwhat I said, and told me that he had ordered a horse and trap, so\nthat in future I should not pass over these lonely roads without some\ncompanion.\n\n\"The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for some reason\nthey were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to the station.\nThat was this morning. You can think that I looked out when I came to\nCharlington Heath, and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as he\nhad been the two weeks before. He always kept so far from me that I\ncould not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom I did\nnot know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thing\nabout his face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day I was\nnot alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to find\nout who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down my machine, but he\nslowed down his. Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped also. Then\nI laid a trap for him. There is a sharp turning of the road, and I\npedalled very quickly round this, and then I stopped and waited. I\nexpected him to shoot round and pass me before he could stop. But he\nnever appeared. Then I went back and looked round the corner. I\ncould see a mile of road, but he was not on it. To make it the more\nextraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which he could\nhave gone.\"\n\nHolmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. \"This case certainly presents\nsome features of its own,\" said he. \"How much time elapsed between your\nturning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear?\"\n\n\"Two or three minutes.\"\n\n\"Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say that there\nare no side roads?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the other.\"\n\n\"It could not have been on the side of the heath, or I should have seen\nhim.\"\n\n\"So, by the process of exclusion, we arrive at the fact that he made his\nway toward Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, is situated in its\nown grounds on one side of the road. Anything else?\"\n\n\"Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I felt I should\nnot be happy until I had seen you and had your advice.\"\n\nHolmes sat in silence for some little time.\n\n\"Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?\" he asked at last.\n\n\"He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry.\"\n\n\"He would not pay you a surprise visit?\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know him!\"\n\n\"Have you had any other admirers?\"\n\n\"Several before I knew Cyril.\"\n\n\"And since?\"\n\n\"There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him an admirer.\"\n\n\"No one else?\"\n\nOur fair client seemed a little confused.\n\n\"Who was he?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it had seemed to me sometimes\nthat my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal of interest in me.\nWe are thrown rather together. I play his accompaniments in the evening.\nHe has never said anything. He is a perfect gentleman. But a girl always\nknows.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" Holmes looked grave. \"What does he do for a living?\"\n\n\"He is a rich man.\"\n\n\"No carriages or horses?\"\n\n\"Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. But he goes into the city two\nor three times a week. He is deeply interested in South African gold\nshares.\"\n\n\"You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith. I am very busy\njust now, but I will find time to make some inquiries into your case.\nIn the meantime, take no step without letting me know. Good-bye, and I\ntrust that we shall have nothing but good news from you.\"\n\n\"It is part of the settled order of Nature that such a girl should have\nfollowers,\" said Holmes, he pulled at his meditative pipe, \"but for\nchoice not on bicycles in lonely country roads. Some secretive lover,\nbeyond all doubt. But there are curious and suggestive details about the\ncase, Watson.\"\n\n\"That he should appear only at that point?\"\n\n\"Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the tenants of\nCharlington Hall. Then, again, how about the connection between\nCarruthers and Woodley, since they appear to be men of such a different\ntype? How came they BOTH to be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith's\nrelations? One more point. What sort of a menage is it which pays double\nthe market price for a governess but does not keep a horse, although six\nmiles from the station? Odd, Watson--very odd!\"\n\n\"You will go down?\"\n\n\"No, my dear fellow, YOU will go down. This may be some trifling\nintrigue, and I cannot break my other important research for the sake\nof it. On Monday you will arrive early at Farnham; you will conceal\nyourself near Charlington Heath; you will observe these facts for\nyourself, and act as your own judgment advises. Then, having inquired as\nto the occupants of the Hall, you will come back to me and report. And\nnow, Watson, not another word of the matter until we have a few solid\nstepping-stones on which we may hope to get across to our solution.\"\n\nWe had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the Monday by\nthe train which leaves Waterloo at 9:50, so I started early and caught\nthe 9:13. At Farnham Station I had no difficulty in being directed to\nCharlington Heath. It was impossible to mistake the scene of the young\nlady's adventure, for the road runs between the open heath on one side\nand an old yew hedge upon the other, surrounding a park which is studded\nwith magnificent trees. There was a main gateway of lichen-studded\nstone, each side pillar surmounted by mouldering heraldic emblems, but\nbesides this central carriage drive I observed several points where\nthere were gaps in the hedge and paths leading through them. The house\nwas invisible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke of gloom and\ndecay.\n\nThe heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse, gleaming\nmagnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine. Behind one of\nthese clumps I took up my position, so as to command both the gateway\nof the Hall and a long stretch of the road upon either side. It had been\ndeserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding down it from the\nopposite direction to that in which I had come. He was clad in a dark\nsuit, and I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of the\nCharlington grounds, he sprang from his machine and led it through a gap\nin the hedge, disappearing from my view.\n\nA quarter of an hour passed, and then a second cyclist appeared. This\ntime it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw her look\nabout her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instant later the man\nemerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle, and followed\nher. In all the broad landscape those were the only moving figures, the\ngraceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behind\nher bending low over his handle-bar with a curiously furtive suggestion\nin every movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowed\nalso. She stopped. He at once stopped, too, keeping two hundred yards\nbehind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. She\nsuddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him. He was as\nquick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently she\ncame back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigning\nto take any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also,\nand still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from my\nsight.\n\nI remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so, for\npresently the man reappeared, cycling slowly back. He turned in at the\nHall gates, and dismounted from his machine. For some minutes I could\nsee him standing among the trees. His hands were raised, and he seemed\nto be settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle, and rode away\nfrom me down the drive towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and\npeered through the trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old\ngray building with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran\nthrough a dense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.\n\nHowever, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morning's work,\nand I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The local house agent\ncould tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, and referred me to a well\nknown firm in Pall Mall. There I halted on my way home, and met with\ncourtesy from the representative. No, I could not have Charlington Hall\nfor the summer. I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago.\nMr. Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable, elderly\ngentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, as the\naffairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss.\n\nMr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which I\nwas able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that\nword of curt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. On\nthe contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as he\ncommented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not.\n\n\"Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You should have\nbeen behind the hedge, then you would have had a close view of this\ninteresting person. As it is, you were some hundreds of yards away and\ncan tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks she does not know\nthe man; I am convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should he be so\ndesperately anxious that she should not get so near him as to see his\nfeatures? You describe him as bending over the handle-bar. Concealment\nagain, you see. You really have done remarkably badly. He returns to the\nhouse, and you want to find out who he is. You come to a London house\nagent!\"\n\n\"What should I have done?\" I cried, with some heat.\n\n\"Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of country\ngossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to the\nscullery-maid. Williamson? It conveys nothing to my mind. If he is an\nelderly man he is not this active cyclist who sprints away from that\nyoung lady's athletic pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition?\nThe knowledge that the girl's story is true. I never doubted it. That\nthere is a connection between the cyclist and the Hall. I never doubted\nthat either. That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. Who's the better\nfor that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can do\nlittle more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one or\ntwo inquiries myself.\"\n\nNext morning, we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting shortly and\naccurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of the\nletter lay in the postscript:\n\nI am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell\nyou that my place here has become difficult, owing to the fact that my\nemployer has proposed marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelings\nare most deep and most honourable. At the same time, my promise is of\ncourse given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently.\nYou can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained.\n\"Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters,\" said Holmes,\nthoughtfully, as he finished the letter. \"The case certainly presents\nmore features of interest and more possibility of development than I had\noriginally thought. I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day\nin the country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and test\none or two theories which I have formed.\"\n\nHolmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for\nhe arrived at Baker Street late in the evening, with a cut lip and a\ndiscoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipation\nwhich would have made his own person the fitting object of a Scotland\nYard investigation. He was immensely tickled by his own adventures and\nlaughed heartily as he recounted them.\n\n\"I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat,\" said he.\n\"You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old British\nsport of boxing. Occasionally, it is of service, to-day, for example, I\nshould have come to very ignominious grief without it.\"\n\nI begged him to tell me what had occurred.\n\n\"I found that country pub which I had already recommended to your\nnotice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, and\na garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted. Williamson is a\nwhite-bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at\nthe Hall. There is some rumor that he is or has been a clergyman, but\none or two incidents of his short residence at the Hall struck me as\npeculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at a\nclerical agency, and they tell me that there WAS a man of that name\nin orders, whose career has been a singularly dark one. The landlord\nfurther informed me that there are usually week-end visitors--'a\nwarm lot, sir'--at the Hall, and especially one gentleman with a red\nmoustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there. We had got as far\nas this, when who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been\ndrinking his beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation.\nWho was I? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had\na fine flow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He ended\na string of abuse by a vicious backhander, which I failed to entirely\navoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight left\nagainst a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley went\nhome in a cart. So ended my country trip, and it must be confessed that,\nhowever enjoyable, my day on the Surrey border has not been much more\nprofitable than your own.\"\n\nThe Thursday brought us another letter from our client.\n\nYou will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes [said she] to hear that I am\nleaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the high pay cannot reconcile\nme to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday I come up to town,\nand I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and so\nthe dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are now\nover.\n\nAs to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strained\nsituation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that odious\nman, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awful\nthan ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is much\ndisfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I did\nnot meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carruthers, who seemed much\nexcited afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for\nhe did not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this\nmorning, slinking about in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage\nwild animal loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I\ncan say. How CAN Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment?\nHowever, all my troubles will be over on Saturday.\n\n\"So I trust, Watson, so I trust,\" said Holmes, gravely. \"There is some\ndeep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty to\nsee that no one molests her upon that last journey. I think, Watson,\nthat we must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning and\nmake sure that this curious and inclusive investigation has no untoward\nending.\"\n\nI confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of\nthe case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than\ndangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome\nwoman is no unheard-of thing, and if he has so little audacity that he\nnot only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he\nwas not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a very\ndifferent person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested our\nclient, and now he visited the house of Carruthers without intruding\nupon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of\nthose week-end parties at the Hall of which the publican had spoken,\nbut who he was, or what he wanted, was as obscure as ever. It was the\nseverity of Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into\nhis pocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling\nthat tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.\n\nA rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the\nheath-covered countryside, with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse,\nseemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and\ndrabs and slate grays of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad,\nsandy road inhaling the fresh morning air and rejoicing in the music of\nthe birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road\non the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill, we could see the grim Hall bristling\nout from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were still\nyounger than the building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed down the\nlong tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow band, between the brown\nof the heath and the budding green of the woods. Far away, a black\ndot, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave an\nexclamation of impatience.\n\n\"I have given a margin of half an hour,\" said he. \"If that is her trap,\nshe must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, that she will\nbe past Charlington before we can possibly meet her.\"\n\nFrom the instant that we passed the rise, we could no longer see the\nvehicle, but we hastened onward at such a pace that my sedentary life\nbegan to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall behind. Holmes,\nhowever, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores of\nnervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed until\nsuddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and I\nsaw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At the\nsame instant an empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing,\nappeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.\n\n\"Too late, Watson, too late!\" cried Holmes, as I ran panting to his\nside. \"Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! It's\nabduction, Watson--abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road!\nStop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I can\nrepair the consequences of my own blunder.\"\n\nWe had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning the horse,\ngave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back along the road. As\nwe turned the curve, the whole stretch of road between the Hall and the\nheath was opened up. I grasped Holmes's arm.\n\n\"That's the man!\" I gasped. A solitary cyclist was coming towards us.\nHis head was down and his shoulders rounded, as he put every ounce of\nenergy that he possessed on to the pedals. He was flying like a racer.\nSuddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled\nup, springing from his machine. That coal-black beard was in singular\ncontrast to eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us\nand at the dog-cart. Then a look of amazement came over his face.\n\n\"Halloa! Stop there!\" he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road.\n\"Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man!\" he yelled, drawing a\npistol from his side \"Pull up, I say, or, by George, I'll put a bullet\ninto your horse.\"\n\nHolmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart.\n\n\"You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?\" he said, in\nhis quick, clear way.\n\n\"That's what I'm asking you. You're in her dog-cart. You ought to know\nwhere she is.\"\n\n\"We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it. We drove back\nto help the young lady.\"\n\n\"Good Lord! Good Lord! What shall I do?\" cried the stranger, in an\necstasy of despair. \"They've got her, that hell-hound Woodley and the\nblackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are her friend. Stand\nby me and we'll save her, if I have to leave my carcass in Charlington\nWood.\"\n\nHe ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap in the hedge.\nHolmes followed him, and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road,\nfollowed Holmes.\n\n\"This is where they came through,\" said he, pointing to the marks of\nseveral feet upon the muddy path. \"Halloa! Stop a minute! Who's this in\nthe bush?\"\n\nIt was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler, with\nleather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, a\nterrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, but alive. A glance at\nhis wound told me that it had not penetrated the bone.\n\n\"That's Peter, the groom,\" cried the stranger. \"He drove her. The beasts\nhave pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie; we can't do him any\ngood, but we may save her from the worst fate that can befall a woman.\"\n\nWe ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees. We had\nreached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when Holmes pulled up.\n\n\"They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the left--here,\nbeside the laurel bushes. Ah! I said so.\"\n\nAs he spoke, a woman's shrill scream--a scream which vibrated with a\nfrenzy of horror--burst from the thick, green clump of bushes in front\nof us. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle.\n\n\"This way! This way! They are in the bowling-alley,\" cried the\nstranger, darting through the bushes. \"Ah, the cowardly dogs! Follow me,\ngentlemen! Too late! too late! by the living Jingo!\"\n\nWe had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward surrounded by\nancient trees. On the farther side of it, under the shadow of a mighty\noak, there stood a singular group of three people. One was a woman, our\nclient, drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her\nstood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legs\nparted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding crop, his whole\nattitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly,\ngray-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit,\nhad evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his\nprayer-book as we appeared, and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the\nback in jovial congratulation.\n\n\"They're married!\" I gasped.\n\n\"Come on!\" cried our guide, \"come on!\" He rushed across the glade,\nHolmes and I at his heels. As we approached, the lady staggered against\nthe trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed\nto us with mock politeness, and the bully, Woodley, advanced with a\nshout of brutal and exultant laughter.\n\n\"You can take your beard off, Bob,\" said he. \"I know you, right enough.\nWell, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able to\nintroduce you to Mrs. Woodley.\"\n\nOur guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beard\nwhich had disguised him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long,\nsallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he raised his revolver and\ncovered the young ruffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerous\nriding-crop swinging in his hand.\n\n\"Yes,\" said our ally, \"I am Bob Carruthers, and I'll see this woman\nrighted, if I have to swing for it. I told you what I'd do if you\nmolested her, and, by the Lord! I'll be as good as my word.\"\n\n\"You're too late. She's my wife.\"\n\n\"No, she's your widow.\"\n\nHis revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front of\nWoodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon his back,\nhis hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. The\nold man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul\noaths as I have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own, but,\nbefore he could raise it, he was looking down the barrel of Holmes's\nweapon.\n\n\"Enough of this,\" said my friend, coldly. \"Drop that pistol! Watson,\npick it up! Hold it to his head. Thank you. You, Carruthers, give me\nthat revolver. We'll have no more violence. Come, hand it over!\"\n\n\"Who are you, then?\"\n\n\"My name is Sherlock Holmes.\"\n\n\"Good Lord!\"\n\n\"You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police until\ntheir arrival. Here, you!\" he shouted to a frightened groom, who had\nappeared at the edge of the glade. \"Come here. Take this note as hard as\nyou can ride to Farnham.\" He scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his\nnotebook. \"Give it to the superintendent at the police-station. Until he\ncomes, I must detain you all under my personal custody.\"\n\nThe strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene,\nand all were equally puppets in his hands. Williamson and Carruthers\nfound themselves carrying the wounded Woodley into the house, and I gave\nmy arm to the frightened girl. The injured man was laid on his bed, and\nat Holmes's request I examined him. I carried my report to where he sat\nin the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his two prisoners before him.\n\n\"He will live,\" said I.\n\n\"What!\" cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair. \"I'll go upstairs\nand finish him first. Do you tell me that that angel, is to be tied to\nRoaring Jack Woodley for life?\"\n\n\"You need not concern yourself about that,\" said Holmes. \"There are two\nvery good reasons why she should, under no circumstances, be his wife.\nIn the first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr. Williamson's\nright to solemnize a marriage.\"\n\n\"I have been ordained,\" cried the old rascal.\n\n\"And also unfrocked.\"\n\n\"Once a clergyman, always a clergyman.\"\n\n\"I think not. How about the license?\"\n\n\"We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket.\"\n\n\"Then you got it by trick. But, in any case a forced marriage is no\nmarriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover before\nyou have finished. You'll have time to think the point out during the\nnext ten years or so, unless I am mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, you\nwould have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket.\"\n\n\"I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes, but when I thought of all the\nprecaution I had taken to shield this girl--for I loved her, Mr. Holmes,\nand it is the only time that ever I knew what love was--it fairly drove\nme mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and\nbully in South Africa--a man whose name is a holy terror from Kimberley\nto Johannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever\nsince that girl has been in my employment I never once let her go past\nthis house, where I knew the rascals were lurking, without following her\non my bicycle, just to see that she came to no harm. I kept my distance\nfrom her, and I wore a beard, so that she should not recognize me, for\nshe is a good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in\nmy employment long if she had thought that I was following her about the\ncountry roads.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you tell her of her danger?\"\n\n\"Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn't bear to\nface that. Even if she couldn't love me, it was a great deal to me just\nto see her dainty form about the house, and to hear the sound of her\nvoice.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I should call\nit selfishness.\"\n\n\"Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let her go.\nBesides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someone\nnear to look after her. Then, when the cable came, I knew they were\nbound to make a move.\"\n\n\"What cable?\"\n\nCarruthers took a telegram from his pocket \"That's it,\" said he.\n\nIt was short and concise:\n\nThe old man is dead.\n\n\"Hum!\" said Holmes. \"I think I see how things worked, and I can\nunderstand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head. But\nwhile you wait, you might tell me what you can.\"\n\nThe old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of bad language.\n\n\"By heaven!\" said he, \"if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, I'll serve\nyou as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the girl to your\nheart's content, for that's your own affair, but if you round on your\npals to this plain-clothes copper, it will be the worst day's work that\never you did.\"\n\n\"Your reverence need not be excited,\" said Holmes, lighting a cigarette.\n\"The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask is a few details\nfor my private curiosity. However, if there's any difficulty in your\ntelling me, I'll do the talking, and then you will see how far you have\na chance of holding back your secrets. In the first place, three of you\ncame from South Africa on this game--you Williamson, you Carruthers, and\nWoodley.\"\n\n\"Lie number one,\" said the old man; \"I never saw either of them until\ntwo months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life, so you can\nput that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes!\"\n\n\"What he says is true,\" said Carruthers.\n\n\"Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our own homemade\narticle. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had reason\nto believe he would not live long. You found out that his niece would\ninherit his fortune. How's that--eh?\"\n\nCarruthers nodded and Williamson swore.\n\n\"She was next of kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellow\nwould make no will.\"\n\n\"Couldn't read or write,\" said Carruthers.\n\n\"So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. The idea\nwas that one of you was to marry her, and the other have a share of the\nplunder. For some reason, Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why was\nthat?\"\n\n\"We played cards for her on the voyage. He won.\"\n\n\"I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Woodley was\nto do the courting. She recognized the drunken brute that he was, and\nwould have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement was\nrather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the\nlady. You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her?\"\n\n\"No, by George, I couldn't!\"\n\n\"There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began to\nmake his own plans independently of you.\"\n\n\"It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we can tell this\ngentleman,\" cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. \"Yes, we quarreled,\nand he knocked me down. I am level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lost\nsight of him. That was when he picked up with this outcast padre here.\nI found that they had set up housekeeping together at this place on the\nline that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after\nthat, for I knew there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them from\ntime to time, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days\nago Woodley came up to my house with this cable, which showed that Ralph\nSmith was dead. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said I\nwould not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him a\nshare. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me.\nHe said, 'Let us get her married first and after a week or two she may\nsee things a bit different.' I said I would have nothing to do with\nviolence. So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard that\nhe was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me this\nweek-end, and I had got a trap to take her to the station, but I was\nso uneasy in my mind that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got a\nstart, however, and before I could catch her, the mischief was done.\nThe first thing I knew about it was when I saw you two gentlemen driving\nback in her dog-cart.\"\n\nHolmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. \"I have\nbeen very obtuse, Watson,\" said he. \"When in your report you said that\nyou had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie in\nthe shrubbery, that alone should have told me all. However, we may\ncongratulate ourselves upon a curious and, in some respects, a unique\ncase. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive, and I am\nglad to see that the little ostler is able to keep pace with them, so\nit is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be\npermanently damaged by their morning's adventures. I think, Watson, that\nin your medical capacity, you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell her\nthat if she is sufficiently recovered, we shall be happy to escort her\nto her mother's home. If she is not quite convalescent you will find\nthat a hint that we were about to telegraph to a young electrician\nin the Midlands would probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr.\nCarruthers, I think that you have done what you could to make amends for\nyour share in an evil plot. There is my card, sir, and if my evidence\ncan be of help in your trial, it shall be at your disposal.\"\n\nIn the whirl of our incessant activity, it has often been difficult for\nme, as the reader has probably observed, to round off my narratives, and\nto give those final details which the curious might expect. Each case\nhas been the prelude to another, and the crisis once over, the actors\nhave passed for ever out of our busy lives. I find, however, a short\nnote at the end of my manuscript dealing with this case, in which I have\nput it upon record that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large\nfortune, and that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior\npartner of Morton & Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians.\nWilliamson and Woodley were both tried for abduction and assault, the\nformer getting seven years the latter ten. Of the fate of Carruthers,\nI have no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed very\ngravely by the court, since Woodley had the reputation of being a most\ndangerous ruffian, and I think that a few, months were sufficient to\nsatisfy the demands of justice.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE PRIORY SCHOOL\n\n\n\nWe have had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our small stage at\nBaker Street, but I cannot recollect anything more sudden and startling\nthan the first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D., etc.\nHis card, which seemed too small to carry the weight of his academic\ndistinctions, preceded him by a few seconds, and then he entered\nhimself--so large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was the very\nembodiment of self-possession and solidity. And yet his first action,\nwhen the door had closed behind him, was to stagger against the table,\nwhence he slipped down upon the floor, and there was that majestic\nfigure prostrate and insensible upon our bearskin hearth-rug.\n\nWe had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments we stared in silent\namazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told of some sudden\nand fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurried with\na cushion for his head, and I with brandy for his lips. The heavy, white\nface was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches under the\nclosed eyes were leaden in colour, the loose mouth drooped dolorously at\nthe corners, the rolling chins were unshaven. Collar and shirt bore\nthe grime of a long journey, and the hair bristled unkempt from the\nwell-shaped head. It was a sorely stricken man who lay before us.\n\n\"What is it, Watson?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Absolute exhaustion--possibly mere hunger and fatigue,\" said I, with my\nfinger on the thready pulse, where the stream of life trickled thin and\nsmall.\n\n\"Return ticket from Mackleton, in the north of England,\" said Holmes,\ndrawing it from the watch-pocket. \"It is not twelve o'clock yet. He has\ncertainly been an early starter.\"\n\nThe puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and now a pair of vacant gray\neyes looked up at us. An instant later the man had scrambled on to his\nfeet, his face crimson with shame.\n\n\"Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes, I have been a little overwrought.\nThank you, if I might have a glass of milk and a biscuit, I have no\ndoubt that I should be better. I came personally, Mr. Holmes, in order\nto insure that you would return with me. I feared that no telegram would\nconvince you of the absolute urgency of the case.\"\n\n\"When you are quite restored----\"\n\n\"I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how I came to be so weak. I\nwish you, Mr. Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by the next train.\"\n\nMy friend shook his head.\n\n\"My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you that we are very busy at\npresent. I am retained in this case of the Ferrers Documents, and the\nAbergavenny murder is coming up for trial. Only a very important issue\ncould call me from London at present.\"\n\n\"Important!\" Our visitor threw up his hands. \"Have you heard nothing of\nthe abduction of the only son of the Duke of Holdernesse?\"\n\n\"What! the late Cabinet Minister?\"\n\n\"Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the papers, but there was some\nrumor in the GLOBE last night. I thought it might have reached your\nears.\"\n\nHolmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked out Volume \"H\" in his\nencyclopaedia of reference.\n\n\"'Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.'--half the alphabet! 'Baron\nBeverley, Earl of Carston'--dear me, what a list! 'Lord Lieutenant\nof Hallamshire since 1900. Married Edith, daughter of Sir Charles\nAppledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord Saltire. Owns about two\nhundred and fifty thousand acres. Minerals in Lancashire and Wales.\nAddress: Carlton House Terrace; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; Carston\nCastle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of the Admiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of\nState for----' Well, well, this man is certainly one of the greatest\nsubjects of the Crown!\"\n\n\"The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I am aware, Mr. Holmes, that\nyou take a very high line in professional matters, and that you are\nprepared to work for the work's sake. I may tell you, however, that his\nGrace has already intimated that a check for five thousand pounds will\nbe handed over to the person who can tell him where his son is, and\nanother thousand to him who can name the man or men who have taken him.\"\n\n\"It is a princely offer,\" said Holmes. \"Watson, I think that we shall\naccompany Dr. Huxtable back to the north of England. And now, Dr.\nHuxtable, when you have consumed that milk, you will kindly tell me what\nhas happened, when it happened, how it happened, and, finally, what Dr.\nThorneycroft Huxtable, of the Priory School, near Mackleton, has to do\nwith the matter, and why he comes three days after an event--the state\nof your chin gives the date--to ask for my humble services.\"\n\nOur visitor had consumed his milk and biscuits. The light had come back\nto his eyes and the colour to his cheeks, as he set himself with great\nvigour and lucidity to explain the situation.\n\n\"I must inform you, gentlemen, that the Priory is a preparatory school,\nof which I am the founder and principal. HUXTABLE'S SIDELIGHTS ON HORACE\nmay possibly recall my name to your memories. The Priory is, without\nexception, the best and most select preparatory school in England. Lord\nLeverstoke, the Earl of Blackwater, Sir Cathcart Soames--they all have\nintrusted their sons to me. But I felt that my school had reached its\nzenith when, weeks ago, the Duke of Holdernesse sent Mr. James Wilder,\nhis secretary, with intimation that young Lord Saltire, ten years old,\nhis only son and heir, was about to be committed to my charge. Little\ndid I think that this would be the prelude to the most crushing\nmisfortune of my life.\n\n\"On May 1st the boy arrived, that being the beginning of the summer\nterm. He was a charming youth, and he soon fell into our ways. I may\ntell you--I trust that I am not indiscreet, but half-confidences are\nabsurd in such a case--that he was not entirely happy at home. It is an\nopen secret that the Duke's married life had not been a peaceful one,\nand the matter had ended in a separation by mutual consent, the Duchess\ntaking up her residence in the south of France. This had occurred very\nshortly before, and the boy's sympathies are known to have been strongly\nwith his mother. He moped after her departure from Holdernesse Hall,\nand it was for this reason that the Duke desired to send him to my\nestablishment. In a fortnight the boy was quite at home with us and was\napparently absolutely happy.\n\n\"He was last seen on the night of May 13th--that is, the night of last\nMonday. His room was on the second floor and was approached through\nanother larger room, in which two boys were sleeping. These boys saw and\nheard nothing, so that it is certain that young Saltire did not pass out\nthat way. His window was open, and there is a stout ivy plant leading to\nthe ground. We could trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this\nis the only possible exit.\n\n\"His absence was discovered at seven o'clock on Tuesday morning. His bed\nhad been slept in. He had dressed himself fully, before going off, in\nhis usual school suit of black Eton jacket and dark gray trousers. There\nwere no signs that anyone had entered the room, and it is quite certain\nthat anything in the nature of cries or a struggle would have been\nheard, since Caunter, the elder boy in the inner room, is a very light\nsleeper.\n\n\"When Lord Saltire's disappearance was discovered, I at once called a\nroll of the whole establishment--boys, masters, and servants. It was\nthen that we ascertained that Lord Saltire had not been alone in his\nflight. Heidegger, the German master, was missing. His room was on the\nsecond floor, at the farther end of the building, facing the same way\nas Lord Saltire's. His bed had also been slept in, but he had apparently\ngone away partly dressed, since his shirt and socks were lying on the\nfloor. He had undoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for we could see\nthe marks of his feet where he had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was\nkept in a small shed beside this lawn, and it also was gone.\n\n\"He had been with me for two years, and came with the best references,\nbut he was a silent, morose man, not very popular either with masters\nor boys. No trace could be found of the fugitives, and now, on Thursday\nmorning, we are as ignorant as we were on Tuesday. Inquiry was, of\ncourse, made at once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few miles away,\nand we imagined that, in some sudden attack of homesickness, he had\ngone back to his father, but nothing had been heard of him. The Duke is\ngreatly agitated, and, as to me, you have seen yourselves the state of\nnervous prostration to which the suspense and the responsibility have\nreduced me. Mr. Holmes, if ever you put forward your full powers, I\nimplore you to do so now, for never in your life could you have a case\nwhich is more worthy of them.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes had listened with the utmost intentness to the statement\nof the unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows and the deep furrow\nbetween them showed that he needed no exhortation to concentrate all\nhis attention upon a problem which, apart from the tremendous interests\ninvolved must appeal so directly to his love of the complex and the\nunusual. He now drew out his notebook and jotted down one or two\nmemoranda.\n\n\"You have been very remiss in not coming to me sooner,\" said he,\nseverely. \"You start me on my investigation with a very serious\nhandicap. It is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and this lawn\nwould have yielded nothing to an expert observer.\"\n\n\"I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace was extremely desirous to\navoid all public scandal. He was afraid of his family unhappiness being\ndragged before the world. He has a deep horror of anything of the kind.\"\n\n\"But there has been some official investigation?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. An apparent clue was\nat once obtained, since a boy and a young man were reported to have been\nseen leaving a neighbouring station by an early train. Only last night\nwe had news that the couple had been hunted down in Liverpool, and they\nprove to have no connection whatever with the matter in hand. Then it\nwas that in my despair and disappointment, after a sleepless night, I\ncame straight to you by the early train.\"\n\n\"I suppose the local investigation was relaxed while this false clue was\nbeing followed up?\"\n\n\"It was entirely dropped.\"\n\n\"So that three days have been wasted. The affair has been most\ndeplorably handled.\"\n\n\"I feel it and admit it.\"\n\n\"And yet the problem should be capable of ultimate solution. I shall be\nvery happy to look into it. Have you been able to trace any connection\nbetween the missing boy and this German master?\"\n\n\"None at all.\"\n\n\"Was he in the master's class?\"\n\n\"No, he never exchanged a word with him, so far as I know.\"\n\n\"That is certainly very singular. Had the boy a bicycle?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Was any other bicycle missing?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Is that certain?\"\n\n\"Quite.\"\n\n\"Well, now, you do not mean to seriously suggest that this German rode\noff upon a bicycle in the dead of the night, bearing the boy in his\narms?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"Then what is the theory in your mind?\"\n\n\"The bicycle may have been a blind. It may have been hidden somewhere,\nand the pair gone off on foot.\"\n\n\"Quite so, but it seems rather an absurd blind, does it not? Were there\nother bicycles in this shed?\"\n\n\"Several.\"\n\n\"Would he not have hidden a couple, had he desired to give the idea that\nthey had gone off upon them?\"\n\n\"I suppose he would.\"\n\n\"Of course he would. The blind theory won't do. But the incident is an\nadmirable starting-point for an investigation. After all, a bicycle\nis not an easy thing to conceal or to destroy. One other question. Did\nanyone call to see the boy on the day before he disappeared?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Did he get any letters?\"\n\n\"Yes, one letter.\"\n\n\"From whom?\"\n\n\"From his father.\"\n\n\"Do you open the boys' letters?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"How do you know it was from the father?\"\n\n\"The coat of arms was on the envelope, and it was addressed in the\nDuke's peculiar stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembers having written.\"\n\n\"When had he a letter before that?\"\n\n\"Not for several days.\"\n\n\"Had he ever one from France?\"\n\n\"No, never.\n\n\"You see the point of my questions, of course. Either the boy was\ncarried off by force or he went of his own free will. In the latter\ncase, you would expect that some prompting from outside would be needed\nto make so young a lad do such a thing. If he has had no visitors, that\nprompting must have come in letters; hence I try to find out who were\nhis correspondents.\"\n\n\"I fear I cannot help you much. His only correspondent, so far as I\nknow, was his own father.\"\n\n\"Who wrote to him on the very day of his disappearance. Were the\nrelations between father and son very friendly?\"\n\n\"His Grace is never very friendly with anyone. He is completely immersed\nin large public questions, and is rather inaccessible to all ordinary\nemotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his own way.\"\n\n\"But the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did he say so?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"The Duke, then?\"\n\n\"Good heaven, no!\"\n\n\"Then how could you know?\"\n\n\"I have had some confidential talks with Mr. James Wilder, his Grace's\nsecretary. It was he who gave me the information about Lord Saltire's\nfeelings.\"\n\n\"I see. By the way, that last letter of the Dukes--was it found in the\nboy's room after he was gone?\"\n\n\"No, he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. Holmes, it is time that we\nwere leaving for Euston.\"\n\n\"I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an hour, we shall be at\nyour service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it would\nbe well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine that\nthe inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else that red\nherring led your pack. In the meantime I will do a little quiet work at\nyour own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but that two old\nhounds like Watson and myself may get a sniff of it.\"\n\nThat evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of the Peak\ncountry, in which Dr. Huxtable's famous school is situated. It was\nalready dark when we reached it. A card was lying on the hall table,\nand the butler whispered something to his master, who turned to us with\nagitation in every heavy feature.\n\n\"The Duke is here,\" said he. \"The Duke and Mr. Wilder are in the study.\nCome, gentlemen, and I will introduce you.\"\n\nI was, of course, familiar with the pictures of the famous statesman,\nbut the man himself was very different from his representation. He was a\ntall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin face,\nand a nose which was grotesquely curved and long. His complexion was\nof a dead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long,\ndwindling beard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat\nwith his watch-chain gleaming through its fringe. Such was the stately\npresence who looked stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Huxtable's\nhearthrug. Beside him stood a very young man, whom I understood to\nbe Wilder, the private secretary. He was small, nervous, alert with\nintelligent light-blue eyes and mobile features. It was he who at once,\nin an incisive and positive tone, opened the conversation.\n\n\"I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late to prevent you from\nstarting for London. I learned that your object was to invite Mr.\nSherlock Holmes to undertake the conduct of this case. His Grace is\nsurprised, Dr. Huxtable, that you should have taken such a step without\nconsulting him.\"\n\n\"When I learned that the police had failed----\"\n\n\"His Grace is by no means convinced that the police have failed.\"\n\n\"But surely, Mr. Wilder----\"\n\n\"You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that his Grace is particularly\nanxious to avoid all public scandal. He prefers to take as few people as\npossible into his confidence.\"\n\n\"The matter can be easily remedied,\" said the brow-beaten doctor; \"Mr.\nSherlock Holmes can return to London by the morning train.\"\n\n\"Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that,\" said Holmes, in his blandest voice.\n\"This northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so I propose to spend a\nfew days upon your moors, and to occupy my mind as best I may. Whether\nI have the shelter of your roof or of the village inn is, of course, for\nyou to decide.\"\n\nI could see that the unfortunate doctor was in the last stage of\nindecision, from which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of the\nred-bearded Duke, which boomed out like a dinner-gong.\n\n\"I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable, that you would have done wisely\nto consult me. But since Mr. Holmes has already been taken into your\nconfidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should not avail ourselves\nof his services. Far from going to the inn, Mr. Holmes, I should be\npleased if you would come and stay with me at Holdernesse Hall.\"\n\n\"I thank your Grace. For the purposes of my investigation, I think that\nit would be wiser for me to remain at the scene of the mystery.\"\n\n\"Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any information which Mr. Wilder or I can\ngive you is, of course, at your disposal.\"\n\n\"It will probably be necessary for me to see you at the Hall,\" said\nHolmes. \"I would only ask you now, sir, whether you have formed any\nexplanation in your own mind as to the mysterious disappearance of your\nson?\"\n\n\"No sir I have not.\"\n\n\"Excuse me if I allude to that which is painful to you, but I have no\nalternative. Do you think that the Duchess had anything to do with the\nmatter?\"\n\nThe great minister showed perceptible hesitation.\n\n\"I do not think so,\" he said, at last.\n\n\"The other most obvious explanation is that the child has been kidnapped\nfor the purpose of levying ransom. You have not had any demand of the\nsort?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"One more question, your Grace. I understand that you wrote to your son\nupon the day when this incident occurred.\"\n\n\"No, I wrote upon the day before.\"\n\n\"Exactly. But he received it on that day?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Was there anything in your letter which might have unbalanced him or\ninduced him to take such a step?\"\n\n\"No, sir, certainly not.\"\n\n\"Did you post that letter yourself?\"\n\nThe nobleman's reply was interrupted by his secretary, who broke in with\nsome heat.\n\n\"His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters himself,\" said he.\n\"This letter was laid with others upon the study table, and I myself put\nthem in the post-bag.\"\n\n\"You are sure this one was among them?\"\n\n\"Yes, I observed it.\"\n\n\"How many letters did your Grace write that day?\"\n\n\"Twenty or thirty. I have a large correspondence. But surely this is\nsomewhat irrelevant?\"\n\n\"Not entirely,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"For my own part,\" the Duke continued, \"I have advised the police to\nturn their attention to the south of France. I have already said that I\ndo not believe that the Duchess would encourage so monstrous an action,\nbut the lad had the most wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible that\nhe may have fled to her, aided and abetted by this German. I think, Dr.\nHuxtable, that we will now return to the Hall.\"\n\nI could see that there were other questions which Holmes would have\nwished to put, but the nobleman's abrupt manner showed that the\ninterview was at an end. It was evident that to his intensely\naristocratic nature this discussion of his intimate family affairs\nwith a stranger was most abhorrent, and that he feared lest every\nfresh question would throw a fiercer light into the discreetly shadowed\ncorners of his ducal history.\n\nWhen the nobleman and his secretary had left, my friend flung himself at\nonce with characteristic eagerness into the investigation.\n\nThe boy's chamber was carefully examined, and yielded nothing save the\nabsolute conviction that it was only through the window that he could\nhave escaped. The German master's room and effects gave no further clue.\nIn his case a trailer of ivy had given way under his weight, and we saw\nby the light of a lantern the mark on the lawn where his heels had come\ndown. That one dint in the short, green grass was the only material\nwitness left of this inexplicable nocturnal flight.\n\nSherlock Holmes left the house alone, and only returned after eleven.\nHe had obtained a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood, and this\nhe brought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed, and, having\nbalanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke over it, and\noccasionally to point out objects of interest with the reeking amber of\nhis pipe.\n\nGRAPHIC: HOLMES' MAP OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF THE SCHOOL.\n\n\"This case grows upon me, Watson,\" said he. \"There are decidedly some\npoints of interest in connection with it. In this early stage, I want\nyou to realize those geographical features which may have a good deal to\ndo with our investigation.\n\n\"Look at this map. This dark square is the Priory School. I'll put a pin\nin it. Now, this line is the main road. You see that it runs east and\nwest past the school, and you see also that there is no side road for\na mile either way. If these two folk passed away by road, it was THIS\nroad.\"\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"By a singular and happy chance, we are able to some extent to check\nwhat passed along this road during the night in question. At this point,\nwhere my pipe is now resting, a county constable was on duty from twelve\nto six. It is, as you perceive, the first cross-road on the east side.\nThis man declares that he was not absent from his post for an instant,\nand he is positive that neither boy nor man could have gone that way\nunseen. I have spoken with this policeman to-night and he appears to me\nto be a perfectly reliable person. That blocks this end. We have now to\ndeal with the other. There is an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady\nof which was ill. She had sent to Mackleton for a doctor, but he did not\narrive until morning, being absent at another case. The people at the\ninn were alert all night, awaiting his coming, and one or other of them\nseems to have continually had an eye upon the road. They declare that no\none passed. If their evidence is good, then we are fortunate enough to\nbe able to block the west, and also to be able to say that the fugitives\ndid NOT use the road at all.\"\n\n\"But the bicycle?\" I objected.\n\n\"Quite so. We will come to the bicycle presently. To continue our\nreasoning: if these people did not go by the road, they must have\ntraversed the country to the north of the house or to the south of the\nhouse. That is certain. Let us weigh the one against the other. On the\nsouth of the house is, as you perceive, a large district of arable land,\ncut up into small fields, with stone walls between them. There, I admit\nthat a bicycle is impossible. We can dismiss the idea. We turn to the\ncountry on the north. Here there lies a grove of trees, marked as the\n'Ragged Shaw,' and on the farther side stretches a great rolling moor,\nLower Gill Moor, extending for ten miles and sloping gradually upward.\nHere, at one side of this wilderness, is Holdernesse Hall, ten miles by\nroad, but only six across the moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A\nfew moor farmers have small holdings, where they rear sheep and cattle.\nExcept these, the plover and the curlew are the only inhabitants until\nyou come to the Chesterfield high road. There is a church there,\nyou see, a few cottages, and an inn. Beyond that the hills become\nprecipitous. Surely it is here to the north that our quest must lie.\"\n\n\"But the bicycle?\" I persisted.\n\n\"Well, well!\" said Holmes, impatiently. \"A good cyclist does not need a\nhigh road. The moor is intersected with paths, and the moon was at the\nfull. Halloa! what is this?\"\n\nThere was an agitated knock at the door, and an instant afterwards Dr.\nHuxtable was in the room. In his hand he held a blue cricket-cap with a\nwhite chevron on the peak.\n\n\"At last we have a clue!\" he cried. \"Thank heaven! at last we are on the\ndear boy's track! It is his cap.\"\n\n\"Where was it found?\"\n\n\"In the van of the gipsies who camped on the moor. They left on Tuesday.\nTo-day the police traced them down and examined their caravan. This was\nfound.\"\n\n\"How do they account for it?\"\n\n\"They shuffled and lied--said that they found it on the moor on Tuesday\nmorning. They know where he is, the rascals! Thank goodness, they are\nall safe under lock and key. Either the fear of the law or the Duke's\npurse will certainly get out of them all that they know.\"\n\n\"So far, so good,\" said Holmes, when the doctor had at last left the\nroom. \"It at least bears out the theory that it is on the side of the\nLower Gill Moor that we must hope for results. The police have really\ndone nothing locally, save the arrest of these gipsies. Look here,\nWatson! There is a watercourse across the moor. You see it marked here\nin the map. In some parts it widens into a morass. This is particularly\nso in the region between Holdernesse Hall and the school. It is vain to\nlook elsewhere for tracks in this dry weather, but at THAT point there\nis certainly a chance of some record being left. I will call you early\nto-morrow morning, and you and I will try if we can throw some little\nlight upon the mystery.\"\n\nThe day was just breaking when I woke to find the long, thin form of\nHolmes by my bedside. He was fully dressed, and had apparently already\nbeen out.\n\n\"I have done the lawn and the bicycle shed,\" said he. \"I have also had\na rumble through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there is cocoa ready in\nthe next room. I must beg you to hurry, for we have a great day before\nus.\"\n\nHis eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of the\nmaster workman who sees his work lie ready before him. A very different\nHolmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and pallid\ndreamer of Baker Street. I felt, as I looked upon that supple figure,\nalive with nervous energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day that\nawaited us.\n\nAnd yet it opened in the blackest disappointment. With high hopes we\nstruck across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with a thousand sheep\npaths, until we came to the broad, light-green belt which marked the\nmorass between us and Holdernesse. Certainly, if the lad had gone\nhomeward, he must have passed this, and he could not pass it without\nleaving his traces. But no sign of him or the German could be seen. With\na darkening face my friend strode along the margin, eagerly observant\nof every muddy stain upon the mossy surface. Sheep-marks there were\nin profusion, and at one place, some miles down, cows had left their\ntracks. Nothing more.\n\n\"Check number one,\" said Holmes, looking gloomily over the rolling\nexpanse of the moor. \"There is another morass down yonder, and a narrow\nneck between. Halloa! halloa! halloa! what have we here?\"\n\nWe had come on a small black ribbon of pathway. In the middle of it,\nclearly marked on the sodden soil, was the track of a bicycle.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" I cried. \"We have it.\"\n\nBut Holmes was shaking his head, and his face was puzzled and expectant\nrather than joyous.\n\n\"A bicycle, certainly, but not THE bicycle,\" said he. \"I am familiar\nwith forty-two different impressions left by tires. This, as you\nperceive, is a Dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. Heidegger's\ntires were Palmer's, leaving longitudinal stripes. Aveling, the\nmathematical master, was sure upon the point. Therefore, it is not\nHeidegger's track.\"\n\n\"The boy's, then?\"\n\n\"Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have been in his possession.\nBut this we have utterly failed to do. This track, as you perceive, was\nmade by a rider who was going from the direction of the school.\"\n\n\"Or towards it?\"\n\n\"No, no, my dear Watson. The more deeply sunk impression is, of course,\nthe hind wheel, upon which the weight rests. You perceive several places\nwhere it has passed across and obliterated the more shallow mark of the\nfront one. It was undoubtedly heading away from the school. It may or\nmay not be connected with our inquiry, but we will follow it backwards\nbefore we go any farther.\"\n\nWe did so, and at the end of a few hundred yards lost the tracks as\nwe emerged from the boggy portion of the moor. Following the path\nbackwards, we picked out another spot, where a spring trickled across\nit. Here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, though nearly\nobliterated by the hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign, but\nthe path ran right on into Ragged Shaw, the wood which backed on to the\nschool. From this wood the cycle must have emerged. Holmes sat down on\na boulder and rested his chin in his hands. I had smoked two cigarettes\nbefore he moved.\n\n\"Well, well,\" said he, at last. \"It is, of course, possible that a\ncunning man might change the tires of his bicycle in order to leave\nunfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was capable of such a thought is a man\nwhom I should be proud to do business with. We will leave this question\nundecided and hark back to our morass again, for we have left a good\ndeal unexplored.\"\n\nWe continued our systematic survey of the edge of the sodden portion\nof the moor, and soon our perseverance was gloriously rewarded. Right\nacross the lower part of the bog lay a miry path. Holmes gave a cry\nof delight as he approached it. An impression like a fine bundle of\ntelegraph wires ran down the centre of it. It was the Palmer tires.\n\n\"Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!\" cried Holmes, exultantly. \"My\nreasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson.\"\n\n\"I congratulate you.\"\n\n\"But we have a long way still to go. Kindly walk clear of the path. Now\nlet us follow the trail. I fear that it will not lead very far.\"\n\nWe found, however, as we advanced that this portion of the moor is\nintersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently lost sight of\nthe track, we always succeeded in picking it up once more.\n\n\"Do you observe,\" said Holmes, \"that the rider is now undoubtedly\nforcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it. Look at this impression,\nwhere you get both tires clear. The one is as deep as the other.\nThat can only mean that the rider is throwing his weight on to the\nhandle-bar, as a man does when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a\nfall.\"\n\nThere was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of the track.\nThen there were a few footmarks, and the tire reappeared once more.\n\n\"A side-slip,\" I suggested.\n\nHolmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse. To my horror I\nperceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled with crimson. On the\npath, too, and among the heather were dark stains of clotted blood.\n\n\"Bad!\" said Holmes. \"Bad! Stand clear, Watson! Not an unnecessary\nfootstep! What do I read here? He fell wounded--he stood up--he\nremounted--he proceeded. But there is no other track. Cattle on this\nside path. He was surely not gored by a bull? Impossible! But I see no\ntraces of anyone else. We must push on, Watson. Surely, with stains as\nwell as the track to guide us, he cannot escape us now.\"\n\nOur search was not a very long one. The tracks of the tire began to\ncurve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly, as I\nlooked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the thick\ngorse-bushes. Out of them we dragged a bicycle, Palmer-tired, one pedal\nbent, and the whole front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with\nblood. On the other side of the bushes a shoe was projecting. We\nran round, and there lay the unfortunate rider. He was a tall man,\nfull-bearded, with spectacles, one glass of which had been knocked out.\nThe cause of his death was a frightful blow upon the head, which had\ncrushed in part of his skull. That he could have gone on after receiving\nsuch an injury said much for the vitality and courage of the man. He\nwore shoes, but no socks, and his open coat disclosed a nightshirt\nbeneath it. It was undoubtedly the German master.\n\nHolmes turned the body over reverently, and examined it with great\nattention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and I could see\nby his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in his opinion,\nadvanced us much in our inquiry.\n\n\"It is a little difficult to know what to do, Watson,\" said he, at last.\n\"My own inclinations are to push this inquiry on, for we have already\nlost so much time that we cannot afford to waste another hour. On the\nother hand, we are bound to inform the police of the discovery, and to\nsee that this poor fellow's body is looked after.\"\n\n\"I could take a note back.\"\n\n\"But I need your company and assistance. Wait a bit! There is a fellow\ncutting peat up yonder. Bring him over here, and he will guide the\npolice.\"\n\nI brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched the frightened man\nwith a note to Dr. Huxtable.\n\n\"Now, Watson,\" said he, \"we have picked up two clues this morning. One\nis the bicycle with the Palmer tire, and we see what that has led to.\nThe other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we start to\ninvestigate that, let us try to realize what we do know, so as to make\nthe most of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental.\"\n\n\"First of all, I wish to impress upon you that the boy certainly left of\nhis own free-will. He got down from his window and he went off, either\nalone or with someone. That is sure.\"\n\nI assented.\n\n\"Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. The boy was\nfully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what he would do.\nBut the German went without his socks. He certainly acted on very short\nnotice.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly.\"\n\n\"Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw the flight of\nthe boy, because he wished to overtake him and bring him back. He seized\nhis bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met his death.\"\n\n\"So it would seem.\"\n\n\"Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The natural action of\na man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him. He would know\nthat he could overtake him. But the German does not do so. He turns to\nhis bicycle. I am told that he was an excellent cyclist. He would not do\nthis, if he did not see that the boy had some swift means of escape.\"\n\n\"The other bicycle.\"\n\n\"Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death five miles\nfrom the school--not by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad might\nconceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm.\nThe lad, then, HAD a companion in his flight. And the flight was a swift\none, since it took five miles before an expert cyclist could overtake\nthem. Yet we survey the ground round the scene of the tragedy. What do\nwe find? A few cattle-tracks, nothing more. I took a wide sweep round,\nand there is no path within fifty yards. Another cyclist could have\nhad nothing to do with the actual murder, nor were there any human\nfoot-marks.\"\n\n\"Holmes,\" I cried, \"this is impossible.\"\n\n\"Admirable!\" he said. \"A most illuminating remark. It IS impossible as I\nstate it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated it wrong. Yet\nyou saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?\"\n\n\"He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?\"\n\n\"In a morass, Watson?\"\n\n\"I am at my wit's end.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut, we have solved some worse problems. At least we have plenty\nof material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and, having exhausted\nthe Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the patched cover has to\noffer us.\"\n\nWe picked up the track and followed it onward for some distance, but\nsoon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we left the\nwatercourse behind us. No further help from tracks could be hoped for.\nAt the spot where we saw the last of the Dunlop tire it might equally\nhave led to Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of which rose some\nmiles to our left, or to a low, gray village which lay in front of us\nand marked the position of the Chesterfield high road.\n\nAs we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the sign of a\ngame-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan, and clutched me\nby the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had had one of those\nviolent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. With difficulty\nhe limped up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man was smoking a\nblack clay pipe.\n\n\"How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Who are you, and how do you get my name so pat?\" the countryman\nanswered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes.\n\n\"Well, it's printed on the board above your head. It's easy to see a man\nwho is master of his own house. I suppose you haven't such a thing as a\ncarriage in your stables?\"\n\n\"No, I have not.\"\n\n\"I can hardly put my foot to the ground.\"\n\n\"Don't put it to the ground.\"\n\n\"But I can't walk.\"\n\n\"Well, then hop.\"\n\nMr. Reuben Hayes's manner was far from gracious, but Holmes took it with\nadmirable good-humour.\n\n\"Look here, my man,\" said he. \"This is really rather an awkward fix for\nme. I don't mind how I get on.\"\n\n\"Neither do I,\" said the morose landlord.\n\n\"The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign for the use\nof a bicycle.\"\n\nThe landlord pricked up his ears.\n\n\"Where do you want to go?\"\n\n\"To Holdernesse Hall.\"\n\n\"Pals of the Dook, I suppose?\" said the landlord, surveying our\nmud-stained garments with ironical eyes.\n\nHolmes laughed good-naturedly.\n\n\"He'll be glad to see us, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because we bring him news of his lost son.\"\n\nThe landlord gave a very visible start.\n\n\"What, you're on his track?\"\n\n\"He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect to get him every hour.\"\n\nAgain a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. His manner\nwas suddenly genial.\n\n\"I've less reason to wish the Dook well than most men,\" said he, \"for\nI was head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. It was him that\nsacked me without a character on the word of a lying corn-chandler. But\nI'm glad to hear that the young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and I'll\nhelp you to take the news to the Hall.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Holmes. \"We'll have some food first. Then you can bring\nround the bicycle.\"\n\n\"I haven't got a bicycle.\"\n\nHolmes held up a sovereign.\n\n\"I tell you, man, that I haven't got one. I'll let you have two horses\nas far as the Hall.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Holmes, \"we'll talk about it when we've had something\nto eat.\"\n\nWhen we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen, it was astonishing\nhow rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It was nearly nightfall, and\nwe had eaten nothing since early morning, so that we spent some time\nover our meal. Holmes was lost in thought, and once or twice he walked\nover to the window and stared earnestly out. It opened on to a squalid\ncourtyard. In the far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at\nwork. On the other side were the stables. Holmes had sat down again\nafter one of these excursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair\nwith a loud exclamation.\n\n\"By heaven, Watson, I believe that I've got it!\" he cried. \"Yes, yes, it\nmust be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracks to-day?\"\n\n\"Yes, several.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, and again on the path, and\nagain near where poor Heidegger met his death.\"\n\n\"Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on the moor?\"\n\n\"I don't remember seeing any.\"\n\n\"Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line, but\nnever a cow on the whole moor. Very strange, Watson, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is strange.\"\n\n\"Now, Watson, make an effort, throw your mind back. Can you see those\ntracks upon the path?\"\n\n\"Yes, I can.\"\n\n\"Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that, Watson,\"--he\narranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion--: : : : :--\"and\nsometimes like this\"--: . : . : . : .--\"and occasionally like this\"--. :\n. : . : . \"Can you remember that?\"\n\n\"No, I cannot.\"\n\n\"But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at our\nleisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been, not to draw my\nconclusion.\"\n\n\"And what is your conclusion?\"\n\n\"Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and gallops. By\nGeorge! Watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought out\nsuch a blind as that. The coast seems to be clear, save for that lad in\nthe smithy. Let us slip out and see what we can see.\"\n\nThere were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-down stable.\nHolmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed aloud.\n\n\"Old shoes, but newly shod--old shoes, but new nails. This case deserves\nto be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy.\"\n\nThe lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes's eye\ndarting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which was\nscattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind\nus, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his savage\neyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a short,\nmetal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion\nthat I was right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket.\n\n\"You infernal spies!\" the man cried. \"What are you doing there?\"\n\n\"Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes,\" said Holmes, coolly, \"one might think that you\nwere afraid of our finding something out.\"\n\nThe man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouth\nloosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than his frown.\n\n\"You're welcome to all you can find out in my smithy,\" said he. \"But\nlook here, mister, I don't care for folk poking about my place without\nmy leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of this the\nbetter I shall be pleased.\"\n\n\"All right, Mr. Hayes, no harm meant,\" said Holmes. \"We have been having\na look at your horses, but I think I'll walk, after all. It's not far, I\nbelieve.\"\n\n\"Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. That's the road to the\nleft.\" He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his premises.\n\nWe did not go very far along the road, for Holmes stopped the instant\nthat the curve hid us from the landlord's view.\n\n\"We were warm, as the children say, at that inn,\" said he. \"I seem\nto grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no, I can't\npossibly leave it.\"\n\n\"I am convinced,\" said I, \"that this Reuben Hayes knows all about it. A\nmore self-evident villain I never saw.\"\n\n\"Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses, there\nis the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this Fighting Cock. I\nthink we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way.\"\n\nA long, sloping hillside, dotted with gray limestone boulders, stretched\nbehind us. We had turned off the road, and were making our way up\nthe hill, when, looking in the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I saw a\ncyclist coming swiftly along.\n\n\"Get down, Watson!\" cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon my shoulder. We\nhad hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us on the road. Amid\na rolling cloud of dust, I caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated face--a\nface with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, the eyes staring\nwildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of the dapper James\nWilder whom we had seen the night before.\n\n\"The Duke's secretary!\" cried Holmes. \"Come, Watson, let us see what he\ndoes.\"\n\nWe scrambled from rock to rock, until in a few moments we had made\nour way to a point from which we could see the front door of the inn.\nWilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. No one was\nmoving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at the\nwindows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the\nhigh towers of Holdernesse Hall. Then, in the gloom, we saw the two\nside-lamps of a trap light up in the stable-yard of the inn, and shortly\nafterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road\nand tore off at a furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield.\n\n\"What do you make of that, Watson?\" Holmes whispered.\n\n\"It looks like a flight.\"\n\n\"A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it certainly\nwas not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door.\"\n\nA red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the middle of\nit was the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering out\ninto the night. It was evident that he was expecting someone. Then at\nlast there were steps in the road, a second figure was visible for an\ninstant against the light, the door shut, and all was black once more.\nFive minutes later a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor.\n\n\"It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the Fighting\nCock,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"The bar is on the other side.\"\n\n\"Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now, what in\nthe world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this hour of night,\nand who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come, Watson,\nwe must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more\nclosely.\"\n\nTogether we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of the\ninn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a match\nand held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the light fell\nupon a patched Dunlop tire. Up above us was the lighted window.\n\n\"I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back and\nsupport yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage.\"\n\nAn instant later, his feet were on my shoulders, but he was hardly up\nbefore he was down again.\n\n\"Come, my friend,\" said he, \"our day's work has been quite long enough.\nI think that we have gathered all that we can. It's a long walk to the\nschool, and the sooner we get started the better.\"\n\nHe hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor, nor\nwould he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to Mackleton\nStation, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at night I heard him\nconsoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his master's death,\nand later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had been\nwhen he started in the morning. \"All goes well, my friend,\" said he. \"I\npromise that before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solution\nof the mystery.\"\n\nAt eleven o'clock next morning my friend and I were walking up the\nfamous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered through the\nmagnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace's study. There we\nfound Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but with some trace of that\nwild terror of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and in\nhis twitching features.\n\n\"You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry, but the fact is that the\nDuke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the tragic news.\nWe received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon, which told\nus of your discovery.\"\n\n\"I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder.\"\n\n\"But he is in his room.\"\n\n\"Then I must go to his room.\"\n\n\"I believe he is in his bed.\"\n\n\"I will see him there.\"\n\nHolmes's cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary that it was\nuseless to argue with him.\n\n\"Very good, Mr. Holmes, I will tell him that you are here.\"\n\nAfter an hour's delay, the great nobleman appeared. His face was more\ncadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed to me\nto be an altogether older man than he had been the morning before. He\ngreeted us with a stately courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his\nred beard streaming down on the table.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes?\" said he.\n\nBut my friend's eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood by his\nmaster's chair.\n\n\"I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr. Wilder's\nabsence.\"\n\nThe man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance at Holmes.\n\n\"If your Grace wishes----\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you to say?\"\n\nMy friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreating\nsecretary.\n\n\"The fact is, your Grace,\" said he, \"that my colleague, Dr. Watson, and\nmyself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a reward had been offered\nin this case. I should like to have this confirmed from your own lips.\"\n\n\"Certainly, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousand pounds to\nanyone who will tell you where your son is?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"And another thousand to the man who will name the person or persons who\nkeep him in custody?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only those who\nmay have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keep him in his\npresent position?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried the Duke, impatiently. \"If you do your work well,\nMr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain of niggardly\ntreatment.\"\n\nMy friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of avidity\nwhich was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.\n\n\"I fancy that I see your Grace's check-book upon the table,\" said he. \"I\nshould be glad if you would make me out a check for six thousand pounds.\nIt would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The Capital and\nCounties Bank, Oxford Street branch are my agents.\"\n\nHis Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair and looked stonily at\nmy friend.\n\n\"Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for pleasantry.\"\n\n\"Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, then?\"\n\n\"I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is, and I\nknow some, at least, of those who are holding him.\"\n\nThe Duke's beard had turned more aggressively red than ever against his\nghastly white face.\n\n\"Where is he?\" he gasped.\n\n\"He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two miles\nfrom your park gate.\"\n\nThe Duke fell back in his chair.\n\n\"And whom do you accuse?\"\n\nSherlock Holmes's answer was an astounding one. He stepped swiftly\nforward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.\n\n\"I accuse YOU,\" said he. \"And now, your Grace, I'll trouble you for that\ncheck.\"\n\nNever shall I forget the Duke's appearance as he sprang up and clawed\nwith his hands, like one who is sinking into an abyss. Then, with an\nextraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down and sank\nhis face in his hands. It was some minutes before he spoke.\n\n\"How much do you know?\" he asked at last, without raising his head.\n\n\"I saw you together last night.\"\n\n\"Does anyone else beside your friend know?\"\n\n\"I have spoken to no one.\"\n\nThe Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened his check-book.\n\n\"I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to write your\ncheck, however unwelcome the information which you have gained may be\nto me. When the offer was first made, I little thought the turn which\nevents might take. But you and your friend are men of discretion, Mr.\nHolmes?\"\n\n\"I hardly understand your Grace.\"\n\n\"I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you two know of this\nincident, there is no reason why it should go any farther. I think\ntwelve thousand pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it not?\"\n\nBut Holmes smiled and shook his head.\n\n\"I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so easily.\nThere is the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted for.\"\n\n\"But James knew nothing of that. You cannot hold him responsible for\nthat. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had the misfortune\nto employ.\"\n\n\"I must take the view, your Grace, that when a man embarks upon a crime,\nhe is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring from it.\"\n\n\"Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. But surely not in the eyes\nof the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder at which he was not\npresent, and which he loathes and abhors as much as you do. The instant\nthat he heard of it he made a complete confession to me, so filled was\nhe with horror and remorse. He lost not an hour in breaking entirely\nwith the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must save him--you must save\nhim! I tell you that you must save him!\" The Duke had dropped the last\nattempt at self-command, and was pacing the room with a convulsed face\nand with his clenched hands raving in the air. At last he mastered\nhimself and sat down once more at his desk. \"I appreciate your conduct\nin coming here before you spoke to anyone else,\" said he. \"At least, we\nmay take counsel how far we can minimize this hideous scandal.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said Holmes. \"I think, your Grace, that this can only be done\nby absolute frankness between us. I am disposed to help your Grace to\nthe best of my ability, but, in order to do so, I must understand to the\nlast detail how the matter stands. I realize that your words applied to\nMr. James Wilder, and that he is not the murderer.\"\n\n\"No, the murderer has escaped.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes smiled demurely.\n\n\"Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which I\npossess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape me. Mr.\nReuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield, on my information, at eleven\no'clock last night. I had a telegram from the head of the local police\nbefore I left the school this morning.\"\n\nThe Duke leaned back in his chair and stared with amazement at my\nfriend.\n\n\"You seem to have powers that are hardly human,\" said he. \"So Reuben\nHayes is taken? I am right glad to hear it, if it will not react upon\nthe fate of James.\"\n\n\"Your secretary?\"\n\n\"No, sir, my son.\"\n\nIt was Holmes's turn to look astonished.\n\n\"I confess that this is entirely new to me, your Grace. I must beg you\nto be more explicit.\"\n\n\"I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with you that complete\nfrankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy in this\ndesperate situation to which James's folly and jealousy have reduced\nus. When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved with such a love\nas comes only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady marriage, but she\nrefused it on the grounds that such a match might mar my career. Had she\nlived, I would certainly never have married anyone else. She died, and\nleft this one child, whom for her sake I have cherished and cared for.\nI could not acknowledge the paternity to the world, but I gave him the\nbest of educations, and since he came to manhood I have kept him near\nmy person. He surmised my secret, and has presumed ever since upon the\nclaim which he has upon me, and upon his power of provoking a scandal\nwhich would be abhorrent to me. His presence had something to do\nwith the unhappy issue of my marriage. Above all, he hated my young\nlegitimate heir from the first with a persistent hatred. You may well\nask me why, under these circumstances, I still kept James under my roof.\nI answer that it was because I could see his mother's face in his, and\nthat for her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering. All her\npretty ways too--there was not one of them which he could not suggest\nand bring back to my memory. I COULD not send him away. But I feared so\nmuch lest he should do Arthur--that is, Lord Saltire--a mischief, that I\ndispatched him for safety to Dr. Huxtable's school.\n\n\"James came into contact with this fellow Hayes, because the man was a\ntenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow was a rascal from\nthe beginning, but, in some extraordinary way, James became intimate\nwith him. He had always a taste for low company. When James determined\nto kidnap Lord Saltire, it was of this man's service that he availed\nhimself. You remember that I wrote to Arthur upon that last day. Well,\nJames opened the letter and inserted a note asking Arthur to meet him\nin a little wood called the Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school.\nHe used the Duchess's name, and in that way got the boy to come. That\nevening James bicycled over--I am telling you what he has himself\nconfessed to me--and he told Arthur, whom he met in the wood, that his\nmother longed to see him, that she was awaiting him on the moor, and\nthat if he would come back into the wood at midnight he would find a man\nwith a horse, who would take him to her. Poor Arthur fell into the trap.\nHe came to the appointment, and found this fellow Hayes with a led pony.\nArthur mounted, and they set off together. It appears--though this James\nonly heard yesterday--that they were pursued, that Hayes struck the\npursuer with his stick, and that the man died of his injuries. Hayes\nbrought Arthur to his public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he was\nconfined in an upper room, under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly\nwoman, but entirely under the control of her brutal husband.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs when I first saw you\ntwo days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you. You will ask me\nwhat was James's motive in doing such a deed. I answer that there was\na great deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in the hatred which\nhe bore my heir. In his view he should himself have been heir of all\nmy estates, and he deeply resented those social laws which made it\nimpossible. At the same time, he had a definite motive also. He was\neager that I should break the entail, and he was of opinion that it lay\nin my power to do so. He intended to make a bargain with me--to restore\nArthur if I would break the entail, and so make it possible for the\nestate to be left to him by will. He knew well that I should never\nwillingly invoke the aid of the police against him. I say that he would\nhave proposed such a bargain to me, but he did not actually do so, for\nevents moved too quickly for him, and he had not time to put his plans\ninto practice.\n\n\"What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck was your discovery of this\nman Heidegger's dead body. James was seized with horror at the news. It\ncame to us yesterday, as we sat together in this study. Dr. Huxtable had\nsent a telegram. James was so overwhelmed with grief and agitation that\nmy suspicions, which had never been entirely absent, rose instantly to\na certainty, and I taxed him with the deed. He made a complete voluntary\nconfession. Then he implored me to keep his secret for three days\nlonger, so as to give his wretched accomplice a chance of saving his\nguilty life. I yielded--as I have always yielded--to his prayers, and\ninstantly James hurried off to the Fighting Cock to warn Hayes and\ngive him the means of flight. I could not go there by daylight without\nprovoking comment, but as soon as night fell I hurried off to see my\ndear Arthur. I found him safe and well, but horrified beyond expression\nby the dreadful deed he had witnessed. In deference to my promise, and\nmuch against my will, I consented to leave him there for three days,\nunder the charge of Mrs. Hayes, since it was evident that it was\nimpossible to inform the police where he was without telling them also\nwho was the murderer, and I could not see how that murderer could be\npunished without ruin to my unfortunate James. You asked for frankness,\nMr. Holmes, and I have taken you at your word, for I have now told you\neverything without an attempt at circumlocution or concealment. Do you\nin turn be as frank with me.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said Holmes. \"In the first place, your Grace, I am bound to\ntell you that you have placed yourself in a most serious position in\nthe eyes of the law. You have condoned a felony, and you have aided the\nescape of a murderer, for I cannot doubt that any money which was taken\nby James Wilder to aid his accomplice in his flight came from your\nGrace's purse.\"\n\nThe Duke bowed his assent.\n\n\"This is, indeed, a most serious matter. Even more culpable in my\nopinion, your Grace, is your attitude towards your younger son. You\nleave him in this den for three days.\"\n\n\"Under solemn promises----\"\n\n\"What are promises to such people as these? You have no guarantee that\nhe will not be spirited away again. To humour your guilty elder son,\nyou have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent and unnecessary\ndanger. It was a most unjustifiable action.\"\n\nThe proud lord of Holdernesse was not accustomed to be so rated in\nhis own ducal hall. The blood flushed into his high forehead, but his\nconscience held him dumb.\n\n\"I will help you, but on one condition only. It is that you ring for the\nfootman and let me give such orders as I like.\"\n\nWithout a word, the Duke pressed the electric bell. A servant entered.\n\n\"You will be glad to hear,\" said Holmes, \"that your young master is\nfound. It is the Duke's desire that the carriage shall go at once to the\nFighting Cock Inn to bring Lord Saltire home.\n\n\"Now,\" said Holmes, when the rejoicing lackey had disappeared, \"having\nsecured the future, we can afford to be more lenient with the past. I am\nnot in an official position, and there is no reason, so long as the\nends of justice are served, why I should disclose all that I know. As to\nHayes, I say nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I would do nothing\nto save him from it. What he will divulge I cannot tell, but I have\nno doubt that your Grace could make him understand that it is to his\ninterest to be silent. From the police point of view he will have\nkidnapped the boy for the purpose of ransom. If they do not themselves\nfind it out, I see no reason why I should prompt them to take a broader\npoint of view. I would warn your Grace, however, that the continued\npresence of Mr. James Wilder in your household can only lead to\nmisfortune.\"\n\n\"I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is already settled that he shall\nleave me forever, and go to seek his fortune in Australia.\"\n\n\"In that case, your Grace, since you have yourself stated that any\nunhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence I would\nsuggest that you make such amends as you can to the Duchess, and\nthat you try to resume those relations which have been so unhappily\ninterrupted.\"\n\n\"That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I wrote to the Duchess this\nmorning.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said Holmes, rising, \"I think that my friend and I can\ncongratulate ourselves upon several most happy results from our little\nvisit to the North. There is one other small point upon which I desire\nsome light. This fellow Hayes had shod his horses with shoes which\ncounterfeited the tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder that he learned\nso extraordinary a device?\"\n\nThe Duke stood in thought for a moment, with a look of intense surprise\non his face. Then he opened a door and showed us into a large room\nfurnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass case in a corner, and\npointed to the inscription.\n\n\"These shoes,\" it ran, \"were dug up in the moat of Holdernesse Hall.\nThey are for the use of horses, but they are shaped below with a cloven\nfoot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track. They are supposed\nto have belonged to some of the marauding Barons of Holdernesse in the\nMiddle Ages.\"\n\nHolmes opened the case, and moistening his finger he passed it along the\nshoe. A thin film of recent mud was left upon his skin.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said he, as he replaced the glass. \"It is the second most\ninteresting object that I have seen in the North.\"\n\n\"And the first?\"\n\nHolmes folded up his check and placed it carefully in his notebook. \"I\nam a poor man,\" said he, as he patted it affectionately, and thrust it\ninto the depths of his inner pocket.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF BLACK PETER\n\n\nI have never known my friend to be in better form, both mental and\nphysical, than in the year '95. His increasing fame had brought with it\nan immense practice, and I should be guilty of an indiscretion if I\nwere even to hint at the identity of some of the illustrious clients who\ncrossed our humble threshold in Baker Street. Holmes, however, like all\ngreat artists, lived for his art's sake, and, save in the case of the\nDuke of Holdernesse, I have seldom known him claim any large reward for\nhis inestimable services. So unworldly was he--or so capricious--that\nhe frequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where the\nproblem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would devote weeks of\nmost intense application to the affairs of some humble client whose case\npresented those strange and dramatic qualities which appealed to his\nimagination and challenged his ingenuity.\n\nIn this memorable year '95, a curious and incongruous succession of\ncases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous investigation\nof the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca--an inquiry which was carried\nout by him at the express desire of His Holiness the Pope--down to\nhis arrest of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer, which removed a\nplague-spot from the East End of London. Close on the heels of these\ntwo famous cases came the tragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the very obscure\ncircumstances which surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No\nrecord of the doings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did\nnot include some account of this very unusual affair.\n\nDuring the first week of July, my friend had been absent so often and\nso long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The fact\nthat several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for\nCaptain Basil made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere under\none of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own\nformidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in different\nparts of London, in which he was able to change his personality. He\nsaid nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a\nconfidence. The first positive sign which he gave me of the direction\nwhich his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had gone\nout before breakfast, and I had sat down to mine when he strode into the\nroom, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like\nan umbrella under his arm.\n\n\"Good gracious, Holmes!\" I cried. \"You don't mean to say that you have\nbeen walking about London with that thing?\"\n\n\"I drove to the butcher's and back.\"\n\n\"The butcher's?\"\n\n\"And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be no question,\nmy dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. But I am\nprepared to bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise has\ntaken.\"\n\n\"I will not attempt it.\"\n\nHe chuckled as he poured out the coffee.\n\n\"If you could have looked into Allardyce's back shop, you would have\nseen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in\nhis shirt sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that\nenergetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my\nstrength can I transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you would\ncare to try?\"\n\n\"Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?\"\n\n\"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery of\nWoodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I have been\nexpecting you. Come and join us.\"\n\nOur visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressed\nin a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who was\naccustomed to official uniform. I recognized him at once as Stanley\nHopkins, a young police inspector, for whose future Holmes had high\nhopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupil\nfor the scientific methods of the famous amateur. Hopkins's brow was\nclouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection.\n\n\"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spent the\nnight in town, for I came up yesterday to report.\"\n\n\"And what had you to report?\"\n\n\"Failure, sir, absolute failure.\"\n\n\"You have made no progress?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"Dear me! I must have a look at the matter.\"\n\n\"I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes. It's my first big chance,\nand I am at my wit's end. For goodness' sake, come down and lend me a\nhand.\"\n\n\"Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all the available\nevidence, including the report of the inquest, with some care. By the\nway, what do you make of that tobacco pouch, found on the scene of the\ncrime? Is there no clue there?\"\n\nHopkins looked surprised.\n\n\"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it. And it\nwas of sealskin,--and he was an old sealer.\"\n\n\"But he had no pipe.\"\n\n\"No, sir, we could find no pipe. Indeed, he smoked very little, and yet\nhe might have kept some tobacco for his friends.\"\n\n\"No doubt. I only mention it because, if I had been handling the case,\nI should have been inclined to make that the starting-point of my\ninvestigation. However, my friend, Dr. Watson, knows nothing of this\nmatter, and I should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of\nevents once more. Just give us some short sketches of the essentials.\"\n\nStanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket.\n\n\"I have a few dates here which will give you the career of the dead man,\nCaptain Peter Carey. He was born in '45--fifty years of age. He was a\nmost daring and successful seal and whale fisher. In 1883 he commanded\nthe steam sealer SEA UNICORN, of Dundee. He had then had several\nsuccessful voyages in succession, and in the following year, 1884, he\nretired. After that he travelled for some years, and finally he bought\na small place called Woodman's Lee, near Forest Row, in Sussex. There he\nhas lived for six years, and there he died just a week ago to-day.\n\n\"There were some most singular points about the man. In ordinary\nlife, he was a strict Puritan--a silent, gloomy fellow. His household\nconsisted of his wife, his daughter, aged twenty, and two female\nservants. These last were continually changing, for it was never a very\ncheery situation, and sometimes it became past all bearing. The man\nwas an intermittent drunkard, and when he had the fit on him he was a\nperfect fiend. He has been known to drive his wife and daughter out of\ndoors in the middle of the night and flog them through the park until\nthe whole village outside the gates was aroused by their screams.\n\n\"He was summoned once for a savage assault upon the old vicar, who had\ncalled upon him to remonstrate with him upon his conduct. In short,\nMr. Holmes, you would go far before you found a more dangerous man than\nPeter Carey, and I have heard that he bore the same character when he\ncommanded his ship. He was known in the trade as Black Peter, and the\nname was given him, not only on account of his swarthy features and the\ncolour of his huge beard, but for the humours which were the terror of\nall around him. I need not say that he was loathed and avoided by every\none of his neighbours, and that I have not heard one single word of\nsorrow about his terrible end.\n\n\"You must have read in the account of the inquest about the man's cabin,\nMr. Holmes, but perhaps your friend here has not heard of it. He had\nbuilt himself a wooden outhouse--he always called it the 'cabin'--a few\nhundred yards from his house, and it was here that he slept every night.\nIt was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet by ten. He kept the\nkey in his pocket, made his own bed, cleaned it himself, and allowed no\nother foot to cross the threshold. There are small windows on each side,\nwhich were covered by curtains and never opened. One of these windows\nwas turned towards the high road, and when the light burned in it at\nnight the folk used to point it out to each other and wonder what Black\nPeter was doing in there. That's the window, Mr. Holmes, which gave us\none of the few bits of positive evidence that came out at the inquest.\n\n\"You remember that a stonemason, named Slater, walking from Forest Row\nabout one o'clock in the morning--two days before the murder--stopped\nas he passed the grounds and looked at the square of light still shining\namong the trees. He swears that the shadow of a man's head turned\nsideways was clearly visible on the blind, and that this shadow was\ncertainly not that of Peter Carey, whom he knew well. It was that of a\nbearded man, but the beard was short and bristled forward in a way very\ndifferent from that of the captain. So he says, but he had been two\nhours in the public-house, and it is some distance from the road to the\nwindow. Besides, this refers to the Monday, and the crime was done upon\nthe Wednesday.\n\n\"On the Tuesday, Peter Carey was in one of his blackest moods, flushed\nwith drink and as savage as a dangerous wild beast. He roamed about the\nhouse, and the women ran for it when they heard him coming. Late in the\nevening, he went down to his own hut. About two o'clock the following\nmorning, his daughter, who slept with her window open, heard a most\nfearful yell from that direction, but it was no unusual thing for him to\nbawl and shout when he was in drink, so no notice was taken. On rising\nat seven, one of the maids noticed that the door of the hut was open,\nbut so great was the terror which the man caused that it was midday\nbefore anyone would venture down to see what had become of him. Peeping\ninto the open door, they saw a sight which sent them flying, with white\nfaces, into the village. Within an hour, I was on the spot and had taken\nover the case.\n\n\"Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you know, Mr. Holmes, but I give\nyou my word, that I got a shake when I put my head into that little\nhouse. It was droning like a harmonium with the flies and bluebottles,\nand the floor and walls were like a slaughter-house. He had called it a\ncabin, and a cabin it was, sure enough, for you would have thought that\nyou were in a ship. There was a bunk at one end, a sea-chest, maps and\ncharts, a picture of the SEA UNICORN, a line of logbooks on a shelf, all\nexactly as one would expect to find it in a captain's room. And there,\nin the middle of it, was the man himself--his face twisted like a lost\nsoul in torment, and his great brindled beard stuck upward in his agony.\nRight through his broad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it\nhad sunk deep into the wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned like a\nbeetle on a card. Of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the\ninstant that he had uttered that last yell of agony.\n\n\"I know your methods, sir, and I applied them. Before I permitted\nanything to be moved, I examined most carefully the ground outside, and\nalso the floor of the room. There were no footmarks.\"\n\n\"Meaning that you saw none?\"\n\n\"I assure you, sir, that there were none.\"\n\n\"My good Hopkins, I have investigated many crimes, but I have never\nyet seen one which was committed by a flying creature. As long as the\ncriminal remains upon two legs so long must there be some indentation,\nsome abrasion, some trifling displacement which can be detected by the\nscientific searcher. It is incredible that this blood-bespattered room\ncontained no trace which could have aided us. I understand, however,\nfrom the inquest that there were some objects which you failed to\noverlook?\"\n\nThe young inspector winced at my companion's ironical comments.\n\n\"I was a fool not to call you in at the time Mr. Holmes. However, that's\npast praying for now. Yes, there were several objects in the room which\ncalled for special attention. One was the harpoon with which the deed\nwas committed. It had been snatched down from a rack on the wall. Two\nothers remained there, and there was a vacant place for the third.\nOn the stock was engraved 'SS. SEA UNICORN, Dundee.' This seemed to\nestablish that the crime had been done in a moment of fury, and that\nthe murderer had seized the first weapon which came in his way. The fact\nthat the crime was committed at two in the morning, and yet Peter\nCarey was fully dressed, suggested that he had an appointment with the\nmurderer, which is borne out by the fact that a bottle of rum and two\ndirty glasses stood upon the table.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Holmes; \"I think that both inferences are permissible. Was\nthere any other spirit but rum in the room?\"\n\n\"Yes, there was a tantalus containing brandy and whisky on the\nsea-chest. It is of no importance to us, however, since the decanters\nwere full, and it had therefore not been used.\"\n\n\"For all that, its presence has some significance,\" said Holmes.\n\"However, let us hear some more about the objects which do seem to you\nto bear upon the case.\"\n\n\"There was this tobacco-pouch upon the table.\"\n\n\"What part of the table?\"\n\n\"It lay in the middle. It was of coarse sealskin--the straight-haired\nskin, with a leather thong to bind it. Inside was 'P.C.' on the flap.\nThere was half an ounce of strong ship's tobacco in it.\"\n\n\"Excellent! What more?\"\n\nStanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered notebook. The\noutside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On the first page\nwere written the initials \"J.H.N.\" and the date \"1883.\" Holmes laid\nit on the table and examined it in his minute way, while Hopkins and I\ngazed over each shoulder. On the second page were the printed letters\n\"C.P.R.,\" and then came several sheets of numbers. Another heading was\n\"Argentine,\" another \"Costa Rica,\" and another \"San Paulo,\" each with\npages of signs and figures after it.\n\n\"What do you make of these?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange securities. I thought that\n'J.H.N.' were the initials of a broker, and that 'C.P.R.' may have been\nhis client.\"\n\n\"Try Canadian Pacific Railway,\" said Holmes.\n\nStanley Hopkins swore between his teeth, and struck his thigh with his\nclenched hand.\n\n\"What a fool I have been!\" he cried. \"Of course, it is as you say. Then\n'J.H.N.' are the only initials we have to solve. I have already examined\nthe old Stock Exchange lists, and I can find no one in 1883, either in\nthe house or among the outside brokers, whose initials correspond with\nthese. Yet I feel that the clue is the most important one that I hold.\nYou will admit, Mr. Holmes, that there is a possibility that these\ninitials are those of the second person who was present--in other words,\nof the murderer. I would also urge that the introduction into the case\nof a document relating to large masses of valuable securities gives us\nfor the first time some indication of a motive for the crime.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes's face showed that he was thoroughly taken aback by this\nnew development.\n\n\"I must admit both your points,\" said he. \"I confess that this notebook,\nwhich did not appear at the inquest, modifies any views which I may have\nformed. I had come to a theory of the crime in which I can find no\nplace for this. Have you endeavoured to trace any of the securities here\nmentioned?\"\n\n\"Inquiries are now being made at the offices, but I fear that the\ncomplete register of the stockholders of these South American concerns\nis in South America, and that some weeks must elapse before we can trace\nthe shares.\"\n\nHolmes had been examining the cover of the notebook with his magnifying\nlens.\n\n\"Surely there is some discolouration here,\" said he.\n\n\"Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told you that I picked the book off\nthe floor.\"\n\n\"Was the blood-stain above or below?\"\n\n\"On the side next the boards.\"\n\n\"Which proves, of course, that the book was dropped after the crime was\ncommitted.\"\n\n\"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and I conjectured that\nit was dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. It lay near the\ndoor.\"\n\n\"I suppose that none of these securities have been found among the\nproperty of the dead man?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Have you any reason to suspect robbery?\"\n\n\"No, sir. Nothing seemed to have been touched.\"\n\n\"Dear me, it is certainly a very interesting case. Then there was a\nknife, was there not?\"\n\n\"A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It lay at the feet of the dead\nman. Mrs. Carey has identified it as being her husband's property.\"\n\nHolmes was lost in thought for some time.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, at last, \"I suppose I shall have to come out and have a\nlook at it.\"\n\nStanley Hopkins gave a cry of joy.\n\n\"Thank you, sir. That will, indeed, be a weight off my mind.\"\n\nHolmes shook his finger at the inspector.\n\n\"It would have been an easier task a week ago,\" said he. \"But even now\nmy visit may not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you can spare\nthe time, I should be very glad of your company. If you will call a\nfour-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to start for Forest Row in a\nquarter of an hour.\"\n\nAlighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some miles through\nthe remains of widespread woods, which were once part of that\ngreat forest which for so long held the Saxon invaders at bay--the\nimpenetrable \"weald,\" for sixty years the bulwark of Britain. Vast\nsections of it have been cleared, for this is the seat of the first\niron-works of the country, and the trees have been felled to smelt the\nore. Now the richer fields of the North have absorbed the trade, and\nnothing save these ravaged groves and great scars in the earth show the\nwork of the past. Here, in a clearing upon the green slope of a hill,\nstood a long, low, stone house, approached by a curving drive running\nthrough the fields. Nearer the road, and surrounded on three sides by\nbushes, was a small outhouse, one window and the door facing in our\ndirection. It was the scene of the murder.\n\nStanley Hopkins led us first to the house, where he introduced us to a\nhaggard, gray-haired woman, the widow of the murdered man, whose gaunt\nand deep-lined face, with the furtive look of terror in the depths of\nher red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of hardship and ill-usage which\nshe had endured. With her was her daughter, a pale, fair-haired girl,\nwhose eyes blazed defiantly at us as she told us that she was glad that\nher father was dead, and that she blessed the hand which had struck him\ndown. It was a terrible household that Black Peter Carey had made for\nhimself, and it was with a sense of relief that we found ourselves in\nthe sunlight again and making our way along a path which had been worn\nacross the fields by the feet of the dead man.\n\nThe outhouse was the simplest of dwellings, wooden-walled,\nshingle-roofed, one window beside the door and one on the farther side.\nStanley Hopkins drew the key from his pocket and had stooped to the\nlock, when he paused with a look of attention and surprise upon his\nface.\n\n\"Someone has been tampering with it,\" he said.\n\nThere could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut, and the\nscratches showed white through the paint, as if they had been that\ninstant done. Holmes had been examining the window.\n\n\"Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has failed to make\nhis way in. He must have been a very poor burglar.\"\n\n\"This is a most extraordinary thing,\" said the inspector, \"I could swear\nthat these marks were not here yesterday evening.\"\n\n\"Some curious person from the village, perhaps,\" I suggested.\n\n\"Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to set foot in the grounds, far\nless try to force their way into the cabin. What do you think of it, Mr.\nHolmes?\"\n\n\"I think that fortune is very kind to us.\"\n\n\"You mean that the person will come again?\"\n\n\"It is very probable. He came expecting to find the door open. He tried\nto get in with the blade of a very small penknife. He could not manage\nit. What would he do?\"\n\n\"Come again next night with a more useful tool.\"\n\n\"So I should say. It will be our fault if we are not there to receive\nhim. Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin.\"\n\nThe traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniture within the\nlittle room still stood as it had been on the night of the crime. For\ntwo hours, with most intense concentration, Holmes examined every object\nin turn, but his face showed that his quest was not a successful one.\nOnce only he paused in his patient investigation.\n\n\"Have you taken anything off this shelf, Hopkins?\"\n\n\"No, I have moved nothing.\"\n\n\"Something has been taken. There is less dust in this corner of the\nshelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on its side. It may\nhave been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more. Let us walk in\nthese beautiful woods, Watson, and give a few hours to the birds and the\nflowers. We shall meet you here later, Hopkins, and see if we can come\nto closer quarters with the gentleman who has paid this visit in the\nnight.\"\n\nIt was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little ambuscade. Hopkins\nwas for leaving the door of the hut open, but Holmes was of the opinion\nthat this would rouse the suspicions of the stranger. The lock was a\nperfectly simple one, and only a strong blade was needed to push it\nback. Holmes also suggested that we should wait, not inside the hut,\nbut outside it, among the bushes which grew round the farther window.\nIn this way we should be able to watch our man if he struck a light, and\nsee what his object was in this stealthy nocturnal visit.\n\nIt was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with it something\nof the thrill which the hunter feels when he lies beside the water-pool,\nand waits for the coming of the thirsty beast of prey. What savage\ncreature was it which might steal upon us out of the darkness? Was it\na fierce tiger of crime, which could only be taken fighting hard with\nflashing fang and claw, or would it prove to be some skulking jackal,\ndangerous only to the weak and unguarded?\n\nIn absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting for whatever\nmight come. At first the steps of a few belated villagers, or the sound\nof voices from the village, lightened our vigil, but one by one these\ninterruptions died away, and an absolute stillness fell upon us, save\nfor the chimes of the distant church, which told us of the progress of\nthe night, and for the rustle and whisper of a fine rain falling amid\nthe foliage which roofed us in.\n\nHalf-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour which precedes\nthe dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp click came from the\ndirection of the gate. Someone had entered the drive. Again there was a\nlong silence, and I had begun to fear that it was a false alarm, when\na stealthy step was heard upon the other side of the hut, and a moment\nlater a metallic scraping and clinking. The man was trying to force the\nlock. This time his skill was greater or his tool was better, for there\nwas a sudden snap and the creak of the hinges. Then a match was struck,\nand next instant the steady light from a candle filled the interior of\nthe hut. Through the gauze curtain our eyes were all riveted upon the\nscene within.\n\nThe nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a black\nmoustache, which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. He could not\nhave been much above twenty years of age. I have never seen any human\nbeing who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright, for his teeth were\nvisibly chattering, and he was shaking in every limb. He was dressed\nlike a gentleman, in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap\nupon his head. We watched him staring round with frightened eyes. Then\nhe laid the candle-end upon the table and disappeared from our view into\none of the corners. He returned with a large book, one of the logbooks\nwhich formed a line upon the shelves. Leaning on the table, he rapidly\nturned over the leaves of this volume until he came to the entry which\nhe sought. Then, with an angry gesture of his clenched hand, he closed\nthe book, replaced it in the corner, and put out the light. He had\nhardly turned to leave the hut when Hopkin's hand was on the fellow's\ncollar, and I heard his loud gasp of terror as he understood that he\nwas taken. The candle was relit, and there was our wretched captive,\nshivering and cowering in the grasp of the detective. He sank down upon\nthe sea-chest, and looked helplessly from one of us to the other.\n\n\"Now, my fine fellow,\" said Stanley Hopkins, \"who are you, and what do\nyou want here?\"\n\nThe man pulled himself together, and faced us with an effort at\nself-composure.\n\n\"You are detectives, I suppose?\" said he. \"You imagine I am connected\nwith the death of Captain Peter Carey. I assure you that I am innocent.\"\n\n\"We'll see about that,\" said Hopkins. \"First of all, what is your name?\"\n\n\"It is John Hopley Neligan.\"\n\nI saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick glance.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"Can I speak confidentially?\"\n\n\"No, certainly not.\"\n\n\"Why should I tell you?\"\n\n\"If you have no answer, it may go badly with you at the trial.\"\n\nThe young man winced.\n\n\"Well, I will tell you,\" he said. \"Why should I not? And yet I hate to\nthink of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Did you ever hear\nof Dawson and Neligan?\"\n\nI could see, from Hopkins's face, that he never had, but Holmes was\nkeenly interested.\n\n\"You mean the West Country bankers,\" said he. \"They failed for a\nmillion, ruined half the county families of Cornwall, and Neligan\ndisappeared.\"\n\n\"Exactly. Neligan was my father.\"\n\nAt last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemed a long gap\nbetween an absconding banker and Captain Peter Carey pinned against the\nwall with one of his own harpoons. We all listened intently to the young\nman's words.\n\n\"It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson had retired. I was\nonly ten years of age at the time, but I was old enough to feel the\nshame and horror of it all. It has always been said that my father stole\nall the securities and fled. It is not true. It was his belief that if\nhe were given time in which to realize them, all would be well and every\ncreditor paid in full. He started in his little yacht for Norway just\nbefore the warrant was issued for his arrest. I can remember that last\nnight when he bade farewell to my mother. He left us a list of the\nsecurities he was taking, and he swore that he would come back with his\nhonour cleared, and that none who had trusted him would suffer. Well,\nno word was ever heard from him again. Both the yacht and he vanished\nutterly. We believed, my mother and I, that he and it, with the\nsecurities that he had taken with him, were at the bottom of the sea. We\nhad a faithful friend, however, who is a business man, and it was he who\ndiscovered some time ago that some of the securities which my father\nhad with him had reappeared on the London market. You can imagine our\namazement. I spent months in trying to trace them, and at last, after\nmany doubtings and difficulties, I discovered that the original seller\nhad been Captain Peter Carey, the owner of this hut.\n\n\"Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found that he had\nbeen in command of a whaler which was due to return from the Arctic seas\nat the very time when my father was crossing to Norway. The autumn of\nthat year was a stormy one, and there was a long succession of southerly\ngales. My father's yacht may well have been blown to the north, and\nthere met by Captain Peter Carey's ship. If that were so, what had\nbecome of my father? In any case, if I could prove from Peter Carey's\nevidence how these securities came on the market it would be a proof\nthat my father had not sold them, and that he had no view to personal\nprofit when he took them.\n\n\"I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the captain, but\nit was at this moment that his terrible death occurred. I read at the\ninquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated that the old\nlogbooks of his vessel were preserved in it. It struck me that if I\ncould see what occurred in the month of August, 1883, on board the SEA\nUNICORN, I might settle the mystery of my father's fate. I tried\nlast night to get at these logbooks, but was unable to open the door.\nTo-night I tried again and succeeded, but I find that the pages which\ndeal with that month have been torn from the book. It was at that moment\nI found myself a prisoner in your hands.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" asked Hopkins.\n\n\"Yes, that is all.\" His eyes shifted as he said it.\n\n\"You have nothing else to tell us?\"\n\nHe hesitated.\n\n\"No, there is nothing.\"\n\n\"You have not been here before last night?\"\n\n\"No.\n\n\"Then how do you account for THAT?\" cried Hopkins, as he held up the\ndamning notebook, with the initials of our prisoner on the first leaf\nand the blood-stain on the cover.\n\nThe wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands, and trembled\nall over.\n\n\"Where did you get it?\" he groaned. \"I did not know. I thought I had\nlost it at the hotel.\"\n\n\"That is enough,\" said Hopkins, sternly. \"Whatever else you have to\nsay, you must say in court. You will walk down with me now to the\npolice-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very much obliged to you and to\nyour friend for coming down to help me. As it turns out your presence\nwas unnecessary, and I would have brought the case to this successful\nissue without you, but, none the less, I am grateful. Rooms have been\nreserved for you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can all walk down to the\nvillage together.\"\n\n\"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?\" asked Holmes, as we travelled\nback next morning.\n\n\"I can see that you are not satisfied.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied. At the same\ntime, Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend themselves to me. I am\ndisappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for better things from him.\nOne should always look for a possible alternative, and provide against\nit. It is the first rule of criminal investigation.\"\n\n\"What, then, is the alternative?\"\n\n\"The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. It may\ngive us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow it to the\nend.\"\n\nSeveral letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He snatched\none of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle of\nlaughter.\n\n\"Excellent, Watson! The alternative develops. Have you telegraph\nforms? Just write a couple of messages for me: 'Sumner, Shipping\nAgent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive ten to-morrow\nmorning.--Basil.' That's my name in those parts. The other is:\n'Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46 Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfast\nto-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if unable to come.--Sherlock\nHolmes.' There, Watson, this infernal case has haunted me for ten days.\nI hereby banish it completely from my presence. To-morrow, I trust that\nwe shall hear the last of it forever.\"\n\nSharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared, and we sat\ndown together to the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudson had prepared.\nThe young detective was in high spirits at his success.\n\n\"You really think that your solution must be correct?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"I could not imagine a more complete case.\"\n\n\"It did not seem to me conclusive.\"\n\n\"You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more could one ask for?\"\n\n\"Does your explanation cover every point?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan arrived at the Brambletye Hotel\non the very day of the crime. He came on the pretence of playing golf.\nHis room was on the ground-floor, and he could get out when he liked.\nThat very night he went down to Woodman's Lee, saw Peter Carey at\nthe hut, quarrelled with him, and killed him with the harpoon. Then,\nhorrified by what he had done, he fled out of the hut, dropping the\nnotebook which he had brought with him in order to question Peter Carey\nabout these different securities. You may have observed that some of\nthem were marked with ticks, and the others--the great majority--were\nnot. Those which are ticked have been traced on the London market, but\nthe others, presumably, were still in the possession of Carey, and young\nNeligan, according to his own account, was anxious to recover them in\norder to do the right thing by his father's creditors. After his flight\nhe did not dare to approach the hut again for some time, but at last\nhe forced himself to do so in order to obtain the information which he\nneeded. Surely that is all simple and obvious?\"\n\nHolmes smiled and shook his head. \"It seems to me to have only one\ndrawback, Hopkins, and that is that it is intrinsically impossible. Have\nyou tried to drive a harpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut my dear sir,\nyou must really pay attention to these details. My friend Watson could\ntell you that I spent a whole morning in that exercise. It is no easy\nmatter, and requires a strong and practised arm. But this blow was\ndelivered with such violence that the head of the weapon sank deep\ninto the wall. Do you imagine that this anaemic youth was capable of so\nfrightful an assault? Is he the man who hobnobbed in rum and water with\nBlack Peter in the dead of the night? Was it his profile that was seen\non the blind two nights before? No, no, Hopkins, it is another and more\nformidable person for whom we must seek.\"\n\nThe detective's face had grown longer and longer during Holmes's speech.\nHis hopes and his ambitions were all crumbling about him. But he would\nnot abandon his position without a struggle.\n\n\"You can't deny that Neligan was present that night, Mr. Holmes. The\nbook will prove that. I fancy that I have evidence enough to satisfy a\njury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it. Besides, Mr. Holmes,\nI have laid my hand upon MY man. As to this terrible person of yours,\nwhere is he?\"\n\n\"I rather fancy that he is on the stair,\" said Holmes, serenely. \"I\nthink, Watson, that you would do well to put that revolver where you can\nreach it.\" He rose and laid a written paper upon a side-table. \"Now we\nare ready,\" said he.\n\nThere had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and now Mrs. Hudson\nopened the door to say that there were three men inquiring for Captain\nBasil.\n\n\"Show them in one by one,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"The first who entered was a little Ribston pippin of a man, with ruddy\ncheeks and fluffy white side-whiskers. Holmes had drawn a letter from\nhis pocket.\n\n\"What name?\" he asked.\n\n\"James Lancaster.\"\n\n\"I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full. Here is half a sovereign\nfor your trouble. Just step into this room and wait there for a few\nminutes.\"\n\nThe second man was a long, dried-up creature, with lank hair and sallow\ncheeks. His name was Hugh Pattins. He also received his dismissal, his\nhalf-sovereign, and the order to wait.\n\nThe third applicant was a man of remarkable appearance. A fierce\nbull-dog face was framed in a tangle of hair and beard, and two bold,\ndark eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick, tufted, overhung eyebrows.\nHe saluted and stood sailor-fashion, turning his cap round in his hands.\n\n\"Your name?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"Patrick Cairns.\"\n\n\"Harpooner?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages.\"\n\n\"Dundee, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And ready to start with an exploring ship?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"What wages?\"\n\n\"Eight pounds a month.\"\n\n\"Could you start at once?\"\n\n\"As soon as I get my kit.\"\n\n\"Have you your papers?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\" He took a sheaf of worn and greasy forms from his pocket.\nHolmes glanced over them and returned them.\n\n\"You are just the man I want,\" said he. \"Here's the agreement on the\nside-table. If you sign it the whole matter will be settled.\"\n\nThe seaman lurched across the room and took up the pen.\n\n\"Shall I sign here?\" he asked, stooping over the table.\n\nHolmes leaned over his shoulder and passed both hands over his neck.\n\n\"This will do,\" said he.\n\nI heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. The next\ninstant Holmes and the seaman were rolling on the ground together. He\nwas a man of such gigantic strength that, even with the handcuffs\nwhich Holmes had so deftly fastened upon his wrists, he would have\nvery quickly overpowered my friend had Hopkins and I not rushed to\nhis rescue. Only when I pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to his\ntemple did he at last understand that resistance was vain. We lashed his\nankles with cord, and rose breathless from the struggle.\n\n\"I must really apologize, Hopkins,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"I fear that\nthe scrambled eggs are cold. However, you will enjoy the rest of your\nbreakfast all the better, will you not, for the thought that you have\nbrought your case to a triumphant conclusion.\"\n\nStanley Hopkins was speechless with amazement.\n\n\"I don't know what to say, Mr. Holmes,\" he blurted out at last, with a\nvery red face. \"It seems to me that I have been making a fool of\nmyself from the beginning. I understand now, what I should never have\nforgotten, that I am the pupil and you are the master. Even now I\nsee what you have done, but I don't know how you did it or what it\nsignifies.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Holmes, good-humouredly. \"We all learn by experience,\nand your lesson this time is that you should never lose sight of the\nalternative. You were so absorbed in young Neligan that you could not\nspare a thought to Patrick Cairns, the true murderer of Peter Carey.\"\n\nThe hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation.\n\n\"See here, mister,\" said he, \"I make no complaint of being man-handled\nin this fashion, but I would have you call things by their right names.\nYou say I murdered Peter Carey, I say I KILLED Peter Carey, and there's\nall the difference. Maybe you don't believe what I say. Maybe you think\nI am just slinging you a yarn.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" said Holmes. \"Let us hear what you have to say.\"\n\n\"It's soon told, and, by the Lord, every word of it is truth. I knew\nBlack Peter, and when he pulled out his knife I whipped a harpoon\nthrough him sharp, for I knew that it was him or me. That's how he died.\nYou can call it murder. Anyhow, I'd as soon die with a rope round my\nneck as with Black Peter's knife in my heart.\"\n\n\"How came you there?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"I'll tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me up a little, so as\nI can speak easy. It was in '83 that it happened--August of that year.\nPeter Carey was master of the SEA UNICORN, and I was spare harpooner. We\nwere coming out of the ice-pack on our way home, with head winds and a\nweek's southerly gale, when we picked up a little craft that had been\nblown north. There was one man on her--a landsman. The crew had thought\nshe would founder and had made for the Norwegian coast in the dinghy. I\nguess they were all drowned. Well, we took him on board, this man, and\nhe and the skipper had some long talks in the cabin. All the baggage we\ntook off with him was one tin box. So far as I know, the man's name was\nnever mentioned, and on the second night he disappeared as if he had\nnever been. It was given out that he had either thrown himself overboard\nor fallen overboard in the heavy weather that we were having. Only one\nman knew what had happened to him, and that was me, for, with my own\neyes, I saw the skipper tip up his heels and put him over the rail\nin the middle watch of a dark night, two days before we sighted the\nShetland Lights. Well, I kept my knowledge to myself, and waited to see\nwhat would come of it. When we got back to Scotland it was easily hushed\nup, and nobody asked any questions. A stranger died by accident and it\nwas nobody's business to inquire. Shortly after Peter Carey gave up the\nsea, and it was long years before I could find where he was. I guessed\nthat he had done the deed for the sake of what was in that tin box, and\nthat he could afford now to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut. I\nfound out where he was through a sailor man that had met him in London,\nand down I went to squeeze him. The first night he was reasonable\nenough, and was ready to give me what would make me free of the sea for\nlife. We were to fix it all two nights later. When I came, I found him\nthree parts drunk and in a vile temper. We sat down and we drank and we\nyarned about old times, but the more he drank the less I liked the look\non his face. I spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and I thought I might\nneed it before I was through. Then at last he broke out at me, spitting\nand cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great clasp-knife in his\nhand. He had not time to get it from the sheath before I had the harpoon\nthrough him. Heavens! what a yell he gave! and his face gets between me\nand my sleep. I stood there, with his blood splashing round me, and I\nwaited for a bit, but all was quiet, so I took heart once more. I looked\nround, and there was the tin box on the shelf. I had as much right to\nit as Peter Carey, anyhow, so I took it with me and left the hut. Like a\nfool I left my baccy-pouch upon the table.\n\n\"Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. I had hardly\ngot outside the hut when I heard someone coming, and I hid among the\nbushes. A man came slinking along, went into the hut, gave a cry as if\nhe had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as he could run until he was\nout of sight. Who he was or what he wanted is more than I can tell.\nFor my part I walked ten miles, got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so\nreached London, and no one the wiser.\n\n\"Well, when I came to examine the box I found there was no money in it,\nand nothing but papers that I would not dare to sell. I had lost my hold\non Black Peter and was stranded in London without a shilling. There was\nonly my trade left. I saw these advertisements about harpooners, and\nhigh wages, so I went to the shipping agents, and they sent me here.\nThat's all I know, and I say again that if I killed Black Peter, the law\nshould give me thanks, for I saved them the price of a hempen rope.\"\n\n\"A very clear statement said Holmes,\" rising and lighting his pipe. \"I\nthink, Hopkins, that you should lose no time in conveying your prisoner\nto a place of safety. This room is not well adapted for a cell, and Mr.\nPatrick Cairns occupies too large a proportion of our carpet.\"\n\n\"Mr. Holmes,\" said Hopkins, \"I do not know how to express my gratitude.\nEven now I do not understand how you attained this result.\"\n\n\"Simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue from the\nbeginning. It is very possible if I had known about this notebook\nit might have led away my thoughts, as it did yours. But all I heard\npointed in the one direction. The amazing strength, the skill in the use\nof the harpoon, the rum and water, the sealskin tobacco-pouch with the\ncoarse tobacco--all these pointed to a seaman, and one who had been a\nwhaler. I was convinced that the initials 'P.C.' upon the pouch were a\ncoincidence, and not those of Peter Carey, since he seldom smoked, and\nno pipe was found in his cabin. You remember that I asked whether whisky\nand brandy were in the cabin. You said they were. How many landsmen are\nthere who would drink rum when they could get these other spirits? Yes,\nI was certain it was a seaman.\"\n\n\"And how did you find him?\"\n\n\"My dear sir, the problem had become a very simple one. If it were\na seaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with him on the SEA\nUNICORN. So far as I could learn he had sailed in no other ship. I\nspent three days in wiring to Dundee, and at the end of that time I had\nascertained the names of the crew of the SEA UNICORN in 1883. When I\nfound Patrick Cairns among the harpooners, my research was nearing its\nend. I argued that the man was probably in London, and that he would\ndesire to leave the country for a time. I therefore spent some days in\nthe East End, devised an Arctic expedition, put forth tempting terms for\nharpooners who would serve under Captain Basil--and behold the result!\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\" cried Hopkins. \"Wonderful!\"\n\n\"You must obtain the release of young Neligan as soon as possible,\" said\nHolmes. \"I confess that I think you owe him some apology. The tin box\nmust be returned to him, but, of course, the securities which Peter\nCarey has sold are lost forever. There's the cab, Hopkins, and you can\nremove your man. If you want me for the trial, my address and that of\nWatson will be somewhere in Norway--I'll send particulars later.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON\n\n\nIt is years since the incidents of which I speak took place, and yet it\nis with diffidence that I allude to them. For a long time, even with the\nutmost discretion and reticence, it would have been impossible to make\nthe facts public, but now the principal person concerned is beyond the\nreach of human law, and with due suppression the story may be told\nin such fashion as to injure no one. It records an absolutely unique\nexperience in the career both of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and of myself. The\nreader will excuse me if I conceal the date or any other fact by which\nhe might trace the actual occurrence.\n\nWe had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I, and had\nreturned about six o'clock on a cold, frosty winter's evening. As Holmes\nturned up the lamp the light fell upon a card on the table. He glanced\nat it, and then, with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on the floor.\nI picked it up and read:\n\nCHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON, Appledore Towers, Hampstead. Agent.\n\n\"Who is he?\" I asked.\n\n\"The worst man in London,\" Holmes answered, as he sat down and stretched\nhis legs before the fire. \"Is anything on the back of the card?\"\n\nI turned it over.\n\n\"Will call at 6:30--C.A.M.,\" I read.\n\n\"Hum! He's about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation,\nWatson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zoo, and see the\nslithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and\nwicked, flattened faces? Well, that's how Milverton impresses me. I've\nhad to do with fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of them never\ngave me the repulsion which I have for this fellow. And yet I can't get\nout of doing business with him--indeed, he is here at my invitation.\"\n\n\"But who is he?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers. Heaven\nhelp the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and reputation come\ninto the power of Milverton! With a smiling face and a heart of marble,\nhe will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained them dry. The fellow is\na genius in his way, and would have made his mark in some more savoury\ntrade. His method is as follows: He allows it to be known that he is\nprepared to pay very high sums for letters which compromise people of\nwealth and position. He receives these wares not only from treacherous\nvalets or maids, but frequently from genteel ruffians, who have gained\nthe confidence and affection of trusting women. He deals with no niggard\nhand. I happen to know that he paid seven hundred pounds to a footman\nfor a note two lines in length, and that the ruin of a noble family was\nthe result. Everything which is in the market goes to Milverton, and\nthere are hundreds in this great city who turn white at his name. No\none knows where his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far too\ncunning to work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card back for years\nin order to play it at the moment when the stake is best worth winning.\nI have said that he is the worst man in London, and I would ask you how\ncould one compare the ruffian, who in hot blood bludgeons his mate,\nwith this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul and\nwrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?\"\n\nI had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.\n\n\"But surely,\" said I, \"the fellow must be within the grasp of the law?\"\n\n\"Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would it profit a\nwoman, for example, to get him a few months' imprisonment if her own\nruin must immediately follow? His victims dare not hit back. If ever he\nblackmailed an innocent person, then indeed we should have him, but he\nis as cunning as the Evil One. No, no, we must find other ways to fight\nhim.\"\n\n\"And why is he here?\"\n\n\"Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in my hands.\nIt is the Lady Eva Blackwell, the most beautiful debutante of last\nseason. She is to be married in a fortnight to the Earl of Dovercourt.\nThis fiend has several imprudent letters--imprudent, Watson, nothing\nworse--which were written to an impecunious young squire in the country.\nThey would suffice to break off the match. Milverton will send the\nletters to the Earl unless a large sum of money is paid him. I have been\ncommissioned to meet him, and--to make the best terms I can.\"\n\nAt that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the street below.\nLooking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, the brilliant lamps\ngleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble chestnuts. A footman\nopened the door, and a small, stout man in a shaggy astrakhan overcoat\ndescended. A minute later he was in the room.\n\nCharles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large,\nintellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetual frozen\nsmile, and two keen gray eyes, which gleamed brightly from behind broad,\ngold-rimmed glasses. There was something of Mr. Pickwick's benevolence\nin his appearance, marred only by the insincerity of the fixed smile and\nby the hard glitter of those restless and penetrating eyes. His voice\nwas as smooth and suave as his countenance, as he advanced with a plump\nlittle hand extended, murmuring his regret for having missed us at his\nfirst visit. Holmes disregarded the outstretched hand and looked at him\nwith a face of granite. Milverton's smile broadened, he shrugged his\nshoulders removed his overcoat, folded it with great deliberation over\nthe back of a chair, and then took a seat.\n\n\"This gentleman?\" said he, with a wave in my direction. \"Is it discreet?\nIs it right?\"\n\n\"Dr. Watson is my friend and partner.\"\n\n\"Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client's interests that I\nprotested. The matter is so very delicate----\"\n\n\"Dr. Watson has already heard of it.\"\n\n\"Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are acting for Lady\nEva. Has she empowered you to accept my terms?\"\n\n\"What are your terms?\"\n\n\"Seven thousand pounds.\"\n\n\"And the alternative?\"\n\n\"My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it, but if the money is\nnot paid on the 14th, there certainly will be no marriage on the 18th.\"\nHis insufferable smile was more complacent than ever.\n\nHolmes thought for a little.\n\n\"You appear to me,\" he said, at last, \"to be taking matters too much for\ngranted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents of these letters.\nMy client will certainly do what I may advise. I shall counsel her to\ntell her future husband the whole story and to trust to his generosity.\"\n\nMilverton chuckled.\n\n\"You evidently do not know the Earl,\" said he.\n\nFrom the baffled look upon Holmes's face, I could see clearly that he\ndid.\n\n\"What harm is there in the letters?\" he asked.\n\n\"They are sprightly--very sprightly,\" Milverton answered. \"The lady\nwas a charming correspondent. But I can assure you that the Earl of\nDovercourt would fail to appreciate them. However, since you think\notherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter of\nbusiness. If you think that it is in the best interests of your client\nthat these letters should be placed in the hands of the Earl, then you\nwould indeed be foolish to pay so large a sum of money to regain them.\"\nHe rose and seized his astrakhan coat.\n\nHolmes was gray with anger and mortification.\n\n\"Wait a little,\" he said. \"You go too fast. We should certainly make\nevery effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter.\"\n\nMilverton relapsed into his chair.\n\n\"I was sure that you would see it in that light,\" he purred.\n\n\"At the same time,\" Holmes continued, \"Lady Eva is not a wealthy\nwoman. I assure you that two thousand pounds would be a drain upon her\nresources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyond her power. I beg,\ntherefore, that you will moderate your demands, and that you will return\nthe letters at the price I indicate, which is, I assure you, the highest\nthat you can get.\"\n\nMilverton's smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously.\n\n\"I am aware that what you say is true about the lady's resources,\"\nsaid he. \"At the same time you must admit that the occasion of a lady's\nmarriage is a very suitable time for her friends and relatives to\nmake some little effort upon her behalf. They may hesitate as to an\nacceptable wedding present. Let me assure them that this little bundle\nof letters would give more joy than all the candelabra and butter-dishes\nin London.\"\n\n\"It is impossible,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!\" cried Milverton, taking out a bulky\npocketbook. \"I cannot help thinking that ladies are ill-advised in\nnot making an effort. Look at this!\" He held up a little note with a\ncoat-of-arms upon the envelope. \"That belongs to--well, perhaps it is\nhardly fair to tell the name until to-morrow morning. But at that time\nit will be in the hands of the lady's husband. And all because she will\nnot find a beggarly sum which she could get by turning her diamonds\ninto paste. It IS such a pity! Now, you remember the sudden end of the\nengagement between the Honourable Miss Miles and Colonel Dorking? Only\ntwo days before the wedding, there was a paragraph in the MORNING POST\nto say that it was all off. And why? It is almost incredible, but\nthe absurd sum of twelve hundred pounds would have settled the whole\nquestion. Is it not pitiful? And here I find you, a man of sense,\nboggling about terms, when your client's future and honour are at stake.\nYou surprise me, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"What I say is true,\" Holmes answered. \"The money cannot be found.\nSurely it is better for you to take the substantial sum which I offer\nthan to ruin this woman's career, which can profit you in no way?\"\n\n\"There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would profit me\nindirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or ten similar cases\nmaturing. If it was circulated among them that I had made a severe\nexample of the Lady Eva, I should find all of them much more open to\nreason. You see my point?\"\n\nHolmes sprang from his chair.\n\n\"Get behind him, Watson! Don't let him out! Now, sir, let us see the\ncontents of that notebook.\"\n\nMilverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room and stood\nwith his back against the wall.\n\n\"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes,\" he said, turning the front of his coat and\nexhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected from the inside\npocket. \"I have been expecting you to do something original. This has\nbeen done so often, and what good has ever come from it? I assure you\nthat I am armed to the teeth, and I am perfectly prepared to use my\nweapons, knowing that the law will support me. Besides, your supposition\nthat I would bring the letters here in a notebook is entirely mistaken.\nI would do nothing so foolish. And now, gentlemen, I have one or two\nlittle interviews this evening, and it is a long drive to Hampstead.\"\nHe stepped forward, took up his coat, laid his hand on his revolver, and\nturned to the door. I picked up a chair, but Holmes shook his head, and\nI laid it down again. With bow, a smile, and a twinkle, Milverton\nwas out of the room, and a few moments after we heard the slam of the\ncarriage door and the rattle of the wheels as he drove away.\n\nHolmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his trouser\npockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the glowing\nembers. For half an hour he was silent and still. Then, with the gesture\nof a man who has taken his decision, he sprang to his feet and passed\ninto his bedroom. A little later a rakish young workman, with a goatee\nbeard and a swagger, lit his clay pipe at the lamp before descending\ninto the street. \"I'll be back some time, Watson,\" said he, and vanished\ninto the night. I understood that he had opened his campaign against\nCharles Augustus Milverton, but I little dreamed the strange shape which\nthat campaign was destined to take.\n\nFor some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this attire, but\nbeyond a remark that his time was spent at Hampstead, and that it was\nnot wasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing. At last, however, on\na wild, tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed and rattled against\nthe windows, he returned from his last expedition, and having removed\nhis disguise he sat before the fire and laughed heartily in his silent\ninward fashion.\n\n\"You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?\"\n\n\"No, indeed!\"\n\n\"You'll be interested to hear that I'm engaged.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow! I congrat----\"\n\n\"To Milverton's housemaid.\"\n\n\"Good heavens, Holmes!\"\n\n\"I wanted information, Watson.\"\n\n\"Surely you have gone too far?\"\n\n\"It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising business,\nEscott, by name. I have walked out with her each evening, and I have\ntalked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, I have got all I\nwanted. I know Milverton's house as I know the palm of my hand.\"\n\n\"But the girl, Holmes?\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"You can't help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cards as best you\ncan when such a stake is on the table. However, I rejoice to say that\nI have a hated rival, who will certainly cut me out the instant that my\nback is turned. What a splendid night it is!\"\n\n\"You like this weather?\"\n\n\"It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to burgle Milverton's house\nto-night.\"\n\nI had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at the words,\nwhich were slowly uttered in a tone of concentrated resolution. As a\nflash of lightning in the night shows up in an instant every detail of\na wild landscape, so at one glance I seemed to see every possible result\nof such an action--the detection, the capture, the honoured career\nending in irreparable failure and disgrace, my friend himself lying at\nthe mercy of the odious Milverton.\n\n\"For heaven's sake, Holmes, think what you are doing,\" I cried.\n\n\"My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I am never\nprecipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energetic and, indeed,\nso dangerous a course, if any other were possible. Let us look at the\nmatter clearly and fairly. I suppose that you will admit that the action\nis morally justifiable, though technically criminal. To burgle his house\nis no more than to forcibly take his pocketbook--an action in which you\nwere prepared to aid me.\"\n\nI turned it over in my mind.\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"it is morally justifiable so long as our object is to\ntake no articles save those which are used for an illegal purpose.\"\n\n\"Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable, I have only to consider the\nquestion of personal risk. Surely a gentleman should not lay much stress\nupon this, when a lady is in most desperate need of his help?\"\n\n\"You will be in such a false position.\"\n\n\"Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible way of\nregaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not the money, and\nthere are none of her people in whom she could confide. To-morrow is\nthe last day of grace, and unless we can get the letters to-night, this\nvillain will be as good as his word and will bring about her ruin. I\nmust, therefore, abandon my client to her fate or I must play this\nlast card. Between ourselves, Watson, it's a sporting duel between\nthis fellow Milverton and me. He had, as you saw, the best of the first\nexchanges, but my self-respect and my reputation are concerned to fight\nit to a finish.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't like it, but I suppose it must be,\" said I. \"When do we\nstart?\"\n\n\"You are not coming.\"\n\n\"Then you are not going,\" said I. \"I give you my word of honour--and\nI never broke it in my life--that I will take a cab straight to the\npolice-station and give you away, unless you let me share this adventure\nwith you.\"\n\n\"You can't help me.\"\n\n\"How do you know that? You can't tell what may happen. Anyway, my\nresolution is taken. Other people besides you have self-respect, and\neven reputations.\"\n\nHolmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clapped me on\nthe shoulder.\n\n\"Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared this same room\nfor some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the\nsame cell. You know, Watson, I don't mind confessing to you that I have\nalways had an idea that I would have made a highly efficient criminal.\nThis is the chance of my lifetime in that direction. See here!\" He took\na neat little leather case out of a drawer, and opening it he exhibited\na number of shining instruments. \"This is a first-class, up-to-date\nburgling kit, with nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped glass-cutter,\nadaptable keys, and every modern improvement which the march of\ncivilization demands. Here, too, is my dark lantern. Everything is in\norder. Have you a pair of silent shoes?\"\n\n\"I have rubber-soled tennis shoes.\"\n\n\"Excellent! And a mask?\"\n\n\"I can make a couple out of black silk.\"\n\n\"I can see that you have a strong, natural turn for this sort of thing.\nVery good, do you make the masks. We shall have some cold supper before\nwe start. It is now nine-thirty. At eleven we shall drive as far as\nChurch Row. It is a quarter of an hour's walk from there to Appledore\nTowers. We shall be at work before midnight. Milverton is a heavy\nsleeper, and retires punctually at ten-thirty. With any luck we should\nbe back here by two, with the Lady Eva's letters in my pocket.\"\n\nHolmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we might appear to be two\ntheatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford Street we picked up a hansom and\ndrove to an address in Hampstead. Here we paid off our cab, and with our\ngreat coats buttoned up, for it was bitterly cold, and the wind seemed\nto blow through us, we walked along the edge of the heath.\n\n\"It's a business that needs delicate treatment,\" said Holmes. \"These\ndocuments are contained in a safe in the fellow's study, and the study\nis the ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the other hand, like all these\nstout, little men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric sleeper.\nAgatha--that's my fiancee--says it is a joke in the servants' hall that\nit's impossible to wake the master. He has a secretary who is devoted\nto his interests, and never budges from the study all day. That's why we\nare going at night. Then he has a beast of a dog which roams the garden.\nI met Agatha late the last two evenings, and she locks the brute up so\nas to give me a clear run. This is the house, this big one in its own\ngrounds. Through the gate--now to the right among the laurels. We might\nput on our masks here, I think. You see, there is not a glimmer of light\nin any of the windows, and everything is working splendidly.\"\n\nWith our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two of the most\ntruculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent, gloomy house.\nA sort of tiled veranda extended along one side of it, lined by several\nwindows and two doors.\n\n\"That's his bedroom,\" Holmes whispered. \"This door opens straight into\nthe study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted as well as locked,\nand we should make too much noise getting in. Come round here. There's a\ngreenhouse which opens into the drawing-room.\"\n\nThe place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass and turned\nthe key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had closed the door\nbehind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. The thick,\nwarm air of the conservatory and the rich, choking fragrance of exotic\nplants took us by the throat. He seized my hand in the darkness and led\nme swiftly past banks of shrubs which brushed against our faces. Holmes\nhad remarkable powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in the dark.\nStill holding my hand in one of his, he opened a door, and I was vaguely\nconscious that we had entered a large room in which a cigar had been\nsmoked not long before. He felt his way among the furniture, opened\nanother door, and closed it behind us. Putting out my hand I felt\nseveral coats hanging from the wall, and I understood that I was in a\npassage. We passed along it and Holmes very gently opened a door upon\nthe right-hand side. Something rushed out at us and my heart sprang into\nmy mouth, but I could have laughed when I realized that it was the cat.\nA fire was burning in this new room, and again the air was heavy with\ntobacco smoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for me to follow, and\nthen very gently closed the door. We were in Milverton's study, and a\nportiere at the farther side showed the entrance to his bedroom.\n\nIt was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near the door I\nsaw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary, even if it\nhad been safe, to turn it on. At one side of the fireplace was a heavy\ncurtain which covered the bay window we had seen from outside. On the\nother side was the door which communicated with the veranda. A desk\nstood in the centre, with a turning-chair of shining red leather.\nOpposite was a large bookcase, with a marble bust of Athene on the top.\nIn the corner, between the bookcase and the wall, there stood a tall,\ngreen safe, the firelight flashing back from the polished brass knobs\nupon its face. Holmes stole across and looked at it. Then he crept\nto the door of the bedroom, and stood with slanting head listening\nintently. No sound came from within. Meanwhile it had struck me that\nit would be wise to secure our retreat through the outer door, so\nI examined it. To my amazement, it was neither locked nor bolted.\nI touched Holmes on the arm, and he turned his masked face in that\ndirection. I saw him start, and he was evidently as surprised as I.\n\n\"I don't like it,\" he whispered, putting his lips to my very ear. \"I\ncan't quite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time to lose.\"\n\n\"Can I do anything?\"\n\n\"Yes, stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt it on the inside,\nand we can get away as we came. If they come the other way, we can\nget through the door if our job is done, or hide behind these window\ncurtains if it is not. Do you understand?\"\n\nI nodded, and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear had passed\naway, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed when\nwe were the defenders of the law instead of its defiers. The high object\nof our mission, the consciousness that it was unselfish and chivalrous,\nthe villainous character of our opponent, all added to the sporting\ninterest of the adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I rejoiced and\nexulted in our dangers. With a glow of admiration I watched Holmes\nunrolling his case of instruments and choosing his tool with the calm,\nscientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicate operation. I\nknew that the opening of safes was a particular hobby with him, and I\nunderstood the joy which it gave him to be confronted with this green\nand gold monster, the dragon which held in its maw the reputations of\nmany fair ladies. Turning up the cuffs of his dress-coat--he had placed\nhis overcoat on a chair--Holmes laid out two drills, a jemmy, and\nseveral skeleton keys. I stood at the centre door with my eyes glancing\nat each of the others, ready for any emergency, though, indeed, my plans\nwere somewhat vague as to what I should do if we were interrupted. For\nhalf an hour, Holmes worked with concentrated energy, laying down one\ntool, picking up another, handling each with the strength and delicacy\nof the trained mechanic. Finally I heard a click, the broad green door\nswung open, and inside I had a glimpse of a number of paper packets,\neach tied, sealed, and inscribed. Holmes picked one out, but it was as\nhard to read by the flickering fire, and he drew out his little dark\nlantern, for it was too dangerous, with Milverton in the next room, to\nswitch on the electric light. Suddenly I saw him halt, listen intently,\nand then in an instant he had swung the door of the safe to, picked\nup his coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets, and darted behind the\nwindow curtain, motioning me to do the same.\n\nIt was only when I had joined him there that I heard what had alarmed\nhis quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within the house. A door\nslammed in the distance. Then a confused, dull murmur broke itself into\nthe measured thud of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. They were in\nthe passage outside the room. They paused at the door. The door opened.\nThere was a sharp snick as the electric light was turned on. The door\nclosed once more, and the pungent reek of a strong cigar was borne\nto our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued backward and forward,\nbackward and forward, within a few yards of us. Finally there was a\ncreak from a chair, and the footsteps ceased. Then a key clicked in a\nlock, and I heard the rustle of papers.\n\nSo far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the division\nof the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From the pressure\nof Holmes's shoulder against mine, I knew that he was sharing my\nobservations. Right in front of us, and almost within our reach, was the\nbroad, rounded back of Milverton. It was evident that we had entirely\nmiscalculated his movements, that he had never been to his bedroom,\nbut that he had been sitting up in some smoking or billiard room in the\nfarther wing of the house, the windows of which we had not seen. His\nbroad, grizzled head, with its shining patch of baldness, was in the\nimmediate foreground of our vision. He was leaning far back in the red\nleather chair, his legs outstretched, a long, black cigar projecting\nat an angle from his mouth. He wore a semi-military smoking jacket,\nclaret-coloured, with a black velvet collar. In his hand he held a long,\nlegal document which he was reading in an indolent fashion, blowing\nrings of tobacco smoke from his lips as he did so. There was no promise\nof a speedy departure in his composed bearing and his comfortable\nattitude.\n\nI felt Holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake, as\nif to say that the situation was within his powers, and that he was\neasy in his mind. I was not sure whether he had seen what was only too\nobvious from my position, that the door of the safe was imperfectly\nclosed, and that Milverton might at any moment observe it. In my own\nmind I had determined that if I were sure, from the rigidity of his\ngaze, that it had caught his eye, I would at once spring out, throw my\ngreat coat over his head, pinion him, and leave the rest to Holmes. But\nMilverton never looked up. He was languidly interested by the papers in\nhis hand, and page after page was turned as he followed the argument of\nthe lawyer. At least, I thought, when he has finished the document and\nthe cigar he will go to his room, but before he had reached the end of\neither, there came a remarkable development, which turned our thoughts\ninto quite another channel.\n\nSeveral times I had observed that Milverton looked at his watch, and\nonce he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture of impatience. The\nidea, however, that he might have an appointment at so strange an\nhour never occurred to me until a faint sound reached my ears from\nthe veranda outside. Milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in his\nchair. The sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tap at the\ndoor. Milverton rose and opened it.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, curtly, \"you are nearly half an hour late.\"\n\nSo this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the nocturnal\nvigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of a woman's dress. I\nhad closed the slit between the curtains as Milverton's face had turned\nin our direction, but now I ventured very carefully to open it once\nmore. He had resumed his seat, the cigar still projecting at an insolent\nangle from the corner of his mouth. In front of him, in the full glare\nof the electric light, there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over\nher face, a mantle drawn round her chin. Her breath came quick and fast,\nand every inch of the lithe figure was quivering with strong emotion.\n\n\"Well,\" said Milverton, \"you made me lose a good night's rest, my dear.\nI hope you'll prove worth it. You couldn't come any other time--eh?\"\n\nThe woman shook her head.\n\n\"Well, if you couldn't you couldn't. If the Countess is a hard mistress,\nyou have your chance to get level with her now. Bless the girl, what are\nyou shivering about? That's right. Pull yourself together. Now, let us\nget down to business.\" He took a notebook from the drawer of his desk.\n\"You say that you have five letters which compromise the Countess\nd'Albert. You want to sell them. I want to buy them. So far so good. It\nonly remains to fix a price. I should want to inspect the letters, of\ncourse. If they are really good specimens--Great heavens, is it you?\"\n\nThe woman, without a word, had raised her veil and dropped the mantle\nfrom her chin. It was a dark, handsome, clear-cut face which confronted\nMilverton--a face with a curved nose, strong, dark eyebrows shading\nhard, glittering eyes, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth set in a\ndangerous smile.\n\n\"It is I,\" she said, \"the woman whose life you have ruined.\"\n\nMilverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. \"You were so very\nobstinate,\" said he. \"Why did you drive me to such extremities? I\nassure you I wouldn't hurt a fly of my own accord, but every man has his\nbusiness, and what was I to do? I put the price well within your means.\nYou would not pay.\"\n\n\"So you sent the letters to my husband, and he--the noblest gentleman\nthat ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthy to lace--he broke\nhis gallant heart and died. You remember that last night, when I came\nthrough that door, I begged and prayed you for mercy, and you laughed\nin my face as you are trying to laugh now, only your coward heart cannot\nkeep your lips from twitching. Yes, you never thought to see me here\nagain, but it was that night which taught me how I could meet you face\nto face, and alone. Well, Charles Milverton, what have you to say?\"\n\n\"Don't imagine that you can bully me,\" said he, rising to his feet. \"I\nhave only to raise my voice and I could call my servants and have you\narrested. But I will make allowance for your natural anger. Leave the\nroom at once as you came, and I will say no more.\"\n\nThe woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the same deadly\nsmile on her thin lips.\n\n\"You will ruin no more lives as you have ruined mine. You will wring\nno more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a poisonous\nthing. Take that, you hound--and that!--and that!--and that!\"\n\nShe had drawn a little gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel after\nbarrel into Milverton's body, the muzzle within two feet of his shirt\nfront. He shrank away and then fell forward upon the table, coughing\nfuriously and clawing among the papers. Then he staggered to his feet,\nreceived another shot, and rolled upon the floor. \"You've done me,\" he\ncried, and lay still. The woman looked at him intently, and ground her\nheel into his upturned face. She looked again, but there was no sound\nor movement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew into the heated\nroom, and the avenger was gone.\n\nNo interference upon our part could have saved the man from his fate,\nbut, as the woman poured bullet after bullet into Milverton's shrinking\nbody I was about to spring out, when I felt Holmes's cold, strong grasp\nupon my wrist. I understood the whole argument of that firm, restraining\ngrip--that it was no affair of ours, that justice had overtaken a\nvillain, that we had our own duties and our own objects, which were not\nto be lost sight of. But hardly had the woman rushed from the room when\nHolmes, with swift, silent steps, was over at the other door. He turned\nthe key in the lock. At the same instant we heard voices in the house\nand the sound of hurrying feet. The revolver shots had roused the\nhousehold. With perfect coolness Holmes slipped across to the safe,\nfilled his two arms with bundles of letters, and poured them all into\nthe fire. Again and again he did it, until the safe was empty. Someone\nturned the handle and beat upon the outside of the door. Holmes looked\nswiftly round. The letter which had been the messenger of death for\nMilverton lay, all mottled with his blood, upon the table. Holmes tossed\nit in among the blazing papers. Then he drew the key from the outer\ndoor, passed through after me, and locked it on the outside. \"This way,\nWatson,\" said he, \"we can scale the garden wall in this direction.\"\n\nI could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so swiftly.\nLooking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. The front door\nwas open, and figures were rushing down the drive. The whole garden was\nalive with people, and one fellow raised a view-halloa as we emerged\nfrom the veranda and followed hard at our heels. Holmes seemed to\nknow the grounds perfectly, and he threaded his way swiftly among\na plantation of small trees, I close at his heels, and our foremost\npursuer panting behind us. It was a six-foot wall which barred our path,\nbut he sprang to the top and over. As I did the same I felt the hand\nof the man behind me grab at my ankle, but I kicked myself free and\nscrambled over a grass-strewn coping. I fell upon my face among some\nbushes, but Holmes had me on my feet in an instant, and together we\ndashed away across the huge expanse of Hampstead Heath. We had run two\nmiles, I suppose, before Holmes at last halted and listened intently.\nAll was absolute silence behind us. We had shaken off our pursuers and\nwere safe.\n\nWe had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on the day after\nthe remarkable experience which I have recorded, when Mr. Lestrade, of\nScotland Yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered into our modest\nsitting-room.\n\n\"Good-morning, Mr. Holmes,\" said he; \"good-morning. May I ask if you are\nvery busy just now?\"\n\n\"Not too busy to listen to you.\"\n\n\"I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, you\nmight care to assist us in a most remarkable case, which occurred only\nlast night at Hampstead.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Holmes. \"What was that?\"\n\n\"A murder--a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know how keen you\nare upon these things, and I would take it as a great favour if you\nwould step down to Appledore Towers, and give us the benefit of your\nadvice. It is no ordinary crime. We have had our eyes upon this Mr.\nMilverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a\nvillain. He is known to have held papers which he used for blackmailing\npurposes. These papers have all been burned by the murderers. No article\nof value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of\ngood position, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure.\"\n\n\"Criminals?\" said Holmes. \"Plural?\"\n\n\"Yes, there were two of them. They were as nearly as possible captured\nred-handed. We have their footmarks, we have their description, it's ten\nto one that we trace them. The first fellow was a bit too active, but\nthe second was caught by the under-gardener, and only got away after a\nstruggle. He was a middle-sized, strongly built man--square jaw, thick\nneck, moustache, a mask over his eyes.\"\n\n\"That's rather vague,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"My, it might be a\ndescription of Watson!\"\n\n\"It's true,\" said the inspector, with amusement. \"It might be a\ndescription of Watson.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, Lestrade,\" said Holmes. \"The fact is\nthat I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one of the most\ndangerous men in London, and that I think there are certain crimes\nwhich the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify\nprivate revenge. No, it's no use arguing. I have made up my mind. My\nsympathies are with the criminals rather than with the victim, and I\nwill not handle this case.\"\n\nHolmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which we had\nwitnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in his most\nthoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from his vacant eyes and\nhis abstracted manner, of a man who is striving to recall something to\nhis memory. We were in the middle of our lunch, when he suddenly sprang\nto his feet. \"By Jove, Watson, I've got it!\" he cried. \"Take your hat!\nCome with me!\" He hurried at his top speed down Baker Street and along\nOxford Street, until we had almost reached Regent Circus. Here, on the\nleft hand, there stands a shop window filled with photographs of the\ncelebrities and beauties of the day. Holmes's eyes fixed themselves upon\none of them, and following his gaze I saw the picture of a regal and\nstately lady in Court dress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noble\nhead. I looked at that delicately curved nose, at the marked eyebrows,\nat the straight mouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I\ncaught my breath as I read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman\nand statesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes, and\nhe put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE SIX NAPOLEONS\n\n\nIt was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to\nlook in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to Sherlock\nHolmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going on\nat the police headquarters. In return for the news which Lestrade would\nbring, Holmes was always ready to listen with attention to the\ndetails of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was able\noccasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint or\nsuggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience.\n\nOn this particular evening, Lestrade had spoken of the weather and\nthe newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his\ncigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.\n\n\"Anything remarkable on hand?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes--nothing very particular.\"\n\n\"Then tell me about it.\"\n\nLestrade laughed.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there IS something on my\nmind. And yet it is such an absurd business, that I hesitated to\nbother you about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is\nundoubtedly queer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is out\nof the common. But, in my opinion, it comes more in Dr. Watson's line\nthan ours.\"\n\n\"Disease?\" said I.\n\n\"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness, too. You wouldn't think there was\nanyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred of Napoleon the\nFirst that he would break any image of him that he could see.\"\n\nHolmes sank back in his chair.\n\n\"That's no business of mine,\" said he.\n\n\"Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man commits burglary\nin order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away from\nthe doctor and on to the policeman.\"\n\nHolmes sat up again.\n\n\"Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear the details.\"\n\nLestrade took out his official notebook and refreshed his memory from\nits pages.\n\n\"The first case reported was four days ago,\" said he. \"It was at the\nshop of Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of pictures and\nstatues in the Kennington Road. The assistant had left the front shop\nfor an instant, when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a\nplaster bust of Napoleon, which stood with several other works of art\nupon the counter, lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out into the\nroad, but, although several passers-by declared that they had noticed a\nman run out of the shop, he could neither see anyone nor could he\nfind any means of identifying the rascal. It seemed to be one of those\nsenseless acts of Hooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was\nreported to the constable on the beat as such. The plaster cast was not\nworth more than a few shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too\nchildish for any particular investigation.\n\n\"The second case, however, was more serious, and also more singular. It\noccurred only last night.\n\n\"In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred yards of Morse Hudson's\nshop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner, named Dr. Barnicot,\nwho has one of the largest practices upon the south side of the Thames.\nHis residence and principal consulting-room is at Kennington Road, but\nhe has a branch surgery and dispensary at Lower Brixton Road, two miles\naway. This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and his\nhouse is full of books, pictures, and relics of the French Emperor. Some\nlittle time ago he purchased from Morse Hudson two duplicate plaster\ncasts of the famous head of Napoleon by the French sculptor, Devine. One\nof these he placed in his hall in the house at Kennington Road, and the\nother on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr.\nBarnicot came down this morning he was astonished to find that his house\nhad been burgled during the night, but that nothing had been taken save\nthe plaster head from the hall. It had been carried out and had been\ndashed savagely against the garden wall, under which its splintered\nfragments were discovered.\"\n\nHolmes rubbed his hands.\n\n\"This is certainly very novel,\" said he.\n\n\"I thought it would please you. But I have not got to the end yet. Dr.\nBarnicot was due at his surgery at twelve o'clock, and you can imagine\nhis amazement when, on arriving there, he found that the window had been\nopened in the night and that the broken pieces of his second bust were\nstrewn all over the room. It had been smashed to atoms where it stood.\nIn neither case were there any signs which could give us a clue as to\nthe criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes, you\nhave got the facts.\"\n\n\"They are singular, not to say grotesque,\" said Holmes. \"May I ask\nwhether the two busts smashed in Dr. Barnicot's rooms were the exact\nduplicates of the one which was destroyed in Morse Hudson's shop?\"\n\n\"They were taken from the same mould.\"\n\n\"Such a fact must tell against the theory that the man who breaks them\nis influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how many\nhundreds of statues of the great Emperor must exist in London, it is\ntoo much to suppose such a coincidence as that a promiscuous iconoclast\nshould chance to begin upon three specimens of the same bust.\"\n\n\"Well, I thought as you do,\" said Lestrade. \"On the other hand, this\nMorse Hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part of London, and these\nthree were the only ones which had been in his shop for years. So,\nalthough, as you say, there are many hundreds of statues in London, it\nis very probable that these three were the only ones in that district.\nTherefore, a local fanatic would begin with them. What do you think, Dr.\nWatson?\"\n\n\"There are no limits to the possibilities of monomania,\" I answered.\n\"There is the condition which the modern French psychologists have\ncalled the 'IDEE FIXE,' which may be trifling in character, and\naccompanied by complete sanity in every other way. A man who had read\ndeeply about Napoleon, or who had possibly received some hereditary\nfamily injury through the great war, might conceivably form such an IDEE\nFIXE and under its influence be capable of any fantastic outrage.\"\n\n\"That won't do, my dear Watson,\" said Holmes, shaking his head, \"for no\namount of IDEE FIXE would enable your interesting monomaniac to find out\nwhere these busts were situated.\"\n\n\"Well, how do YOU explain it?\"\n\n\"I don't attempt to do so. I would only observe that there is a certain\nmethod in the gentleman's eccentric proceedings. For example, in Dr.\nBarnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse the family, the bust was\ntaken outside before being broken, whereas in the surgery, where there\nwas less danger of an alarm, it was smashed where it stood. The affair\nseems absurdly trifling, and yet I dare call nothing trivial when I\nreflect that some of my most classic cases have had the least promising\ncommencement. You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business of\nthe Abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth which\nthe parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day. I can't afford,\ntherefore, to smile at your three broken busts, Lestrade, and I shall\nbe very much obliged to you if you will let me hear of any fresh\ndevelopment of so singular a chain of events.\"\n\n\nThe development for which my friend had asked came in a quicker and an\ninfinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. I was still\ndressing in my bedroom next morning, when there was a tap at the door\nand Holmes entered, a telegram in his hand. He read it aloud:\n\n\n\"Come instantly, 131 Pitt Street, Kensington.\n\n\"LESTRADE.\"\n\n\n\"What is it, then?\" I asked.\n\n\"Don't know--may be anything. But I suspect it is the sequel of the\nstory of the statues. In that case our friend the image-breaker has\nbegun operations in another quarter of London. There's coffee on the\ntable, Watson, and I have a cab at the door.\"\n\nIn half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a quiet little backwater\njust beside one of the briskest currents of London life. No. 131 was one\nof a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unromantic dwellings.\nAs we drove up, we found the railings in front of the house lined by a\ncurious crowd. Holmes whistled.\n\n\"By George! It's attempted murder at the least. Nothing less will hold\nthe London message-boy. There's a deed of violence indicated in that\nfellow's round shoulders and outstretched neck. What's this, Watson? The\ntop steps swilled down and the other ones dry. Footsteps enough, anyhow!\nWell, well, there's Lestrade at the front window, and we shall soon know\nall about it.\"\n\nThe official received us with a very grave face and showed us into a\nsitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated elderly\nman, clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up and down. He was\nintroduced to us as the owner of the house--Mr. Horace Harker, of the\nCentral Press Syndicate.\n\n\"It's the Napoleon bust business again,\" said Lestrade. \"You seemed\ninterested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thought perhaps you would be\nglad to be present now that the affair has taken a very much graver\nturn.\"\n\n\"What has it turned to, then?\"\n\n\"To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these gentlemen exactly what has\noccurred?\"\n\nThe man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a most melancholy face.\n\n\"It's an extraordinary thing,\" said he, \"that all my life I have been\ncollecting other people's news, and now that a real piece of news has\ncome my own way I am so confused and bothered that I can't put two\nwords together. If I had come in here as a journalist, I should have\ninterviewed myself and had two columns in every evening paper. As it is,\nI am giving away valuable copy by telling my story over and over to a\nstring of different people, and I can make no use of it myself. However,\nI've heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and if you'll only explain\nthis queer business, I shall be paid for my trouble in telling you the\nstory.\"\n\nHolmes sat down and listened.\n\n\"It all seems to centre round that bust of Napoleon which I bought for\nthis very room about four months ago. I picked it up cheap from Harding\nBrothers, two doors from the High Street Station. A great deal of my\njournalistic work is done at night, and I often write until the early\nmorning. So it was to-day. I was sitting in my den, which is at the back\nof the top of the house, about three o'clock, when I was convinced that\nI heard some sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were not repeated,\nand I concluded that they came from outside. Then suddenly, about five\nminutes later, there came a most horrible yell--the most dreadful sound,\nMr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It will ring in my ears as long as I\nlive. I sat frozen with horror for a minute or two. Then I seized the\npoker and went downstairs. When I entered this room I found the window\nwide open, and I at once observed that the bust was gone from the\nmantelpiece. Why any burglar should take such a thing passes my\nunderstanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value\nwhatever.\n\n\"You can see for yourself that anyone going out through that open window\ncould reach the front doorstep by taking a long stride. This was clearly\nwhat the burglar had done, so I went round and opened the door. Stepping\nout into the dark, I nearly fell over a dead man, who was lying there. I\nran back for a light and there was the poor fellow, a great gash in his\nthroat and the whole place swimming in blood. He lay on his back, his\nknees drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. I shall see him in my\ndreams. I had just time to blow on my police-whistle, and then I must\nhave fainted, for I knew nothing more until I found the policeman\nstanding over me in the hall.\"\n\n\"Well, who was the murdered man?\" asked Holmes.\n\n\"There's nothing to show who he was,\" said Lestrade. \"You shall see the\nbody at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up to now. He is a\ntall man, sunburned, very powerful, not more than thirty. He is poorly\ndressed, and yet does not appear to be a labourer. A horn-handled clasp\nknife was lying in a pool of blood beside him. Whether it was the weapon\nwhich did the deed, or whether it belonged to the dead man, I do not\nknow. There was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets save\nan apple, some string, a shilling map of London, and a photograph. Here\nit is.\"\n\nIt was evidently taken by a snapshot from a small camera. It represented\nan alert, sharp-featured simian man, with thick eyebrows and a very\npeculiar projection of the lower part of the face, like the muzzle of a\nbaboon.\n\n\"And what became of the bust?\" asked Holmes, after a careful study of\nthis picture.\n\n\"We had news of it just before you came. It has been found in the front\ngarden of an empty house in Campden House Road. It was broken into\nfragments. I am going round now to see it. Will you come?\"\n\n\"Certainly. I must just take one look round.\" He examined the carpet and\nthe window. \"The fellow had either very long legs or was a most active\nman,\" said he. \"With an area beneath, it was no mean feat to reach\nthat window ledge and open that window. Getting back was comparatively\nsimple. Are you coming with us to see the remains of your bust, Mr.\nHarker?\"\n\nThe disconsolate journalist had seated himself at a writing-table.\n\n\"I must try and make something of it,\" said he, \"though I have no doubt\nthat the first editions of the evening papers are out already with\nfull details. It's like my luck! You remember when the stand fell at\nDoncaster? Well, I was the only journalist in the stand, and my journal\nthe only one that had no account of it, for I was too shaken to write\nit. And now I'll be too late with a murder done on my own doorstep.\"\n\nAs we left the room, we heard his pen travelling shrilly over the\nfoolscap.\n\nThe spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was only a\nfew hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes rested upon this\npresentment of the great emperor, which seemed to raise such frantic\nand destructive hatred in the mind of the unknown. It lay scattered, in\nsplintered shards, upon the grass. Holmes picked up several of them and\nexamined them carefully. I was convinced, from his intent face and his\npurposeful manner, that at last he was upon a clue.\n\n\"Well?\" asked Lestrade.\n\nHolmes shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"We have a long way to go yet,\" said he. \"And yet--and yet--well, we\nhave some suggestive facts to act upon. The possession of this trifling\nbust was worth more, in the eyes of this strange criminal, than a human\nlife. That is one point. Then there is the singular fact that he did not\nbreak it in the house, or immediately outside the house, if to break it\nwas his sole object.\"\n\n\"He was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. He hardly knew\nwhat he was doing.\"\n\n\"Well, that's likely enough. But I wish to call your attention very\nparticularly to the position of this house, in the garden of which the\nbust was destroyed.\"\n\nLestrade looked about him.\n\n\"It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not be disturbed in\nthe garden.\"\n\n\"Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the street which he\nmust have passed before he came to this one. Why did he not break it\nthere, since it is evident that every yard that he carried it increased\nthe risk of someone meeting him?\"\n\n\"I give it up,\" said Lestrade.\n\nHolmes pointed to the street lamp above our heads.\n\n\"He could see what he was doing here, and he could not there. That was\nhis reason.\"\n\n\"By Jove! that's true,\" said the detective. \"Now that I come to think of\nit, Dr. Barnicot's bust was broken not far from his red lamp. Well, Mr.\nHolmes, what are we to do with that fact?\"\n\n\"To remember it--to docket it. We may come on something later which will\nbear upon it. What steps do you propose to take now, Lestrade?\"\n\n\"The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is to identify\nthe dead man. There should be no difficulty about that. When we have\nfound who he is and who his associates are, we should have a good start\nin learning what he was doing in Pitt Street last night, and who it was\nwho met him and killed him on the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Don't\nyou think so?\"\n\n\"No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I should approach\nthe case.\"\n\n\"What would you do then?\"\n\n\"Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way. I suggest that you\ngo on your line and I on mine. We can compare notes afterwards, and each\nwill supplement the other.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" said Lestrade.\n\n\"If you are going back to Pitt Street, you might see Mr. Horace Harker.\nTell him for me that I have quite made up my mind, and that it is\ncertain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic, with Napoleonic delusions,\nwas in his house last night. It will be useful for his article.\"\n\nLestrade stared.\n\n\"You don't seriously believe that?\"\n\nHolmes smiled.\n\n\"Don't I? Well, perhaps I don't. But I am sure that it will interest Mr.\nHorace Harker and the subscribers of the Central Press Syndicate.\nNow, Watson, I think that we shall find that we have a long and rather\ncomplex day's work before us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you could\nmake it convenient to meet us at Baker Street at six o'clock this\nevening. Until then I should like to keep this photograph, found in the\ndead man's pocket. It is possible that I may have to ask your company\nand assistance upon a small expedition which will have be undertaken\nto-night, if my chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Until\nthen good-bye and good luck!\"\n\nSherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, where we\nstopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust had been\npurchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Harding would be\nabsent until afternoon, and that he was himself a newcomer, who could\ngive us no information. Holmes's face showed his disappointment and\nannoyance.\n\n\"Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way, Watson,\" he\nsaid, at last. \"We must come back in the afternoon, if Mr. Harding\nwill not be here until then. I am, as you have no doubt surmised,\nendeavouring to trace these busts to their source, in order to find if\nthere is not something peculiar which may account for their remarkable\nfate. Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see\nif he can throw any light upon the problem.\"\n\nA drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer's establishment. He\nwas a small, stout man with a red face and a peppery manner.\n\n\"Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir,\" said he. \"What we pay rates and\ntaxes for I don't know, when any ruffian can come in and break one's\ngoods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot his two statues.\nDisgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot--that's what I make it. No one but an\nanarchist would go about breaking statues. Red republicans--that's what\nI call 'em. Who did I get the statues from? I don't see what that has to\ndo with it. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from Gelder\n& Co., in Church Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in the\ntrade, and have been this twenty years. How many had I? Three--two and\none are three--two of Dr. Barnicot's, and one smashed in broad daylight\non my own counter. Do I know that photograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do,\nthough. Why, it's Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work man, who\nmade himself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit, and gild and\nframe, and do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heard\nnothing of him since. No, I don't know where he came from nor where he\nwent to. I had nothing against him while he was here. He was gone two\ndays before the bust was smashed.\"\n\n\"Well, that's all we could reasonably expect from Morse Hudson,\" said\nHolmes, as we emerged from the shop. \"We have this Beppo as a common\nfactor, both in Kennington and in Kensington, so that is worth a\nten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let us make for Gelder & Co., of Stepney,\nthe source and origin of the busts. I shall be surprised if we don't get\nsome help down there.\"\n\nIn rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionable London,\nhotel London, theatrical London, literary London, commercial London,\nand, finally, maritime London, till we came to a riverside city of a\nhundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter and reek with\nthe outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abode\nof wealthy City merchants, we found the sculpture works for which we\nsearched. Outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry.\nInside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving or moulding.\nThe manager, a big blond German, received us civilly and gave a clear\nanswer to all Holmes's questions. A reference to his books showed that\nhundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Devine's head of\nNapoleon, but that the three which had been sent to Morse Hudson a year\nor so before had been half of a batch of six, the other three being sent\nto Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no reason why those six\nshould be different from any of the other casts. He could suggest no\npossible cause why anyone should wish to destroy them--in fact, he\nlaughed at the idea. Their wholesale price was six shillings, but the\nretailer would get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two moulds from\neach side of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of Paris\nwere joined together to make the complete bust. The work was usually\ndone by Italians, in the room we were in. When finished, the busts were\nput on a table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That was\nall he could tell us.\n\nBut the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon the\nmanager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over his\nblue Teutonic eyes.\n\n\"Ah, the rascal!\" he cried. \"Yes, indeed, I know him very well. This has\nalways been a respectable establishment, and the only time that we have\never had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was more than a\nyear ago now. He knifed another Italian in the street, and then he came\nto the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken here. Beppo\nwas his name--his second name I never knew. Serve me right for engaging\na man with such a face. But he was a good workman--one of the best.\"\n\n\"What did he get?\"\n\n\"The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he is out\nnow, but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have a cousin of his\nhere, and I daresay he could tell you where he is.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Holmes, \"not a word to the cousin--not a word, I beg\nof you. The matter is very important, and the farther I go with it, the\nmore important it seems to grow. When you referred in your ledger to the\nsale of those casts I observed that the date was June 3rd of last year.\nCould you give me the date when Beppo was arrested?\"\n\n\"I could tell you roughly by the pay-list,\" the manager answered. \"Yes,\"\nhe continued, after some turning over of pages, \"he was paid last on May\n20th.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Holmes. \"I don't think that I need intrude upon your\ntime and patience any more.\" With a last word of caution that he should\nsay nothing as to our researches, we turned our faces westward once\nmore.\n\nThe afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hasty\nluncheon at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entrance announced\n\"Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman,\" and the contents of the paper\nshowed that Mr. Horace Harker had got his account into print after\nall. Two columns were occupied with a highly sensational and flowery\nrendering of the whole incident. Holmes propped it against the\ncruet-stand and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled.\n\n\"This is all right, Watson,\" said he. \"Listen to this:\n\n\"It is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference of opinion\nupon this case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experienced\nmembers of the official force, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well known\nconsulting expert, have each come to the conclusion that the grotesque\nseries of incidents, which have ended in so tragic a fashion, arise from\nlunacy rather than from deliberate crime. No explanation save mental\naberration can cover the facts.\n\n\"The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institution, if you only know how\nto use it. And now, if you have quite finished, we will hark back to\nKensington and see what the manager of Harding Brothers has to say on\nthe matter.\"\n\nThe founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp little\nperson, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue.\n\n\"Yes, sir, I have already read the account in the evening papers. Mr.\nHorace Harker is a customer of ours. We supplied him with the bust some\nmonths ago. We ordered three busts of that sort from Gelder & Co., of\nStepney. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I daresay by consulting our\nsales book we could very easily tell you. Yes, we have the entries here.\nOne to Mr. Harker you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, of Laburnum\nLodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford, of Lower Grove\nRoad, Reading. No, I have never seen this face which you show me in the\nphotograph. You would hardly forget it, would you, sir, for I've seldom\nseen an uglier. Have we any Italians on the staff? Yes, sir, we have\nseveral among our workpeople and cleaners. I daresay they might get a\npeep at that sales book if they wanted to. There is no particular reason\nfor keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it's a very strange\nbusiness, and I hope that you will let me know if anything comes of your\ninquiries.\"\n\nHolmes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evidence, and I\ncould see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairs\nwere taking. He made no remark, however, save that, unless we hurried,\nwe should be late for our appointment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when\nwe reached Baker Street the detective was already there, and we found\nhim pacing up and down in a fever of impatience. His look of importance\nshowed that his day's work had not been in vain.\n\n\"Well?\" he asked. \"What luck, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"We have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted one,\" my friend\nexplained. \"We have seen both the retailers and also the wholesale\nmanufacturers. I can trace each of the busts now from the beginning.\"\n\n\"The busts,\" cried Lestrade. \"Well, well, you have your own methods, Mr.\nSherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say a word against them, but\nI think I have done a better day's work than you. I have identified the\ndead man.\"\n\n\"You don't say so?\"\n\n\"And found a cause for the crime.\"\n\n\"Splendid!\"\n\n\"We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Saffron Hill and the\nItalian Quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholic emblem round his\nneck, and that, along with his colour, made me think he was from the\nSouth. Inspector Hill knew him the moment he caught sight of him. His\nname is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the greatest\ncut-throats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as you\nknow, is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder.\nNow, you see how the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow is\nprobably an Italian also, and a member of the Mafia. He has broken\nthe rules in some fashion. Pietro is set upon his track. Probably the\nphotograph we found in his pocket is the man himself, so that he may not\nknife the wrong person. He dogs the fellow, he sees him enter a house,\nhe waits outside for him, and in the scuffle he receives his own\ndeath-wound. How is that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?\"\n\nHolmes clapped his hands approvingly.\n\n\"Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!\" he cried. \"But I didn't quite follow\nyour explanation of the destruction of the busts.\"\n\n\"The busts! You never can get those busts out of your head. After all,\nthat is nothing; petty larceny, six months at the most. It is the murder\nthat we are really investigating, and I tell you that I am gathering all\nthe threads into my hands.\"\n\n\"And the next stage?\"\n\n\"Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italian Quarter,\nfind the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest him on the charge\nof murder. Will you come with us?\"\n\n\"I think not. I fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. I can't\nsay for certain, because it all depends--well, it all depends upon\na factor which is completely outside our control. But I have great\nhopes--in fact, the betting is exactly two to one--that if you will come\nwith us to-night I shall be able to help you to lay him by the heels.\"\n\n\"In the Italian Quarter?\"\n\n\"No, I fancy Chiswick is an address which is more likely to find him. If\nyou will come with me to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade, I'll promise to go\nto the Italian Quarter with you to-morrow, and no harm will be done by\nthe delay. And now I think that a few hours' sleep would do us all good,\nfor I do not propose to leave before eleven o'clock, and it is unlikely\nthat we shall be back before morning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade, and\nthen you are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. In\nthe meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring for an express\nmessenger, for I have a letter to send and it is important that it\nshould go at once.\"\n\nHolmes spent the evening in rummaging among the files of the old daily\npapers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. When at last\nhe descended, it was with triumph in his eyes, but he said nothing to\neither of us as to the result of his researches. For my own part, I had\nfollowed step by step the methods by which he had traced the various\nwindings of this complex case, and, though I could not yet perceive the\ngoal which we would reach, I understood clearly that Holmes expected\nthis grotesque criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts,\none of which, I remembered, was at Chiswick. No doubt the object of our\njourney was to catch him in the very act, and I could not but admire the\ncunning with which my friend had inserted a wrong clue in the evening\npaper, so as to give the fellow the idea that he could continue his\nscheme with impunity. I was not surprised when Holmes suggested that\nI should take my revolver with me. He had himself picked up the loaded\nhunting-crop, which was his favourite weapon.\n\nA four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to a spot\nat the other side of Hammersmith Bridge. Here the cabman was directed to\nwait. A short walk brought us to a secluded road fringed with pleasant\nhouses, each standing in its own grounds. In the light of a street\nlamp we read \"Laburnum Villa\" upon the gate-post of one of them. The\noccupants had evidently retired to rest, for all was dark save for a\nfanlight over the hall door, which shed a single blurred circle on to\nthe garden path. The wooden fence which separated the grounds from the\nroad threw a dense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was\nthat we crouched.\n\n\"I fear that you'll have a long wait,\" Holmes whispered. \"We may thank\nour stars that it is not raining. I don't think we can even venture to\nsmoke to pass the time. However, it's a two to one chance that we get\nsomething to pay us for our trouble.\"\n\nIt proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as Holmes had\nled us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In\nan instant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the garden\ngate swung open, and a lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as an\nape, rushed up the garden path. We saw it whisk past the light thrown\nfrom over the door and disappear against the black shadow of the house.\nThere was a long pause, during which we held our breath, and then a very\ngentle creaking sound came to our ears. The window was being opened. The\nnoise ceased, and again there was a long silence. The fellow was making\nhis way into the house. We saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern inside\nthe room. What he sought was evidently not there, for again we saw the\nflash through another blind, and then through another.\n\n\"Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he climbs out,\"\nLestrade whispered.\n\nBut before we could move, the man had emerged again. As he came out into\nthe glimmering patch of light, we saw that he carried something white\nunder his arm. He looked stealthily all round him. The silence of the\ndeserted street reassured him. Turning his back upon us he laid down\nhis burden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap,\nfollowed by a clatter and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he was\ndoing that he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot.\nWith the bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant later\nLestrade and I had him by either wrist, and the handcuffs had been\nfastened. As we turned him over I saw a hideous, sallow face, with\nwrithing, furious features, glaring up at us, and I knew that it was\nindeed the man of the photograph whom we had secured.\n\nBut it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes was giving his attention.\nSquatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in most carefully examining\nthat which the man had brought from the house. It was a bust of\nNapoleon, like the one which we had seen that morning, and it had been\nbroken into similar fragments. Carefully Holmes held each separate shard\nto the light, but in no way did it differ from any other shattered piece\nof plaster. He had just completed his examination when the hall lights\nflew up, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial, rotund\nfigure in shirt and trousers, presented himself.\n\n\"Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had the note\nwhich you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactly what you told\nme. We locked every door on the inside and awaited developments. Well,\nI'm very glad to see that you have got the rascal. I hope, gentlemen,\nthat you will come in and have some refreshment.\"\n\nHowever, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters, so\nwithin a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were all four upon\nour way to London. Not a word would our captive say, but he glared at us\nfrom the shadow of his matted hair, and once, when my hand seemed within\nhis reach, he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. We stayed long enough\nat the police-station to learn that a search of his clothing revealed\nnothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife, the handle of\nwhich bore copious traces of recent blood.\n\n\"That's all right,\" said Lestrade, as we parted. \"Hill knows all these\ngentry, and he will give a name to him. You'll find that my theory of\nthe Mafia will work out all right. But I'm sure I am exceedingly obliged\nto you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike way in which you laid hands upon\nhim. I don't quite understand it all yet.\"\n\n\"I fear it is rather too late an hour for explanations,\" said Holmes.\n\"Besides, there are one or two details which are not finished off, and\nit is one of those cases which are worth working out to the very end.\nIf you will come round once more to my rooms at six o'clock to-morrow, I\nthink I shall be able to show you that even now you have not grasped the\nentire meaning of this business, which presents some features which make\nit absolutely original in the history of crime. If ever I permit you\nto chronicle any more of my little problems, Watson, I foresee that you\nwill enliven your pages by an account of the singular adventure of the\nNapoleonic busts.\"\n\nWhen we met again next evening, Lestrade was furnished with much\ninformation concerning our prisoner. His name, it appeared, was Beppo,\nsecond name unknown. He was a well-known ne'er-do-well among the Italian\ncolony. He had once been a skilful sculptor and had earned an honest\nliving, but he had taken to evil courses and had twice already been in\njail--once for a petty theft, and once, as we had already heard, for\nstabbing a fellow-countryman. He could talk English perfectly well. His\nreasons for destroying the busts were still unknown, and he refused to\nanswer any questions upon the subject, but the police had discovered\nthat these same busts might very well have been made by his own hands,\nsince he was engaged in this class of work at the establishment of\nGelder & Co. To all this information, much of which we already knew,\nHolmes listened with polite attention, but I, who knew him so well,\ncould clearly see that his thoughts were elsewhere, and I detected a\nmixture of mingled uneasiness and expectation beneath that mask which\nhe was wont to assume. At last he started in his chair, and his eyes\nbrightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A minute later we heard\nsteps upon the stairs, and an elderly red-faced man with grizzled\nside-whiskers was ushered in. In his right hand he carried an\nold-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placed upon the table.\n\n\"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?\"\n\nMy friend bowed and smiled. \"Mr. Sandeford, of Reading, I suppose?\" said\nhe.\n\n\"Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late, but the trains were awkward.\nYou wrote to me about a bust that is in my possession.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"I have your letter here. You said, 'I desire to possess a copy of\nDevine's Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds for the one\nwhich is in your possession.' Is that right?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"I was very much surprised at your letter, for I could not imagine how\nyou knew that I owned such a thing.\"\n\n\"Of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation is very\nsimple. Mr. Harding, of Harding Brothers, said that they had sold you\ntheir last copy, and he gave me your address.\"\n\n\"Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I paid for it?\"\n\n\"No, he did not.\"\n\n\"Well, I am an honest man, though not a very rich one. I only gave\nfifteen shillings for the bust, and I think you ought to know that\nbefore I take ten pounds from you.\n\n\"I am sure the scruple does you honour, Mr. Sandeford. But I have named\nthat price, so I intend to stick to it.\"\n\n\"Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. I brought the bust up\nwith me, as you asked me to do. Here it is!\" He opened his bag, and at\nlast we saw placed upon our table a complete specimen of that bust which\nwe had already seen more than once in fragments.\n\nHolmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound note upon the\ntable.\n\n\"You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in the presence of\nthese witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer every possible\nright that you ever had in the bust to me. I am a methodical man, you\nsee, and you never know what turn events might take afterwards. Thank\nyou, Mr. Sandeford; here is your money, and I wish you a very good\nevening.\"\n\nWhen our visitor had disappeared, Sherlock Holmes's movements were such\nas to rivet our attention. He began by taking a clean white cloth from\na drawer and laying it over the table. Then he placed his newly acquired\nbust in the centre of the cloth. Finally, he picked up his hunting-crop\nand struck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. The figure\nbroke into fragments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the shattered\nremains. Next instant, with a loud shout of triumph he held up one\nsplinter, in which a round, dark object was fixed like a plum in a\npudding.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" he cried, \"let me introduce you to the famous black pearl\nof the Borgias.\"\n\nLestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneous\nimpulse, we both broke at clapping, as at the well-wrought crisis of a\nplay. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed to\nus like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience.\nIt was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning\nmachine, and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. The\nsame singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain\nfrom popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths by\nspontaneous wonder and praise from a friend.\n\n\"Yes, gentlemen,\" said he, \"it is the most famous pearl now existing\nin the world, and it has been my good fortune, by a connected chain of\ninductive reasoning, to trace it from the Prince of Colonna's bedroom at\nthe Dacre Hotel, where it was lost, to the interior of this, the last\nof the six busts of Napoleon which were manufactured by Gelder & Co.,\nof Stepney. You will remember, Lestrade, the sensation caused by the\ndisappearance of this valuable jewel and the vain efforts of the London\npolice to recover it. I was myself consulted upon the case, but I was\nunable to throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of the\nPrincess, who was an Italian, and it was proved that she had a brother\nin London, but we failed to trace any connection between them. The\nmaid's name was Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubt in my mind that\nthis Pietro who was murdered two nights ago was the brother. I have been\nlooking up the dates in the old files of the paper, and I find that the\ndisappearance of the pearl was exactly two days before the arrest of\nBeppo, for some crime of violence--an event which took place in the\nfactory of Gelder & Co., at the very moment when these busts were being\nmade. Now you clearly see the sequence of events, though you see them,\nof course, in the inverse order to the way in which they presented\nthemselves to me. Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He may have\nstolen it from Pietro, he may have been Pietro's confederate, he\nmay have been the go-between of Pietro and his sister. It is of no\nconsequence to us which is the correct solution.\n\n\"The main fact is that he HAD the pearl, and at that moment, when it was\non his person, he was pursued by the police. He made for the factory in\nwhich he worked, and he knew that he had only a few minutes in which to\nconceal this enormously valuable prize, which would otherwise be found\non him when he was searched. Six plaster casts of Napoleon were drying\nin the passage. One of them was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a\nskilful workman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the\npearl, and with a few touches covered over the aperture once more. It\nwas an admirable hiding-place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppo\nwas condemned to a year's imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his six\nbusts were scattered over London. He could not tell which contained his\ntreasure. Only by breaking them could he see. Even shaking would tell\nhim nothing, for as the plaster was wet it was probable that the pearl\nwould adhere to it--as, in fact, it has done. Beppo did not despair, and\nhe conducted his search with considerable ingenuity and perseverance.\nThrough a cousin who works with Gelder, he found out the retail firms\nwho had bought the busts. He managed to find employment with Morse\nHudson, and in that way tracked down three of them. The pearl was not\nthere. Then, with the help of some Italian employee, he succeeded in\nfinding out where the other three busts had gone. The first was at\nHarker's. There he was dogged by his confederate, who held Beppo\nresponsible for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scuffle\nwhich followed.\"\n\n\"If he was his confederate, why should he carry his photograph?\" I\nasked.\n\n\"As a means of tracing him, if he wished to inquire about him from any\nthird person. That was the obvious reason. Well, after the murder\nI calculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather than delay his\nmovements. He would fear that the police would read his secret, and so\nhe hastened on before they should get ahead of him. Of course, I could\nnot say that he had not found the pearl in Harker's bust. I had not even\nconcluded for certain that it was the pearl, but it was evident to me\nthat he was looking for something, since he carried the bust past\nthe other houses in order to break it in the garden which had a lamp\noverlooking it. Since Harker's bust was one in three, the chances were\nexactly as I told you--two to one against the pearl being inside it.\nThere remained two busts, and it was obvious that he would go for the\nLondon one first. I warned the inmates of the house, so as to avoid a\nsecond tragedy, and we went down, with the happiest results. By that\ntime, of course, I knew for certain that it was the Borgia pearl that we\nwere after. The name of the murdered man linked the one event with the\nother. There only remained a single bust--the Reading one--and the pearl\nmust be there. I bought it in your presence from the owner--and there it\nlies.\"\n\nWe sat in silence for a moment.\n\n\"Well,\" said Lestrade, \"I've seen you handle a good many cases, Mr.\nHolmes, but I don't know that I ever knew a more workmanlike one than\nthat. We're not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, we are very\nproud of you, and if you come down to-morrow, there's not a man, from\nthe oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who wouldn't be glad to\nshake you by the hand.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" said Holmes. \"Thank you!\" and as he turned away, it seemed\nto me that he was more nearly moved by the softer human emotions than I\nhad ever seen him. A moment later he was the cold and practical thinker\nonce more. \"Put the pearl in the safe, Watson,\" said he, \"and get out\nthe papers of the Conk-Singleton forgery case. Good-bye, Lestrade. If\nany little problem comes your way, I shall be happy, if I can, to give\nyou a hint or two as to its solution.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE STUDENTS\n\n\nIt was in the year '95 that a combination of events, into which I need\nnot enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself to spend some weeks in\none of our great university towns, and it was during this time that the\nsmall but instructive adventure which I am about to relate befell us. It\nwill be obvious that any details which would help the reader exactly to\nidentify the college or the criminal would be injudicious and offensive.\nSo painful a scandal may well be allowed to die out. With due discretion\nthe incident itself may, however, be described, since it serves to\nillustrate some of those qualities for which my friend was remarkable.\nI will endeavour, in my statement, to avoid such terms as would serve\nto limit the events to any particular place, or give a clue as to the\npeople concerned.\n\nWe were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a library\nwhere Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in early\nEnglish charters--researches which led to results so striking that they\nmay be the subject of one of my future narratives. Here it was that one\nevening we received a visit from an acquaintance, Mr. Hilton Soames,\ntutor and lecturer at the College of St. Luke's. Mr. Soames was a tall,\nspare man, of a nervous and excitable temperament. I had always known\nhim to be restless in his manner, but on this particular occasion he was\nin such a state of uncontrollable agitation that it was clear something\nvery unusual had occurred.\n\n\"I trust, Mr. Holmes, that you can spare me a few hours of your valuable\ntime. We have had a very painful incident at St. Luke's, and really, but\nfor the happy chance of your being in town, I should have been at a loss\nwhat to do.\"\n\n\"I am very busy just now, and I desire no distractions,\" my friend\nanswered. \"I should much prefer that you called in the aid of the\npolice.\"\n\n\"No, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly impossible. When once the\nlaw is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and this is just one of those\ncases where, for the credit of the college, it is most essential to\navoid scandal. Your discretion is as well known as your powers, and you\nare the one man in the world who can help me. I beg you, Mr. Holmes, to\ndo what you can.\"\n\nMy friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the\ncongenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrapbooks, his\nchemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man. He\nshrugged his shoulders in ungracious acquiescence, while our visitor\nin hurried words and with much excitable gesticulation poured forth his\nstory.\n\n\"I must explain to you, Mr. Holmes, that to-morrow is the first day\nof the examination for the Fortescue Scholarship. I am one of the\nexaminers. My subject is Greek, and the first of the papers consists of\na large passage of Greek translation which the candidate has not seen.\nThis passage is printed on the examination paper, and it would naturally\nbe an immense advantage if the candidate could prepare it in advance.\nFor this reason, great care is taken to keep the paper secret.\n\n\"To-day, about three o'clock, the proofs of this paper arrived from the\nprinters. The exercise consists of half a chapter of Thucydides. I had\nto read it over carefully, as the text must be absolutely correct. At\nfour-thirty my task was not yet completed. I had, however, promised to\ntake tea in a friend's rooms, so I left the proof upon my desk. I was\nabsent rather more than an hour.\n\n\"You are aware, Mr. Holmes, that our college doors are double--a green\nbaize one within and a heavy oak one without. As I approached my outer\ndoor, I was amazed to see a key in it. For an instant I imagined that I\nhad left my own there, but on feeling in my pocket I found that it was\nall right. The only duplicate which existed, so far as I knew, was that\nwhich belonged to my servant, Bannister--a man who has looked after my\nroom for ten years, and whose honesty is absolutely above suspicion. I\nfound that the key was indeed his, that he had entered my room to know\nif I wanted tea, and that he had very carelessly left the key in the\ndoor when he came out. His visit to my room must have been within a very\nfew minutes of my leaving it. His forgetfulness about the key would\nhave mattered little upon any other occasion, but on this one day it has\nproduced the most deplorable consequences.\n\n\"The moment I looked at my table, I was aware that someone had rummaged\namong my papers. The proof was in three long slips. I had left them all\ntogether. Now, I found that one of them was lying on the floor, one was\non the side table near the window, and the third was where I had left\nit.\"\n\nHolmes stirred for the first time.\n\n\"The first page on the floor, the second in the window, the third where\nyou left it,\" said he.\n\n\"Exactly, Mr. Holmes. You amaze me. How could you possibly know that?\"\n\n\"Pray continue your very interesting statement.\"\n\n\"For an instant I imagined that Bannister had taken the unpardonable\nliberty of examining my papers. He denied it, however, with the utmost\nearnestness, and I am convinced that he was speaking the truth. The\nalternative was that someone passing had observed the key in the door,\nhad known that I was out, and had entered to look at the papers. A large\nsum of money is at stake, for the scholarship is a very valuable one,\nand an unscrupulous man might very well run a risk in order to gain an\nadvantage over his fellows.\n\n\"Bannister was very much upset by the incident. He had nearly fainted\nwhen we found that the papers had undoubtedly been tampered with. I gave\nhim a little brandy and left him collapsed in a chair, while I made a\nmost careful examination of the room. I soon saw that the intruder had\nleft other traces of his presence besides the rumpled papers. On the\ntable in the window were several shreds from a pencil which had been\nsharpened. A broken tip of lead was lying there also. Evidently the\nrascal had copied the paper in a great hurry, had broken his pencil, and\nhad been compelled to put a fresh point to it.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" said Holmes, who was recovering his good-humour as his\nattention became more engrossed by the case. \"Fortune has been your\nfriend.\"\n\n\"This was not all. I have a new writing-table with a fine surface of red\nleather. I am prepared to swear, and so is Bannister, that it was\nsmooth and unstained. Now I found a clean cut in it about three inches\nlong--not a mere scratch, but a positive cut. Not only this, but on\nthe table I found a small ball of black dough or clay, with specks of\nsomething which looks like sawdust in it. I am convinced that these\nmarks were left by the man who rifled the papers. There were no\nfootmarks and no other evidence as to his identity. I was at my wit's\nend, when suddenly the happy thought occurred to me that you were in the\ntown, and I came straight round to put the matter into your hands. Do\nhelp me, Mr. Holmes. You see my dilemma. Either I must find the man or\nelse the examination must be postponed until fresh papers are prepared,\nand since this cannot be done without explanation, there will ensue a\nhideous scandal, which will throw a cloud not only on the college,\nbut on the university. Above all things, I desire to settle the matter\nquietly and discreetly.\"\n\n\"I shall be happy to look into it and to give you such advice as I\ncan,\" said Holmes, rising and putting on his overcoat. \"The case is not\nentirely devoid of interest. Had anyone visited you in your room after\nthe papers came to you?\"\n\n\"Yes, young Daulat Ras, an Indian student, who lives on the same stair,\ncame in to ask me some particulars about the examination.\"\n\n\"For which he was entered?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And the papers were on your table?\"\n\n\"To the best of my belief, they were rolled up.\"\n\n\"But might be recognized as proofs?\"\n\n\"Possibly.\"\n\n\"No one else in your room?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Did anyone know that these proofs would be there?\"\n\n\"No one save the printer.\"\n\n\"Did this man Bannister know?\"\n\n\"No, certainly not. No one knew.\"\n\n\"Where is Bannister now?\"\n\n\"He was very ill, poor fellow. I left him collapsed in the chair. I was\nin such a hurry to come to you.\"\n\n\"You left your door open?\"\n\n\"I locked up the papers first.\"\n\n\"Then it amounts to this, Mr. Soames: that, unless the Indian student\nrecognized the roll as being proofs, the man who tampered with them came\nupon them accidentally without knowing that they were there.\"\n\n\"So it seems to me.\"\n\nHolmes gave an enigmatic smile.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"let us go round. Not one of your cases,\nWatson--mental, not physical. All right; come if you want to. Now, Mr.\nSoames--at your disposal!\"\n\nThe sitting-room of our client opened by a long, low, latticed window on\nto the ancient lichen-tinted court of the old college. A Gothic arched\ndoor led to a worn stone staircase. On the ground floor was the tutor's\nroom. Above were three students, one on each story. It was already\ntwilight when we reached the scene of our problem. Holmes halted and\nlooked earnestly at the window. Then he approached it, and, standing on\ntiptoe with his neck craned, he looked into the room.\n\n\"He must have entered through the door. There is no opening except the\none pane,\" said our learned guide.\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Holmes, and he smiled in a singular way as he glanced\nat our companion. \"Well, if there is nothing to be learned here, we had\nbest go inside.\"\n\nThe lecturer unlocked the outer door and ushered us into his room. We\nstood at the entrance while Holmes made an examination of the carpet.\n\n\"I am afraid there are no signs here,\" said he. \"One could hardly hope\nfor any upon so dry a day. Your servant seems to have quite recovered.\nYou left him in a chair, you say. Which chair?\"\n\n\"By the window there.\"\n\n\"I see. Near this little table. You can come in now. I have finished\nwith the carpet. Let us take the little table first. Of course, what has\nhappened is very clear. The man entered and took the papers, sheet by\nsheet, from the central table. He carried them over to the window table,\nbecause from there he could see if you came across the courtyard, and so\ncould effect an escape.\"\n\n\"As a matter of fact, he could not,\" said Soames, \"for I entered by the\nside door.\"\n\n\"Ah, that's good! Well, anyhow, that was in his mind. Let me see the\nthree strips. No finger impressions--no! Well, he carried over this one\nfirst, and he copied it. How long would it take him to do that, using\nevery possible contraction? A quarter of an hour, not less. Then he\ntossed it down and seized the next. He was in the midst of that when\nyour return caused him to make a very hurried retreat--VERY hurried,\nsince he had not time to replace the papers which would tell you that he\nhad been there. You were not aware of any hurrying feet on the stair as\nyou entered the outer door?\"\n\n\"No, I can't say I was.\"\n\n\"Well, he wrote so furiously that he broke his pencil, and had, as you\nobserve, to sharpen it again. This is of interest, Watson. The pencil\nwas not an ordinary one. It was above the usual size, with a soft lead,\nthe outer colour was dark blue, the maker's name was printed in silver\nlettering, and the piece remaining is only about an inch and a half\nlong. Look for such a pencil, Mr. Soames, and you have got your man.\nWhen I add that he possesses a large and very blunt knife, you have an\nadditional aid.\"\n\nMr. Soames was somewhat overwhelmed by this flood of information. \"I can\nfollow the other points,\" said he, \"but really, in this matter of the\nlength----\"\n\nHolmes held out a small chip with the letters NN and a space of clear\nwood after them.\n\n\"You see?\"\n\n\"No, I fear that even now----\"\n\n\"Watson, I have always done you an injustice. There are others. What\ncould this NN be? It is at the end of a word. You are aware that Johann\nFaber is the most common maker's name. Is it not clear that there is\njust as much of the pencil left as usually follows the Johann?\" He held\nthe small table sideways to the electric light. \"I was hoping that\nif the paper on which he wrote was thin, some trace of it might come\nthrough upon this polished surface. No, I see nothing. I don't think\nthere is anything more to be learned here. Now for the central table.\nThis small pellet is, I presume, the black, doughy mass you spoke of.\nRoughly pyramidal in shape and hollowed out, I perceive. As you say,\nthere appear to be grains of sawdust in it. Dear me, this is very\ninteresting. And the cut--a positive tear, I see. It began with a\nthin scratch and ended in a jagged hole. I am much indebted to you for\ndirecting my attention to this case, Mr. Soames. Where does that door\nlead to?\"\n\n\"To my bedroom.\"\n\n\"Have you been in it since your adventure?\"\n\n\"No, I came straight away for you.\"\n\n\"I should like to have a glance round. What a charming, old-fashioned\nroom! Perhaps you will kindly wait a minute, until I have examined the\nfloor. No, I see nothing. What about this curtain? You hang your clothes\nbehind it. If anyone were forced to conceal himself in this room he must\ndo it there, since the bed is too low and the wardrobe too shallow. No\none there, I suppose?\"\n\nAs Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from some little rigidity and\nalertness of his attitude, that he was prepared for an emergency. As a\nmatter of fact, the drawn curtain disclosed nothing but three or four\nsuits of clothes hanging from a line of pegs. Holmes turned away, and\nstooped suddenly to the floor.\n\n\"Halloa! What's this?\" said he.\n\nIt was a small pyramid of black, putty-like stuff, exactly like the one\nupon the table of the study. Holmes held it out on his open palm in the\nglare of the electric light.\n\n\"Your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as well as in\nyour sitting-room, Mr. Soames.\"\n\n\"What could he have wanted there?\"\n\n\"I think it is clear enough. You came back by an unexpected way, and so\nhe had no warning until you were at the very door. What could he do?\nHe caught up everything which would betray him, and he rushed into your\nbedroom to conceal himself.\"\n\n\"Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, do you mean to tell me that, all the time I\nwas talking to Bannister in this room, we had the man prisoner if we had\nonly known it?\"\n\n\"So I read it.\"\n\n\"Surely there is another alternative, Mr. Holmes. I don't know whether\nyou observed my bedroom window?\"\n\n\"Lattice-paned, lead framework, three separate windows, one swinging on\nhinge, and large enough to admit a man.\"\n\n\"Exactly. And it looks out on an angle of the courtyard so as to be\npartly invisible. The man might have effected his entrance there, left\ntraces as he passed through the bedroom, and finally, finding the door\nopen, have escaped that way.\"\n\nHolmes shook his head impatiently.\n\n\"Let us be practical,\" said he. \"I understand you to say that there are\nthree students who use this stair, and are in the habit of passing your\ndoor?\"\n\n\"Yes, there are.\"\n\n\"And they are all in for this examination?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Have you any reason to suspect any one of them more than the others?\"\n\nSoames hesitated.\n\n\"It is a very delicate question,\" said he. \"One hardly likes to throw\nsuspicion where there are no proofs.\"\n\n\"Let us hear the suspicions. I will look after the proofs.\"\n\n\"I will tell you, then, in a few words the character of the three men\nwho inhabit these rooms. The lower of the three is Gilchrist, a fine\nscholar and athlete, plays in the Rugby team and the cricket team for\nthe college, and got his Blue for the hurdles and the long jump. He is\na fine, manly fellow. His father was the notorious Sir Jabez Gilchrist,\nwho ruined himself on the turf. My scholar has been left very poor, but\nhe is hard-working and industrious. He will do well.\n\n\"The second floor is inhabited by Daulat Ras, the Indian. He is a quiet,\ninscrutable fellow; as most of those Indians are. He is well up in his\nwork, though his Greek is his weak subject. He is steady and methodical.\n\n\"The top floor belongs to Miles McLaren. He is a brilliant fellow when\nhe chooses to work--one of the brightest intellects of the university;\nbut he is wayward, dissipated, and unprincipled. He was nearly expelled\nover a card scandal in his first year. He has been idling all this term,\nand he must look forward with dread to the examination.\"\n\n\"Then it is he whom you suspect?\"\n\n\"I dare not go so far as that. But, of the three, he is perhaps the\nleast unlikely.\"\n\n\"Exactly. Now, Mr. Soames, let us have a look at your servant,\nBannister.\"\n\nHe was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven, grizzly-haired fellow of\nfifty. He was still suffering from this sudden disturbance of the quiet\nroutine of his life. His plump face was twitching with his nervousness,\nand his fingers could not keep still.\n\n\"We are investigating this unhappy business, Bannister,\" said his\nmaster.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said Holmes, \"that you left your key in the door?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Was it not very extraordinary that you should do this on the very day\nwhen there were these papers inside?\"\n\n\"It was most unfortunate, sir. But I have occasionally done the same\nthing at other times.\"\n\n\"When did you enter the room?\"\n\n\"It was about half-past four. That is Mr. Soames' tea time.\"\n\n\"How long did you stay?\"\n\n\"When I saw that he was absent, I withdrew at once.\"\n\n\"Did you look at these papers on the table?\"\n\n\"No, sir--certainly not.\"\n\n\"How came you to leave the key in the door?\"\n\n\"I had the tea-tray in my hand. I thought I would come back for the key.\nThen I forgot.\"\n\n\"Has the outer door a spring lock?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Then it was open all the time?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Anyone in the room could get out?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"When Mr. Soames returned and called for you, you were very much\ndisturbed?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. Such a thing has never happened during the many years that I\nhave been here. I nearly fainted, sir.\"\n\n\"So I understand. Where were you when you began to feel bad?\"\n\n\"Where was I, sir? Why, here, near the door.\"\n\n\"That is singular, because you sat down in that chair over yonder near\nthe corner. Why did you pass these other chairs?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir, it didn't matter to me where I sat.\"\n\n\"I really don't think he knew much about it, Mr. Holmes. He was looking\nvery bad--quite ghastly.\"\n\n\"You stayed here when your master left?\"\n\n\"Only for a minute or so. Then I locked the door and went to my room.\"\n\n\"Whom do you suspect?\"\n\n\"Oh, I would not venture to say, sir. I don't believe there is any\ngentleman in this university who is capable of profiting by such an\naction. No, sir, I'll not believe it.\"\n\n\"Thank you, that will do,\" said Holmes. \"Oh, one more word. You have not\nmentioned to any of the three gentlemen whom you attend that anything is\namiss?\"\n\n\"No, sir--not a word.\"\n\n\"You haven't seen any of them?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Very good. Now, Mr. Soames, we will take a walk in the quadrangle, if\nyou please.\"\n\nThree yellow squares of light shone above us in the gathering gloom.\n\n\"Your three birds are all in their nests,\" said Holmes, looking up.\n\"Halloa! What's that? One of them seems restless enough.\"\n\nIt was the Indian, whose dark silhouette appeared suddenly upon his\nblind. He was pacing swiftly up and down his room.\n\n\"I should like to have a peep at each of them,\" said Holmes. \"Is it\npossible?\"\n\n\"No difficulty in the world,\" Soames answered. \"This set of rooms is\nquite the oldest in the college, and it is not unusual for visitors to\ngo over them. Come along, and I will personally conduct you.\"\n\n\"No names, please!\" said Holmes, as we knocked at Gilchrist's door. A\ntall, flaxen-haired, slim young fellow opened it, and made us welcome\nwhen he understood our errand. There were some really curious pieces of\nmediaeval domestic architecture within. Holmes was so charmed with\none of them that he insisted on drawing it in his notebook, broke his\npencil, had to borrow one from our host and finally borrowed a knife to\nsharpen his own. The same curious accident happened to him in the rooms\nof the Indian--a silent, little, hook-nosed fellow, who eyed us askance,\nand was obviously glad when Holmes's architectural studies had come to\nan end. I could not see that in either case Holmes had come upon the\nclue for which he was searching. Only at the third did our visit prove\nabortive. The outer door would not open to our knock, and nothing more\nsubstantial than a torrent of bad language came from behind it. \"I\ndon't care who you are. You can go to blazes!\" roared the angry voice.\n\"Tomorrow's the exam, and I won't be drawn by anyone.\"\n\n\"A rude fellow,\" said our guide, flushing with anger as we withdrew\ndown the stair. \"Of course, he did not realize that it was I who was\nknocking, but none the less his conduct was very uncourteous, and,\nindeed, under the circumstances rather suspicious.\"\n\nHolmes's response was a curious one.\n\n\"Can you tell me his exact height?\" he asked.\n\n\"Really, Mr. Holmes, I cannot undertake to say. He is taller than the\nIndian, not so tall as Gilchrist. I suppose five foot six would be about\nit.\"\n\n\"That is very important,\" said Holmes. \"And now, Mr. Soames, I wish you\ngood-night.\"\n\nOur guide cried aloud in his astonishment and dismay. \"Good gracious,\nMr. Holmes, you are surely not going to leave me in this abrupt fashion!\nYou don't seem to realize the position. To-morrow is the examination. I\nmust take some definite action to-night. I cannot allow the examination\nto be held if one of the papers has been tampered with. The situation\nmust be faced.\"\n\n\"You must leave it as it is. I shall drop round early to-morrow morning\nand chat the matter over. It is possible that I may be in a position\nthen to indicate some course of action. Meanwhile, you change\nnothing--nothing at all.\"\n\n\"Very good, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"You can be perfectly easy in your mind. We shall certainly find some\nway out of your difficulties. I will take the black clay with me, also\nthe pencil cuttings. Good-bye.\"\n\nWhen we were out in the darkness of the quadrangle, we again looked\nup at the windows. The Indian still paced his room. The others were\ninvisible.\n\n\"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?\" Holmes asked, as we came out\ninto the main street. \"Quite a little parlour game--sort of three-card\ntrick, is it not? There are your three men. It must be one of them. You\ntake your choice. Which is yours?\"\n\n\"The foul-mouthed fellow at the top. He is the one with the worst\nrecord. And yet that Indian was a sly fellow also. Why should he be\npacing his room all the time?\"\n\n\"There is nothing in that. Many men do it when they are trying to learn\nanything by heart.\"\n\n\"He looked at us in a queer way.\"\n\n\"So would you, if a flock of strangers came in on you when you were\npreparing for an examination next day, and every moment was of\nvalue. No, I see nothing in that. Pencils, too, and knives--all was\nsatisfactory. But that fellow DOES puzzle me.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Why, Bannister, the servant. What's his game in the matter?\"\n\n\"He impressed me as being a perfectly honest man.\"\n\n\"So he did me. That's the puzzling part. Why should a perfectly\nhonest man--Well, well, here's a large stationer's. We shall begin our\nresearches here.\"\n\nThere were only four stationers of any consequences in the town, and at\neach Holmes produced his pencil chips, and bid high for a duplicate. All\nwere agreed that one could be ordered, but that it was not a usual size\nof pencil and that it was seldom kept in stock. My friend did not\nappear to be depressed by his failure, but shrugged his shoulders in\nhalf-humorous resignation.\n\n\"No good, my dear Watson. This, the best and only final clue, has run\nto nothing. But, indeed, I have little doubt that we can build up a\nsufficient case without it. By Jove! my dear fellow, it is nearly nine,\nand the landlady babbled of green peas at seven-thirty. What with your\neternal tobacco, Watson, and your irregularity at meals, I expect that\nyou will get notice to quit, and that I shall share your downfall--not,\nhowever, before we have solved the problem of the nervous tutor, the\ncareless servant, and the three enterprising students.\"\n\nHolmes made no further allusion to the matter that day, though he sat\nlost in thought for a long time after our belated dinner. At eight in\nthe morning, he came into my room just as I finished my toilet.\n\n\"Well, Watson,\" said he, \"it is time we went down to St. Luke's. Can you\ndo without breakfast?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"Soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we are able to tell him\nsomething positive.\"\n\n\"Have you anything positive to tell him?\"\n\n\"I think so.\"\n\n\"You have formed a conclusion?\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear Watson, I have solved the mystery.\"\n\n\"But what fresh evidence could you have got?\"\n\n\"Aha! It is not for nothing that I have turned myself out of bed at the\nuntimely hour of six. I have put in two hours' hard work and covered at\nleast five miles, with something to show for it. Look at that!\"\n\nHe held out his hand. On the palm were three little pyramids of black,\ndoughy clay.\n\n\"Why, Holmes, you had only two yesterday.\"\n\n\"And one more this morning. It is a fair argument that wherever No. 3\ncame from is also the source of Nos. 1 and 2. Eh, Watson? Well, come\nalong and put friend Soames out of his pain.\"\n\nThe unfortunate tutor was certainly in a state of pitiable agitation\nwhen we found him in his chambers. In a few hours the examination would\ncommence, and he was still in the dilemma between making the facts\npublic and allowing the culprit to compete for the valuable scholarship.\nHe could hardly stand still so great was his mental agitation, and he\nran towards Holmes with two eager hands outstretched.\n\n\"Thank heaven that you have come! I feared that you had given it up in\ndespair. What am I to do? Shall the examination proceed?\"\n\n\"Yes, let it proceed, by all means.\"\n\n\"But this rascal?\"\n\n\"He shall not compete.\"\n\n\"You know him?\"\n\n\"I think so. If this matter is not to become public, we must give\nourselves certain powers and resolve ourselves into a small private\ncourt-martial. You there, if you please, Soames! Watson you here! I'll\ntake the armchair in the middle. I think that we are now sufficiently\nimposing to strike terror into a guilty breast. Kindly ring the bell!\"\n\nBannister entered, and shrank back in evident surprise and fear at our\njudicial appearance.\n\n\"You will kindly close the door,\" said Holmes. \"Now, Bannister, will you\nplease tell us the truth about yesterday's incident?\"\n\nThe man turned white to the roots of his hair.\n\n\"I have told you everything, sir.\"\n\n\"Nothing to add?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I must make some suggestions to you. When you sat down\non that chair yesterday, did you do so in order to conceal some object\nwhich would have shown who had been in the room?\"\n\nBannister's face was ghastly.\n\n\"No, sir, certainly not.\"\n\n\"It is only a suggestion,\" said Holmes, suavely. \"I frankly admit that\nI am unable to prove it. But it seems probable enough, since the moment\nthat Mr. Soames's back was turned, you released the man who was hiding\nin that bedroom.\"\n\nBannister licked his dry lips.\n\n\"There was no man, sir.\"\n\n\"Ah, that's a pity, Bannister. Up to now you may have spoken the truth,\nbut now I know that you have lied.\"\n\nThe man's face set in sullen defiance.\n\n\"There was no man, sir.\"\n\n\"Come, come, Bannister!\"\n\n\"No, sir, there was no one.\"\n\n\"In that case, you can give us no further information. Would you please\nremain in the room? Stand over there near the bedroom door. Now, Soames,\nI am going to ask you to have the great kindness to go up to the room of\nyoung Gilchrist, and to ask him to step down into yours.\"\n\nAn instant later the tutor returned, bringing with him the student. He\nwas a fine figure of a man, tall, lithe, and agile, with a springy step\nand a pleasant, open face. His troubled blue eyes glanced at each of us,\nand finally rested with an expression of blank dismay upon Bannister in\nthe farther corner.\n\n\"Just close the door,\" said Holmes. \"Now, Mr. Gilchrist, we are all\nquite alone here, and no one need ever know one word of what passes\nbetween us. We can be perfectly frank with each other. We want to know,\nMr. Gilchrist, how you, an honourable man, ever came to commit such an\naction as that of yesterday?\"\n\nThe unfortunate young man staggered back, and cast a look full of horror\nand reproach at Bannister.\n\n\"No, no, Mr. Gilchrist, sir, I never said a word--never one word!\" cried\nthe servant.\n\n\"No, but you have now,\" said Holmes. \"Now, sir, you must see that after\nBannister's words your position is hopeless, and that your only chance\nlies in a frank confession.\"\n\nFor a moment Gilchrist, with upraised hand, tried to control his\nwrithing features. The next he had thrown himself on his knees beside\nthe table, and burying his face in his hands, he had burst into a storm\nof passionate sobbing.\n\n\"Come, come,\" said Holmes, kindly, \"it is human to err, and at least\nno one can accuse you of being a callous criminal. Perhaps it would be\neasier for you if I were to tell Mr. Soames what occurred, and you can\ncheck me where I am wrong. Shall I do so? Well, well, don't trouble to\nanswer. Listen, and see that I do you no injustice.\n\n\"From the moment, Mr. Soames, that you said to me that no one, not even\nBannister, could have told that the papers were in your room, the case\nbegan to take a definite shape in my mind. The printer one could, of\ncourse, dismiss. He could examine the papers in his own office. The\nIndian I also thought nothing of. If the proofs were in a roll, he\ncould not possibly know what they were. On the other hand, it seemed an\nunthinkable coincidence that a man should dare to enter the room,\nand that by chance on that very day the papers were on the table. I\ndismissed that. The man who entered knew that the papers were there. How\ndid he know?\n\n\"When I approached your room, I examined the window. You amused me by\nsupposing that I was contemplating the possibility of someone having\nin broad daylight, under the eyes of all these opposite rooms, forced\nhimself through it. Such an idea was absurd. I was measuring how tall a\nman would need to be in order to see, as he passed, what papers were on\nthe central table. I am six feet high, and I could do it with an effort.\nNo one less than that would have a chance. Already you see I had reason\nto think that, if one of your three students was a man of unusual\nheight, he was the most worth watching of the three.\n\n\"I entered, and I took you into my confidence as to the suggestions of\nthe side table. Of the centre table I could make nothing, until in\nyour description of Gilchrist you mentioned that he was a long-distance\njumper. Then the whole thing came to me in an instant, and I only needed\ncertain corroborative proofs, which I speedily obtained.\n\n\"What happened with {sic} this: This young fellow had employed his\nafternoon at the athletic grounds, where he had been practising the\njump. He returned carrying his jumping-shoes, which are provided, as you\nare aware, with several sharp spikes. As he passed your window he\nsaw, by means of his great height, these proofs upon your table, and\nconjectured what they were. No harm would have been done had it not been\nthat, as he passed your door, he perceived the key which had been left\nby the carelessness of your servant. A sudden impulse came over him to\nenter, and see if they were indeed the proofs. It was not a dangerous\nexploit for he could always pretend that he had simply looked in to ask\na question.\n\n\"Well, when he saw that they were indeed the proofs, it was then that\nhe yielded to temptation. He put his shoes on the table. What was it you\nput on that chair near the window?\"\n\n\"Gloves,\" said the young man.\n\nHolmes looked triumphantly at Bannister. \"He put his gloves on the\nchair, and he took the proofs, sheet by sheet, to copy them. He thought\nthe tutor must return by the main gate and that he would see him. As we\nknow, he came back by the side gate. Suddenly he heard him at the very\ndoor. There was no possible escape. He forgot his gloves but he caught\nup his shoes and darted into the bedroom. You observe that the scratch\non that table is slight at one side, but deepens in the direction of the\nbedroom door. That in itself is enough to show us that the shoe had been\ndrawn in that direction, and that the culprit had taken refuge there.\nThe earth round the spike had been left on the table, and a second\nsample was loosened and fell in the bedroom. I may add that I walked out\nto the athletic grounds this morning, saw that tenacious black clay is\nused in the jumping-pit and carried away a specimen of it, together with\nsome of the fine tan or sawdust which is strewn over it to prevent the\nathlete from slipping. Have I told the truth, Mr. Gilchrist?\"\n\nThe student had drawn himself erect.\n\n\"Yes, sir, it is true,\" said he.\n\n\"Good heavens! have you nothing to add?\" cried Soames.\n\n\"Yes, sir, I have, but the shock of this disgraceful exposure has\nbewildered me. I have a letter here, Mr. Soames, which I wrote to you\nearly this morning in the middle of a restless night. It was before I\nknew that my sin had found me out. Here it is, sir. You will see that I\nhave said, 'I have determined not to go in for the examination. I have\nbeen offered a commission in the Rhodesian Police, and I am going out to\nSouth Africa at once.'\"\n\n\"I am indeed pleased to hear that you did not intend to profit by your\nunfair advantage,\" said Soames. \"But why did you change your purpose?\"\n\nGilchrist pointed to Bannister.\n\n\"There is the man who set me in the right path,\" said he.\n\n\"Come now, Bannister,\" said Holmes. \"It will be clear to you, from what\nI have said, that only you could have let this young man out, since you\nwere left in the room, and must have locked the door when you went out.\nAs to his escaping by that window, it was incredible. Can you not clear\nup the last point in this mystery, and tell us the reasons for your\naction?\"\n\n\"It was simple enough, sir, if you only had known, but, with all your\ncleverness, it was impossible that you could know. Time was, sir, when\nI was butler to old Sir Jabez Gilchrist, this young gentleman's father.\nWhen he was ruined I came to the college as servant, but I never forgot\nmy old employer because he was down in the world. I watched his son all\nI could for the sake of the old days. Well, sir, when I came into this\nroom yesterday, when the alarm was given, the very first thing I saw was\nMr. Gilchrist's tan gloves a-lying in that chair. I knew those gloves\nwell, and I understood their message. If Mr. Soames saw them, the game\nwas up. I flopped down into that chair, and nothing would budge me until\nMr. Soames he went for you. Then out came my poor young master, whom I\nhad dandled on my knee, and confessed it all to me. Wasn't it natural,\nsir, that I should save him, and wasn't it natural also that I should\ntry to speak to him as his dead father would have done, and make him\nunderstand that he could not profit by such a deed? Could you blame me,\nsir?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said Holmes, heartily, springing to his feet. \"Well,\nSoames, I think we have cleared your little problem up, and our\nbreakfast awaits us at home. Come, Watson! As to you, sir, I trust that\na bright future awaits you in Rhodesia. For once you have fallen low.\nLet us see, in the future, how high you can rise.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE GOLDEN PINCE-NEZ\n\n\nWhen I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain our\nwork for the year 1894, I confess that it is very difficult for me,\nout of such a wealth of material, to select the cases which are most\ninteresting in themselves, and at the same time most conducive to a\ndisplay of those peculiar powers for which my friend was famous. As I\nturn over the pages, I see my notes upon the repulsive story of the red\nleech and the terrible death of Crosby, the banker. Here also I find\nan account of the Addleton tragedy, and the singular contents of the\nancient British barrow. The famous Smith-Mortimer succession case comes\nalso within this period, and so does the tracking and arrest of Huret,\nthe Boulevard assassin--an exploit which won for Holmes an autograph\nletter of thanks from the French President and the Order of the Legion\nof Honour. Each of these would furnish a narrative, but on the whole\nI am of opinion that none of them unites so many singular points of\ninterest as the episode of Yoxley Old Place, which includes not only the\nlamentable death of young Willoughby Smith, but also those subsequent\ndevelopments which threw so curious a light upon the causes of the\ncrime.\n\nIt was a wild, tempestuous night, towards the close of November.\nHolmes and I sat together in silence all the evening, he engaged with a\npowerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upon\na palimpsest, I deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. Outside the\nwind howled down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely against the\nwindows. It was strange there, in the very depths of the town, with ten\nmiles of man's handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip of\nNature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all London\nwas no more than the molehills that dot the fields. I walked to the\nwindow, and looked out on the deserted street. The occasional lamps\ngleamed on the expanse of muddy road and shining pavement. A single cab\nwas splashing its way from the Oxford Street end.\n\n\"Well, Watson, it's as well we have not to turn out to-night,\" said\nHolmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. \"I've done\nenough for one sitting. It is trying work for the eyes. So far as I can\nmake out, it is nothing more exciting than an Abbey's accounts dating\nfrom the second half of the fifteenth century. Halloa! halloa! halloa!\nWhat's this?\"\n\nAmid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of a horse's\nhoofs, and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped against the curb. The\ncab which I had seen had pulled up at our door.\n\n\"What can he want?\" I ejaculated, as a man stepped out of it.\n\n\"Want? He wants us. And we, my poor Watson, want overcoats and cravats\nand goloshes, and every aid that man ever invented to fight the weather.\nWait a bit, though! There's the cab off again! There's hope yet. He'd\nhave kept it if he had wanted us to come. Run down, my dear fellow, and\nopen the door, for all virtuous folk have been long in bed.\"\n\nWhen the light of the hall lamp fell upon our midnight visitor, I had no\ndifficulty in recognizing him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a promising\ndetective, in whose career Holmes had several times shown a very\npractical interest.\n\n\"Is he in?\" he asked, eagerly.\n\n\"Come up, my dear sir,\" said Holmes's voice from above. \"I hope you have\nno designs upon us such a night as this.\"\n\nThe detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp gleamed upon his shining\nwaterproof. I helped him out of it, while Holmes knocked a blaze out of\nthe logs in the grate.\n\n\"Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your toes,\" said he. \"Here's\na cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hot water and a\nlemon, which is good medicine on a night like this. It must be something\nimportant which has brought you out in such a gale.\"\n\n\"It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. I've had a bustling afternoon, I promise you.\nDid you see anything of the Yoxley case in the latest editions?\"\n\n\"I've seen nothing later than the fifteenth century to-day.\"\n\n\"Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so you have not\nmissed anything. I haven't let the grass grow under my feet. It's down\nin Kent, seven miles from Chatham and three from the railway line. I\nwas wired for at 3:15, reached Yoxley Old Place at 5, conducted my\ninvestigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last train, and straight\nto you by cab.\"\n\n\"Which means, I suppose, that you are not quite clear about your case?\"\n\n\"It means that I can make neither head nor tail of it. So far as I can\nsee, it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled, and yet at\nfirst it seemed so simple that one couldn't go wrong. There's no motive,\nMr. Holmes. That's what bothers me--I can't put my hand on a motive.\nHere's a man dead--there's no denying that--but, so far as I can see, no\nreason on earth why anyone should wish him harm.\"\n\nHolmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair.\n\n\"Let us hear about it,\" said he.\n\n\"I've got my facts pretty clear,\" said Stanley Hopkins. \"All I want now\nis to know what they all mean. The story, so far as I can make it out,\nis like this. Some years ago this country house, Yoxley Old Place, was\ntaken by an elderly man, who gave the name of Professor Coram. He was\nan invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the other half hobbling\nround the house with a stick or being pushed about the grounds by the\ngardener in a Bath chair. He was well liked by the few neighbours who\ncalled upon him, and he has the reputation down there of being a very\nlearned man. His household used to consist of an elderly housekeeper,\nMrs. Marker, and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both been with him\nsince his arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent character. The\nprofessor is writing a learned book, and he found it necessary, about\na year ago, to engage a secretary. The first two that he tried were\nnot successes, but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a very young man\nstraight from the university, seems to have been just what his employer\nwanted. His work consisted in writing all the morning to the professor's\ndictation, and he usually spent the evening in hunting up references and\npassages which bore upon the next day's work. This Willoughby Smith has\nnothing against him, either as a boy at Uppingham or as a young man at\nCambridge. I have seen his testimonials, and from the first he was a\ndecent, quiet, hard-working fellow, with no weak spot in him at all.\nAnd yet this is the lad who has met his death this morning in the\nprofessor's study under circumstances which can point only to murder.\"\n\nThe wind howled and screamed at the windows. Holmes and I drew closer to\nthe fire, while the young inspector slowly and point by point developed\nhis singular narrative.\n\n\"If you were to search all England,\" said he, \"I don't suppose you could\nfind a household more self-contained or freer from outside influences.\nWhole weeks would pass, and not one of them go past the garden gate.\nThe professor was buried in his work and existed for nothing else.\nYoung Smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and lived very much as\nhis employer did. The two women had nothing to take them from the\nhouse. Mortimer, the gardener, who wheels the Bath chair, is an army\npensioner--an old Crimean man of excellent character. He does not live\nin the house, but in a three-roomed cottage at the other end of the\ngarden. Those are the only people that you would find within the grounds\nof Yoxley Old Place. At the same time, the gate of the garden is a\nhundred yards from the main London to Chatham road. It opens with a\nlatch, and there is nothing to prevent anyone from walking in.\n\n\"Now I will give you the evidence of Susan Tarlton, who is the only\nperson who can say anything positive about the matter. It was in the\nforenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was engaged at the moment in\nhanging some curtains in the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coram was\nstill in bed, for when the weather is bad he seldom rises before midday.\nThe housekeeper was busied with some work in the back of the\nhouse. Willoughby Smith had been in his bedroom, which he uses as a\nsitting-room, but the maid heard him at that moment pass along the\npassage and descend to the study immediately below her. She did not\nsee him, but she says that she could not be mistaken in his quick, firm\ntread. She did not hear the study door close, but a minute or so later\nthere was a dreadful cry in the room below. It was a wild, hoarse\nscream, so strange and unnatural that it might have come either from a\nman or a woman. At the same instant there was a heavy thud, which shook\nthe old house, and then all was silence. The maid stood petrified for a\nmoment, and then, recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. The study\ndoor was shut and she opened it. Inside, young Mr. Willoughby Smith was\nstretched upon the floor. At first she could see no injury, but as she\ntried to raise him she saw that blood was pouring from the underside of\nhis neck. It was pierced by a very small but very deep wound, which had\ndivided the carotid artery. The instrument with which the injury had\nbeen inflicted lay upon the carpet beside him. It was one of those small\nsealing-wax knives to be found on old-fashioned writing-tables, with\nan ivory handle and a stiff blade. It was part of the fittings of the\nprofessor's own desk.\n\n\"At first the maid thought that young Smith was already dead, but on\npouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he opened his eyes\nfor an instant. 'The professor,' he murmured--'it was she.' The maid is\nprepared to swear that those were the exact words. He tried desperately\nto say something else, and he held his right hand up in the air. Then he\nfell back dead.\n\n\"In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the scene, but\nshe was just too late to catch the young man's dying words. Leaving\nSusan with the body, she hurried to the professor's room. He was sitting\nup in bed, horribly agitated, for he had heard enough to convince him\nthat something terrible had occurred. Mrs. Marker is prepared to swear\nthat the professor was still in his night-clothes, and indeed it was\nimpossible for him to dress without the help of Mortimer, whose orders\nwere to come at twelve o'clock. The professor declares that he heard the\ndistant cry, but that he knows nothing more. He can give no explanation\nof the young man's last words, 'The professor--it was she,' but imagines\nthat they were the outcome of delirium. He believes that Willoughby\nSmith had not an enemy in the world, and can give no reason for the\ncrime. His first action was to send Mortimer, the gardener, for the\nlocal police. A little later the chief constable sent for me. Nothing\nwas moved before I got there, and strict orders were given that no\none should walk upon the paths leading to the house. It was a splendid\nchance of putting your theories into practice, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.\nThere was really nothing wanting.\"\n\n\"Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\" said my companion, with a somewhat bitter\nsmile. \"Well, let us hear about it. What sort of a job did you make of\nit?\"\n\n\"I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance at this rough plan, which\nwill give you a general idea of the position of the professor's study\nand the various points of the case. It will help you in following my\ninvestigation.\"\n\nHe unfolded the rough chart, which I here reproduce,\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\nand he laid it across Holmes's knee. I rose and, standing behind Holmes,\nstudied it over his shoulder.\n\n\"It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the points\nwhich seem to me to be essential. All the rest you will see later for\nyourself. Now, first of all, presuming that the assassin entered the\nhouse, how did he or she come in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and the\nback door, from which there is direct access to the study. Any other way\nwould have been exceedingly complicated. The escape must have also been\nmade along that line, for of the two other exits from the room one was\nblocked by Susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads straight to\nthe professor's bedroom. I therefore directed my attention at once\nto the garden path, which was saturated with recent rain, and would\ncertainly show any footmarks.\n\n\"My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious and expert\ncriminal. No footmarks were to be found on the path. There could be no\nquestion, however, that someone had passed along the grass border which\nlines the path, and that he had done so in order to avoid leaving a\ntrack. I could not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression,\nbut the grass was trodden down, and someone had undoubtedly passed. It\ncould only have been the murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyone\nelse had been there that morning, and the rain had only begun during the\nnight.\"\n\n\"One moment,\" said Holmes. \"Where does this path lead to?\"\n\n\"To the road.\"\n\n\"How long is it?\"\n\n\"A hundred yards or so.\"\n\n\"At the point where the path passes through the gate, you could surely\npick up the tracks?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that point.\"\n\n\"Well, on the road itself?\"\n\n\"No, it was all trodden into mire.\"\n\n\"Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the grass, were they coming or\ngoing?\"\n\n\"It was impossible to say. There was never any outline.\"\n\n\"A large foot or a small?\"\n\n\"You could not distinguish.\"\n\nHolmes gave an ejaculation of impatience.\n\n\"It has been pouring rain and blowing a hurricane ever since,\" said\nhe. \"It will be harder to read now than that palimpsest. Well, well, it\ncan't be helped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you had made certain\nthat you had made certain of nothing?\"\n\n\"I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr. Holmes. I knew that someone\nhad entered the house cautiously from without. I next examined the\ncorridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and had taken no impression\nof any kind. This brought me into the study itself. It is a scantily\nfurnished room. The main article is a large writing-table with a fixed\nbureau. This bureau consists of a double column of drawers, with a\ncentral small cupboard between them. The drawers were open, the cupboard\nlocked. The drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothing of value\nwas kept in them. There were some papers of importance in the cupboard,\nbut there were no signs that this had been tampered with, and the\nprofessor assures me that nothing was missing. It is certain that no\nrobbery has been committed.\n\n\"I come now to the body of the young man. It was found near the bureau,\nand just to the left of it, as marked upon that chart. The stab was on\nthe right side of the neck and from behind forward, so that it is almost\nimpossible that it could have been self-inflicted.\"\n\n\"Unless he fell upon the knife,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we found the knife some feet\naway from the body, so that seems impossible. Then, of course, there are\nthe man's own dying words. And, finally, there was this very important\npiece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead man's right hand.\"\n\nFrom his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet. He unfolded\nit and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken ends of black\nsilk cord dangling from the end of it. \"Willoughby Smith had excellent\nsight,\" he added. \"There can be no question that this was snatched from\nthe face or the person of the assassin.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand, and examined them with\nthe utmost attention and interest. He held them on his nose, endeavoured\nto read through them, went to the window and stared up the street with\nthem, looked at them most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and\nfinally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote a few\nlines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to Stanley Hopkins.\n\n\"That's the best I can do for you,\" said he. \"It may prove to be of some\nuse.\"\n\nThe astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as follows:\n\n\n\"Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She has a\nremarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon either side\nof it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering expression, and probably\nrounded shoulders. There are indications that she has had recourse to an\noptician at least twice during the last few months. As her glasses are\nof remarkable strength, and as opticians are not very numerous, there\nshould be no difficulty in tracing her.\"\n\n\nHolmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins, which must have been\nreflected upon my features. \"Surely my deductions are simplicity\nitself,\" said he. \"It would be difficult to name any articles which\nafford a finer field for inference than a pair of glasses, especially\nso remarkable a pair as these. That they belong to a woman I infer from\ntheir delicacy, and also, of course, from the last words of the dying\nman. As to her being a person of refinement and well dressed, they\nare, as you perceive, handsomely mounted in solid gold, and it is\ninconceivable that anyone who wore such glasses could be slatternly in\nother respects. You will find that the clips are too wide for your nose,\nshowing that the lady's nose was very broad at the base. This sort of\nnose is usually a short and coarse one, but there is a sufficient number\nof exceptions to prevent me from being dogmatic or from insisting upon\nthis point in my description. My own face is a narrow one, and yet I\nfind that I cannot get my eyes into the centre, nor near the centre, of\nthese glasses. Therefore, the lady's eyes are set very near to the sides\nof the nose. You will perceive, Watson, that the glasses are concave\nand of unusual strength. A lady whose vision has been so extremely\ncontracted all her life is sure to have the physical characteristics\nof such vision, which are seen in the forehead, the eyelids, and the\nshoulders.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said, \"I can follow each of your arguments. I confess, however,\nthat I am unable to understand how you arrive at the double visit to the\noptician.\"\n\nHolmes took the glasses in his hand.\n\n\"You will perceive,\" he said, \"that the clips are lined with tiny\nbands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose. One of these is\ndiscoloured and worn to some slight extent, but the other is new.\nEvidently one has fallen off and been replaced. I should judge that the\nolder of them has not been there more than a few months. They\nexactly correspond, so I gather that the lady went back to the same\nestablishment for the second.\"\n\n\"By George, it's marvellous!\" cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy of\nadmiration. \"To think that I had all that evidence in my hand and\nnever knew it! I had intended, however, to go the round of the London\nopticians.\"\n\n\"Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to tell us about\nthe case?\"\n\n\"Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I do\nnow--probably more. We have had inquiries made as to any stranger seen\non the country roads or at the railway station. We have heard of none.\nWhat beats me is the utter want of all object in the crime. Not a ghost\nof a motive can anyone suggest.\"\n\n\"Ah! there I am not in a position to help you. But I suppose you want us\nto come out to-morrow?\"\n\n\"If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. There's a train from Charing\nCross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we should be at Yoxley Old\nPlace between eight and nine.\"\n\n\"Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly some features of great\ninterest, and I shall be delighted to look into it. Well, it's nearly\none, and we had best get a few hours' sleep. I daresay you can manage\nall right on the sofa in front of the fire. I'll light my spirit lamp,\nand give you a cup of coffee before we start.\"\n\nThe gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter morning when\nwe started upon our journey. We saw the cold winter sun rise over the\ndreary marshes of the Thames and the long, sullen reaches of the river,\nwhich I shall ever associate with our pursuit of the Andaman Islander\nin the earlier days of our career. After a long and weary journey, we\nalighted at a small station some miles from Chatham. While a horse was\nbeing put into a trap at the local inn, we snatched a hurried breakfast,\nand so we were all ready for business when we at last arrived at Yoxley\nOld Place. A constable met us at the garden gate.\n\n\"Well, Wilson, any news?\"\n\n\"No, sir--nothing.\"\n\n\"No reports of any stranger seen?\"\n\n\"No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no stranger either\ncame or went yesterday.\"\n\n\"Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir: there is no one that we cannot account for.\"\n\n\"Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might stay there\nor take a train without being observed. This is the garden path of\nwhich I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge my word there was no mark on it\nyesterday.\"\n\n\"On which side were the marks on the grass?\"\n\n\"This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the path and the\nflower-bed. I can't see the traces now, but they were clear to me then.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes: someone has passed along,\" said Holmes, stooping over the\ngrass border. \"Our lady must have picked her steps carefully, must she\nnot, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and on\nthe other an even clearer one on the soft bed?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand.\"\n\nI saw an intent look pass over Holmes's face.\n\n\"You say that she must have come back this way?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, there is no other.\"\n\n\"On this strip of grass?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"Hum! It was a very remarkable performance--very remarkable. Well, I\nthink we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. This garden door is\nusually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor had nothing to do but\nto walk in. The idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would have\nprovided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of having to pick\nthis knife off the writing-table. She advanced along this corridor,\nleaving no traces upon the cocoanut matting. Then she found herself in\nthis study. How long was she there? We have no means of judging.\"\n\n\"Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you that Mrs.\nMarker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long\nbefore--about a quarter of an hour, she says.\"\n\n\"Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room, and what does\nshe do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not for anything\nin the drawers. If there had been anything worth her taking, it would\nsurely have been locked up. No, it was for something in that wooden\nbureau. Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold a\nmatch, Watson. Why did you not tell me of this, Hopkins?\"\n\nThe mark which he was examining began upon the brass-work on the\nright-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about four inches,\nwhere it had scratched the varnish from the surface.\n\n\"I noticed it, Mr. Holmes, but you'll always find scratches round a\nkeyhole.\"\n\n\"This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass shines where it is\ncut. An old scratch would be the same colour as the surface. Look at it\nthrough my lens. There's the varnish, too, like earth on each side of a\nfurrow. Is Mrs. Marker there?\"\n\nA sad-faced, elderly woman came into the room.\n\n\"Did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Did you notice this scratch?\"\n\n\"No, sir, I did not.\"\n\n\"I am sure you did not, for a duster would have swept away these shreds\nof varnish. Who has the key of this bureau?\"\n\n\"The Professor keeps it on his watch-chain.\"\n\n\"Is it a simple key?\"\n\n\"No, sir, it is a Chubb's key.\"\n\n\"Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we are making a little\nprogress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, and either\nopens it or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged, young Willoughby\nSmith enters the room. In her hurry to withdraw the key, she makes this\nscratch upon the door. He seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearest\nobject, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in order to make\nhim let go his hold. The blow is a fatal one. He falls and she escapes,\neither with or without the object for which she has come. Is Susan, the\nmaid, there? Could anyone have got away through that door after the time\nthat you heard the cry, Susan?\"\n\n\"No sir, it is impossible. Before I got down the stair, I'd have seen\nanyone in the passage. Besides, the door never opened, or I would have\nheard it.\"\n\n\"That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out the way she\ncame. I understand that this other passage leads only to the professor's\nroom. There is no exit that way?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"We shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the professor. Halloa,\nHopkins! this is very important, very important indeed. The professor's\ncorridor is also lined with cocoanut matting.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, what of that?\"\n\n\"Don't you see any bearing upon the case? Well, well. I don't insist\nupon it. No doubt I am wrong. And yet it seems to me to be suggestive.\nCome with me and introduce me.\"\n\nWe passed down the passage, which was of the same length as that which\nled to the garden. At the end was a short flight of steps ending in\na door. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into the professor's\nbedroom.\n\nIt was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes, which had\noverflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or were\nstacked all round at the base of the cases. The bed was in the centre\nof the room, and in it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of the\nhouse. I have seldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. It was a\ngaunt, aquiline face which was turned towards us, with piercing dark\neyes, which lurked in deep hollows under overhung and tufted brows. His\nhair and beard were white, save that the latter was curiously stained\nwith yellow around his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the tangle of\nwhite hair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco smoke.\nAs he held out his hand to Holmes, I perceived that it was also stained\nwith yellow nicotine.\n\n\"A smoker, Mr. Holmes?\" said he, speaking in well-chosen English, with\na curious little mincing accent. \"Pray take a cigarette. And you, sir?\nI can recommend them, for I have them especially prepared by Ionides, of\nAlexandria. He sends me a thousand at a time, and I grieve to say that I\nhave to arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. Bad, sir, very bad,\nbut an old man has few pleasures. Tobacco and my work--that is all that\nis left to me.\"\n\nHolmes had lit a cigarette and was shooting little darting glances all\nover the room.\n\n\"Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco,\" the old man exclaimed.\n\"Alas! what a fatal interruption! Who could have foreseen such a\nterrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man! I assure you that, after\na few months' training, he was an admirable assistant. What do you think\nof the matter, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"I have not yet made up my mind.\"\n\n\"I shall indeed be indebted to you if you can throw a light where all is\nso dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid like myself such a blow\nis paralyzing. I seem to have lost the faculty of thought. But you are\na man of action--you are a man of affairs. It is part of the everyday\nroutine of your life. You can preserve your balance in every emergency.\nWe are fortunate, indeed, in having you at our side.\"\n\nHolmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilst the old\nprofessor was talking. I observed that he was smoking with extraordinary\nrapidity. It was evident that he shared our host's liking for the fresh\nAlexandrian cigarettes.\n\n\"Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow,\" said the old man. \"That is my MAGNUM\nOPUS--the pile of papers on the side table yonder. It is my analysis of\nthe documents found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a work\nwhich will cut deep at the very foundation of revealed religion. With my\nenfeebled health I do not know whether I shall ever be able to complete\nit, now that my assistant has been taken from me. Dear me! Mr. Holmes,\nwhy, you are even a quicker smoker than I am myself.\"\n\nHolmes smiled.\n\n\"I am a connoisseur,\" said he, taking another cigarette from the\nbox--his fourth--and lighting it from the stub of that which he had\nfinished. \"I will not trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination,\nProfessor Coram, since I gather that you were in bed at the time of the\ncrime, and could know nothing about it. I would only ask this: What\ndo you imagine that this poor fellow meant by his last words: 'The\nprofessor--it was she'?\"\n\nThe professor shook his head.\n\n\"Susan is a country girl,\" said he, \"and you know the incredible\nstupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor fellow murmured some\nincoherent delirious words, and that she twisted them into this\nmeaningless message.\"\n\n\"I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?\"\n\n\"Possibly an accident, possibly--I only breathe it among ourselves--a\nsuicide. Young men have their hidden troubles--some affair of the heart,\nperhaps, which we have never known. It is a more probable supposition\nthan murder.\"\n\n\"But the eyeglasses?\"\n\n\"Ah! I am only a student--a man of dreams. I cannot explain the\npractical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend, that\nlove-gages may take strange shapes. By all means take another cigarette.\nIt is a pleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. A fan, a glove,\nglasses--who knows what article may be carried as a token or treasured\nwhen a man puts an end to his life? This gentleman speaks of footsteps\nin the grass, but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point.\nAs to the knife, it might well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as\nhe fell. It is possible that I speak as a child, but to me it seems that\nWilloughby Smith has met his fate by his own hand.\"\n\nHolmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continued to\nwalk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consuming cigarette\nafter cigarette.\n\n\"Tell me, Professor Coram,\" he said, at last, \"what is in that cupboard\nin the bureau?\"\n\n\"Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from my poor\nwife, diplomas of universities which have done me honour. Here is the\nkey. You can look for yourself.\"\n\nHolmes picked up the key, and looked at it for an instant, then he\nhanded it back.\n\n\"No, I hardly think that it would help me,\" said he. \"I should prefer\nto go quietly down to your garden, and turn the whole matter over in my\nhead. There is something to be said for the theory of suicide which\nyou have put forward. We must apologize for having intruded upon you,\nProfessor Coram, and I promise that we won't disturb you until after\nlunch. At two o'clock we will come again, and report to you anything\nwhich may have happened in the interval.\"\n\nHolmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the garden path\nfor some time in silence.\n\n\"Have you a clue?\" I asked, at last.\n\n\"It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked,\" said he. \"It is\npossible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes,\" I exclaimed, \"how on earth----\"\n\n\"Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, there's no harm done. Of\ncourse, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but I take\na short cut when I can get it. Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker! Let us\nenjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her.\"\n\nI may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, a peculiarly\ningratiating way with women, and that he very readily established terms\nof confidence with them. In half the time which he had named, he had\ncaptured the housekeeper's goodwill and was chatting with her as if he\nhad known her for years.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke something\nterrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir. I've seen that room of\na morning--well, sir, you'd have thought it was a London fog. Poor young\nMr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as the professor. His\nhealth--well, I don't know that it's better nor worse for the smoking.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said Holmes, \"but it kills the appetite.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know about that, sir.\"\n\n\"I suppose the professor eats hardly anything?\"\n\n\"Well, he is variable. I'll say that for him.\"\n\n\"I'll wager he took no breakfast this morning, and won't face his lunch\nafter all the cigarettes I saw him consume.\"\n\n\"Well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkable big\nbreakfast this morning. I don't know when I've known him make a\nbetter one, and he's ordered a good dish of cutlets for his lunch. I'm\nsurprised myself, for since I came into that room yesterday and saw\nyoung Mr. Smith lying there on the floor, I couldn't bear to look at\nfood. Well, it takes all sorts to make a world, and the professor hasn't\nlet it take his appetite away.\"\n\nWe loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins had gone\ndown to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman who had\nbeen seen by some children on the Chatham Road the previous morning. As\nto my friend, all his usual energy seemed to have deserted him. I had\nnever known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion. Even the\nnews brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children, and that\nthey had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding with Holmes's\ndescription, and wearing either spectacles or eyeglasses, failed to\nrouse any sign of keen interest. He was more attentive when Susan, who\nwaited upon us at lunch, volunteered the information that she believed\nMr. Smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and that he had\nonly returned half an hour before the tragedy occurred. I could not\nmyself see the bearing of this incident, but I clearly perceived that\nHolmes was weaving it into the general scheme which he had formed in his\nbrain. Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch. \"Two\no'clock, gentlemen,\" said he. \"We must go up and have it out with our\nfriend, the professor.\"\n\nThe old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his empty dish\nbore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeper had\ncredited him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned his white mane\nand his glowing eyes towards us. The eternal cigarette smouldered in his\nmouth. He had been dressed and was seated in an armchair by the fire.\n\n\"Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this mystery yet?\" He shoved the\nlarge tin of cigarettes which stood on a table beside him towards my\ncompanion. Holmes stretched out his hand at the same moment, and between\nthem they tipped the box over the edge. For a minute or two we were all\non our knees retrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places. When we\nrose again, I observed Holmes's eyes were shining and his cheeks tinged\nwith colour. Only at a crisis have I seen those battle-signals flying.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"I have solved it.\"\n\nStanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement. Something like a sneer\nquivered over the gaunt features of the old professor.\n\n\"Indeed! In the garden?\"\n\n\"No, here.\"\n\n\"Here! When?\"\n\n\"This instant.\"\n\n\"You are surely joking, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You compel me to tell you\nthat this is too serious a matter to be treated in such a fashion.\"\n\n\"I have forged and tested every link of my chain, Professor Coram, and I\nam sure that it is sound. What your motives are, or what exact part\nyou play in this strange business, I am not yet able to say. In a few\nminutes I shall probably hear it from your own lips. Meanwhile I will\nreconstruct what is past for your benefit, so that you may know the\ninformation which I still require.\n\n\"A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the intention of\npossessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau. She\nhad a key of her own. I have had an opportunity of examining yours, and\nI do not find that slight discolouration which the scratch made upon the\nvarnish would have produced. You were not an accessory, therefore, and\nshe came, so far as I can read the evidence, without your knowledge to\nrob you.\"\n\nThe professor blew a cloud from his lips. \"This is most interesting and\ninstructive,\" said he. \"Have you no more to add? Surely, having traced\nthis lady so far, you can also say what has become of her.\"\n\n\"I will endeavour to do so. In the first place she was seized by your\nsecretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. This catastrophe I am\ninclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for I am convinced that the\nlady had no intention of inflicting so grievous an injury. An assassin\ndoes not come unarmed. Horrified by what she had done, she rushed wildly\naway from the scene of the tragedy. Unfortunately for her, she had lost\nher glasses in the scuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted she\nwas really helpless without them. She ran down a corridor, which she\nimagined to be that by which she had come--both were lined with cocoanut\nmatting--and it was only when it was too late that she understood that\nshe had taken the wrong passage, and that her retreat was cut off behind\nher. What was she to do? She could not go back. She could not remain\nwhere she was. She must go on. She went on. She mounted a stair, pushed\nopen a door, and found herself in your room.\"\n\nThe old man sat with his mouth open, staring wildly at Holmes. Amazement\nand fear were stamped upon his expressive features. Now, with an effort,\nhe shrugged his shoulders and burst into insincere laughter.\n\n\"All very fine, Mr. Holmes,\" said he. \"But there is one little flaw\nin your splendid theory. I was myself in my room, and I never left it\nduring the day.\"\n\n\"I am aware of that, Professor Coram.\"\n\n\"And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not be aware\nthat a woman had entered my room?\"\n\n\"I never said so. You WERE aware of it. You spoke with her. You\nrecognized her. You aided her to escape.\"\n\nAgain the professor burst into high-keyed laughter. He had risen to his\nfeet, and his eyes glowed like embers.\n\n\"You are mad!\" he cried. \"You are talking insanely. I helped her to\nescape? Where is she now?\"\n\n\"She is there,\" said Holmes, and he pointed to a high bookcase in the\ncorner of the room.\n\nI saw the old man throw up his arms, a terrible convulsion passed over\nhis grim face, and he fell back in his chair. At the same instant the\nbookcase at which Holmes pointed swung round upon a hinge, and a woman\nrushed out into the room. \"You are right!\" she cried, in a strange\nforeign voice. \"You are right! I am here.\"\n\nShe was brown with the dust and draped with the cobwebs which had come\nfrom the walls of her hiding-place. Her face, too, was streaked with\ngrime, and at the best she could never have been handsome, for she had\nthe exact physical characteristics which Holmes had divined, with, in\naddition, a long and obstinate chin. What with her natural blindness,\nand what with the change from dark to light, she stood as one dazed,\nblinking about her to see where and who we were. And yet, in spite of\nall these disadvantages, there was a certain nobility in the woman's\nbearing--a gallantry in the defiant chin and in the upraised head, which\ncompelled something of respect and admiration.\n\nStanley Hopkins had laid his hand upon her arm and claimed her as his\nprisoner, but she waved him aside gently, and yet with an over-mastering\ndignity which compelled obedience. The old man lay back in his chair\nwith a twitching face, and stared at her with brooding eyes.\n\n\"Yes, sir, I am your prisoner,\" she said. \"From where I stood I could\nhear everything, and I know that you have learned the truth. I confess\nit all. It was I who killed the young man. But you are right--you who\nsay it was an accident. I did not even know that it was a knife which\nI held in my hand, for in my despair I snatched anything from the table\nand struck at him to make him let me go. It is the truth that I tell.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" said Holmes, \"I am sure that it is the truth. I fear that you\nare far from well.\"\n\nShe had turned a dreadful colour, the more ghastly under the dark\ndust-streaks upon her face. She seated herself on the side of the bed;\nthen she resumed.\n\n\"I have only a little time here,\" she said, \"but I would have you to\nknow the whole truth. I am this man's wife. He is not an Englishman. He\nis a Russian. His name I will not tell.\"\n\nFor the first time the old man stirred. \"God bless you, Anna!\" he cried.\n\"God bless you!\"\n\nShe cast a look of the deepest disdain in his direction. \"Why should you\ncling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergius?\" said she. \"It\nhas done harm to many and good to none--not even to yourself. However,\nit is not for me to cause the frail thread to be snapped before God's\ntime. I have enough already upon my soul since I crossed the threshold\nof this cursed house. But I must speak or I shall be too late.\n\n\"I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man's wife. He was fifty and I\na foolish girl of twenty when we married. It was in a city of Russia, a\nuniversity--I will not name the place.\"\n\n\"God bless you, Anna!\" murmured the old man again.\n\n\"We were reformers--revolutionists--Nihilists, you understand. He and I\nand many more. Then there came a time of trouble, a police officer was\nkilled, many were arrested, evidence was wanted, and in order to save\nhis own life and to earn a great reward, my husband betrayed his own\nwife and his companions. Yes, we were all arrested upon his confession.\nSome of us found our way to the gallows, and some to Siberia. I was\namong these last, but my term was not for life. My husband came to\nEngland with his ill-gotten gains and has lived in quiet ever since,\nknowing well that if the Brotherhood knew where he was not a week would\npass before justice would be done.\"\n\nThe old man reached out a trembling hand and helped himself to a\ncigarette. \"I am in your hands, Anna,\" said he. \"You were always good to\nme.\"\n\n\"I have not yet told you the height of his villainy,\" said she. \"Among\nour comrades of the Order, there was one who was the friend of my heart.\nHe was noble, unselfish, loving--all that my husband was not. He hated\nviolence. We were all guilty--if that is guilt--but he was not. He wrote\nforever dissuading us from such a course. These letters would have saved\nhim. So would my diary, in which, from day to day, I had entered both my\nfeelings towards him and the view which each of us had taken. My husband\nfound and kept both diary and letters. He hid them, and he tried hard to\nswear away the young man's life. In this he failed, but Alexis was sent\na convict to Siberia, where now, at this moment, he works in a salt\nmine. Think of that, you villain, you villain!--now, now, at this very\nmoment, Alexis, a man whose name you are not worthy to speak, works and\nlives like a slave, and yet I have your life in my hands, and I let you\ngo.\"\n\n\"You were always a noble woman, Anna,\" said the old man, puffing at his\ncigarette.\n\nShe had risen, but she fell back again with a little cry of pain.\n\n\"I must finish,\" she said. \"When my term was over I set myself to get\nthe diary and letters which, if sent to the Russian government, would\nprocure my friend's release. I knew that my husband had come to England.\nAfter months of searching I discovered where he was. I knew that he\nstill had the diary, for when I was in Siberia I had a letter from him\nonce, reproaching me and quoting some passages from its pages. Yet I was\nsure that, with his revengeful nature, he would never give it to me of\nhis own free-will. I must get it for myself. With this object I engaged\nan agent from a private detective firm, who entered my husband's house\nas a secretary--it was your second secretary, Sergius, the one who left\nyou so hurriedly. He found that papers were kept in the cupboard, and he\ngot an impression of the key. He would not go farther. He furnished me\nwith a plan of the house, and he told me that in the forenoon the study\nwas always empty, as the secretary was employed up here. So at last I\ntook my courage in both hands, and I came down to get the papers for\nmyself. I succeeded; but at what a cost!\n\n\"I had just taken the paper; and was locking the cupboard, when the\nyoung man seized me. I had seen him already that morning. He had met me\non the road, and I had asked him to tell me where Professor Coram lived,\nnot knowing that he was in his employ.\"\n\n\"Exactly! Exactly!\" said Holmes. \"The secretary came back, and told his\nemployer of the woman he had met. Then, in his last breath, he tried to\nsend a message that it was she--the she whom he had just discussed with\nhim.\"\n\n\"You must let me speak,\" said the woman, in an imperative voice, and\nher face contracted as if in pain. \"When he had fallen I rushed from the\nroom, chose the wrong door, and found myself in my husband's room. He\nspoke of giving me up. I showed him that if he did so, his life was in\nmy hands. If he gave me to the law, I could give him to the Brotherhood.\nIt was not that I wished to live for my own sake, but it was that\nI desired to accomplish my purpose. He knew that I would do what I\nsaid--that his own fate was involved in mine. For that reason, and for\nno other, he shielded me. He thrust me into that dark hiding-place--a\nrelic of old days, known only to himself. He took his meals in his own\nroom, and so was able to give me part of his food. It was agreed that\nwhen the police left the house I should slip away by night and come back\nno more. But in some way you have read our plans.\" She tore from the\nbosom of her dress a small packet. \"These are my last words,\" said she;\n\"here is the packet which will save Alexis. I confide it to your honour\nand to your love of justice. Take it! You will deliver it at the Russian\nEmbassy. Now, I have done my duty, and----\"\n\n\"Stop her!\" cried Holmes. He had bounded across the room and had\nwrenched a small phial from her hand.\n\n\"Too late!\" she said, sinking back on the bed. \"Too late! I took the\npoison before I left my hiding-place. My head swims! I am going! I\ncharge you, sir, to remember the packet.\"\n\n\"A simple case, and yet, in some ways, an instructive one,\" Holmes\nremarked, as we travelled back to town. \"It hinged from the outset upon\nthe pince-nez. But for the fortunate chance of the dying man having\nseized these, I am not sure that we could ever have reached our\nsolution. It was clear to me, from the strength of the glasses, that\nthe wearer must have been very blind and helpless when deprived of them.\nWhen you asked me to believe that she walked along a narrow strip of\ngrass without once making a false step, I remarked, as you may remember,\nthat it was a noteworthy performance. In my mind I set it down as an\nimpossible performance, save in the unlikely case that she had a second\npair of glasses. I was forced, therefore, to consider seriously the\nhypothesis that she had remained within the house. On perceiving the\nsimilarity of the two corridors, it became clear that she might very\neasily have made such a mistake, and, in that case, it was evident that\nshe must have entered the professor's room. I was keenly on the alert,\ntherefore, for whatever would bear out this supposition, and I examined\nthe room narrowly for anything in the shape of a hiding-place. The\ncarpet seemed continuous and firmly nailed, so I dismissed the idea of\na trap-door. There might well be a recess behind the books. As you are\naware, such devices are common in old libraries. I observed that books\nwere piled on the floor at all other points, but that one bookcase was\nleft clear. This, then, might be the door. I could see no marks to guide\nme, but the carpet was of a dun colour, which lends itself very well\nto examination. I therefore smoked a great number of those excellent\ncigarettes, and I dropped the ash all over the space in front of the\nsuspected bookcase. It was a simple trick, but exceedingly effective.\nI then went downstairs, and I ascertained, in your presence, Watson,\nwithout your perceiving the drift of my remarks, that Professor Coram's\nconsumption of food had increased--as one would expect when he is\nsupplying a second person. We then ascended to the room again, when,\nby upsetting the cigarette-box, I obtained a very excellent view of\nthe floor, and was able to see quite clearly, from the traces upon the\ncigarette ash, that the prisoner had in our absence come out from her\nretreat. Well, Hopkins, here we are at Charing Cross, and I congratulate\nyou on having brought your case to a successful conclusion. You are\ngoing to headquarters, no doubt. I think, Watson, you and I will drive\ntogether to the Russian Embassy.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING THREE-QUARTER\n\n\nWe were fairly accustomed to receive weird telegrams at Baker Street,\nbut I have a particular recollection of one which reached us on a gloomy\nFebruary morning, some seven or eight years ago, and gave Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes a puzzled quarter of an hour. It was addressed to him, and ran\nthus:\n\n\nPlease await me. Terrible misfortune. Right wing three-quarter missing,\nindispensable to-morrow. OVERTON.\n\n\n\"Strand postmark, and dispatched ten thirty-six,\" said Holmes, reading\nit over and over. \"Mr. Overton was evidently considerably excited when\nhe sent it, and somewhat incoherent in consequence. Well, well, he will\nbe here, I daresay, by the time I have looked through the TIMES, and\nthen we shall know all about it. Even the most insignificant problem\nwould be welcome in these stagnant days.\"\n\nThings had indeed been very slow with us, and I had learned to dread\nsuch periods of inaction, for I knew by experience that my companion's\nbrain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous to leave it without\nmaterial upon which to work. For years I had gradually weaned him\nfrom that drug mania which had threatened once to check his remarkable\ncareer. Now I knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer craved\nfor this artificial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend was\nnot dead but sleeping, and I have known that the sleep was a light one\nand the waking near when in periods of idleness I have seen the drawn\nlook upon Holmes's ascetic face, and the brooding of his deep-set and\ninscrutable eyes. Therefore I blessed this Mr. Overton whoever he might\nbe, since he had come with his enigmatic message to break that dangerous\ncalm which brought more peril to my friend than all the storms of his\ntempestuous life.\n\nAs we had expected, the telegram was soon followed by its sender, and\nthe card of Mr. Cyril Overton, Trinity College, Cambridge, announced\nthe arrival of an enormous young man, sixteen stone of solid bone and\nmuscle, who spanned the doorway with his broad shoulders, and looked\nfrom one of us to the other with a comely face which was haggard with\nanxiety.\n\n\"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?\"\n\nMy companion bowed.\n\n\"I've been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes. I saw Inspector Stanley\nHopkins. He advised me to come to you. He said the case, so far as he\ncould see, was more in your line than in that of the regular police.\"\n\n\"Pray sit down and tell me what is the matter.\"\n\n\"It's awful, Mr. Holmes--simply awful I wonder my hair isn't gray.\nGodfrey Staunton--you've heard of him, of course? He's simply the hinge\nthat the whole team turns on. I'd rather spare two from the pack,\nand have Godfrey for my three-quarter line. Whether it's passing, or\ntackling, or dribbling, there's no one to touch him, and then, he's got\nthe head, and can hold us all together. What am I to do? That's what I\nask you, Mr. Holmes. There's Moorhouse, first reserve, but he is trained\nas a half, and he always edges right in on to the scrum instead of\nkeeping out on the touchline. He's a fine place-kick, it's true, but\nthen he has no judgment, and he can't sprint for nuts. Why, Morton or\nJohnson, the Oxford fliers, could romp round him. Stevenson is\nfast enough, but he couldn't drop from the twenty-five line, and a\nthree-quarter who can't either punt or drop isn't worth a place for\npace alone. No, Mr. Holmes, we are done unless you can help me to find\nGodfrey Staunton.\"\n\nMy friend had listened with amused surprise to this long speech, which\nwas poured forth with extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every point\nbeing driven home by the slapping of a brawny hand upon the speaker's\nknee. When our visitor was silent Holmes stretched out his hand and took\ndown letter \"S\" of his commonplace book. For once he dug in vain into\nthat mine of varied information.\n\n\"There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young forger,\" said he, \"and\nthere was Henry Staunton, whom I helped to hang, but Godfrey Staunton is\na new name to me.\"\n\nIt was our visitor's turn to look surprised.\n\n\"Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things,\" said he. \"I suppose,\nthen, if you have never heard of Godfrey Staunton, you don't know Cyril\nOverton either?\"\n\nHolmes shook his head good humouredly.\n\n\"Great Scott!\" cried the athlete. \"Why, I was first reserve for England\nagainst Wales, and I've skippered the 'Varsity all this year. But that's\nnothing! I didn't think there was a soul in England who didn't know\nGodfrey Staunton, the crack three-quarter, Cambridge, Blackheath, and\nfive Internationals. Good Lord! Mr. Holmes, where HAVE you lived?\"\n\nHolmes laughed at the young giant's naive astonishment.\n\n\"You live in a different world to me, Mr. Overton--a sweeter and\nhealthier one. My ramifications stretch out into many sections of\nsociety, but never, I am happy to say, into amateur sport, which is the\nbest and soundest thing in England. However, your unexpected visit this\nmorning shows me that even in that world of fresh air and fair play,\nthere may be work for me to do. So now, my good sir, I beg you to sit\ndown and to tell me, slowly and quietly, exactly what it is that has\noccurred, and how you desire that I should help you.\"\n\nYoung Overton's face assumed the bothered look of the man who is more\naccustomed to using his muscles than his wits, but by degrees, with many\nrepetitions and obscurities which I may omit from his narrative, he laid\nhis strange story before us.\n\n\"It's this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I am the skipper of the\nRugger team of Cambridge 'Varsity, and Godfrey Staunton is my best man.\nTo-morrow we play Oxford. Yesterday we all came up, and we settled at\nBentley's private hotel. At ten o'clock I went round and saw that all\nthe fellows had gone to roost, for I believe in strict training and\nplenty of sleep to keep a team fit. I had a word or two with Godfrey\nbefore he turned in. He seemed to me to be pale and bothered. I asked\nhim what was the matter. He said he was all right--just a touch of\nheadache. I bade him good-night and left him. Half an hour later, the\nporter tells me that a rough-looking man with a beard called with a note\nfor Godfrey. He had not gone to bed, and the note was taken to his room.\nGodfrey read it, and fell back in a chair as if he had been pole-axed.\nThe porter was so scared that he was going to fetch me, but Godfrey\nstopped him, had a drink of water, and pulled himself together. Then\nhe went downstairs, said a few words to the man who was waiting in the\nhall, and the two of them went off together. The last that the porter\nsaw of them, they were almost running down the street in the direction\nof the Strand. This morning Godfrey's room was empty, his bed had never\nbeen slept in, and his things were all just as I had seen them the night\nbefore. He had gone off at a moment's notice with this stranger, and no\nword has come from him since. I don't believe he will ever come back. He\nwas a sportsman, was Godfrey, down to his marrow, and he wouldn't have\nstopped his training and let in his skipper if it were not for some\ncause that was too strong for him. No: I feel as if he were gone for\ngood, and we should never see him again.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes listened with the deepest attention to this singular\nnarrative.\n\n\"What did you do?\" he asked.\n\n\"I wired to Cambridge to learn if anything had been heard of him there.\nI have had an answer. No one has seen him.\"\n\n\"Could he have got back to Cambridge?\"\n\n\"Yes, there is a late train--quarter-past eleven.\"\n\n\"But, so far as you can ascertain, he did not take it?\"\n\n\"No, he has not been seen.\"\n\n\"What did you do next?\"\n\n\"I wired to Lord Mount-James.\"\n\n\"Why to Lord Mount-James?\"\n\n\"Godfrey is an orphan, and Lord Mount-James is his nearest relative--his\nuncle, I believe.\"\n\n\"Indeed. This throws new light upon the matter. Lord Mount-James is one\nof the richest men in England.\"\n\n\"So I've heard Godfrey say.\"\n\n\"And your friend was closely related?\"\n\n\"Yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is nearly eighty--cram full of\ngout, too. They say he could chalk his billiard-cue with his knuckles.\nHe never allowed Godfrey a shilling in his life, for he is an absolute\nmiser, but it will all come to him right enough.\"\n\n\"Have you heard from Lord Mount-James?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What motive could your friend have in going to Lord Mount-James?\"\n\n\"Well, something was worrying him the night before, and if it was to do\nwith money it is possible that he would make for his nearest relative,\nwho had so much of it, though from all I have heard he would not have\nmuch chance of getting it. Godfrey was not fond of the old man. He would\nnot go if he could help it.\"\n\n\"Well, we can soon determine that. If your friend was going to his\nrelative, Lord Mount-James, you have then to explain the visit of this\nrough-looking fellow at so late an hour, and the agitation that was\ncaused by his coming.\"\n\nCyril Overton pressed his hands to his head. \"I can make nothing of it,\"\nsaid he.\n\n\"Well, well, I have a clear day, and I shall be happy to look into the\nmatter,\" said Holmes. \"I should strongly recommend you to make your\npreparations for your match without reference to this young gentleman.\nIt must, as you say, have been an overpowering necessity which tore him\naway in such a fashion, and the same necessity is likely to hold him\naway. Let us step round together to the hotel, and see if the porter can\nthrow any fresh light upon the matter.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humble\nwitness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Staunton's\nabandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter had to tell.\nThe visitor of the night before was not a gentleman, neither was he a\nworkingman. He was simply what the porter described as a \"medium-looking\nchap,\" a man of fifty, beard grizzled, pale face, quietly dressed.\nHe seemed himself to be agitated. The porter had observed his hand\ntrembling when he had held out the note. Godfrey Staunton had crammed\nthe note into his pocket. Staunton had not shaken hands with the man in\nthe hall. They had exchanged a few sentences, of which the porter had\nonly distinguished the one word \"time.\" Then they had hurried off in the\nmanner described. It was just half-past ten by the hall clock.\n\n\"Let me see,\" said Holmes, seating himself on Staunton's bed. \"You are\nthe day porter, are you not?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I go off duty at eleven.\"\n\n\"The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?\"\n\n\"No, sir, one theatre party came in late. No one else.\"\n\n\"Were you on duty all day yesterday?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, one telegram.\"\n\n\"Ah! that's interesting. What o'clock was this?\"\n\n\"About six.\"\n\n\"Where was Mr. Staunton when he received it?\"\n\n\"Here in his room.\"\n\n\"Were you present when he opened it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I waited to see if there was an answer.\"\n\n\"Well, was there?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, he wrote an answer.\"\n\n\"Did you take it?\"\n\n\"No, he took it himself.\"\n\n\"But he wrote it in your presence.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he with his back turned at\nthat table. When he had written it, he said: 'All right, porter, I will\ntake this myself.'\"\n\n\"What did he write it with?\"\n\n\"A pen, sir.\"\n\n\"Was the telegraphic form one of these on the table?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, it was the top one.\"\n\nHolmes rose. Taking the forms, he carried them over to the window and\ncarefully examined that which was uppermost.\n\n\"It is a pity he did not write in pencil,\" said he, throwing them down\nagain with a shrug of disappointment. \"As you have no doubt frequently\nobserved, Watson, the impression usually goes through--a fact which has\ndissolved many a happy marriage. However, I can find no trace here. I\nrejoice, however, to perceive that he wrote with a broad-pointed quill\npen, and I can hardly doubt that we will find some impression upon this\nblotting-pad. Ah, yes, surely this is the very thing!\"\n\nHe tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and turned towards us the\nfollowing hieroglyphic:\n\n\nGRAPHIC\n\n\nCyril Overton was much excited. \"Hold it to the glass!\" he cried.\n\n\"That is unnecessary,\" said Holmes. \"The paper is thin, and the reverse\nwill give the message. Here it is.\" He turned it over, and we read:\n\n\nGRAPHIC [Stand by us for Gods sake]\n\n\n\"So that is the tail end of the telegram which Godfrey Staunton\ndispatched within a few hours of his disappearance. There are at least\nsix words of the message which have escaped us; but what remains--'Stand\nby us for God's sake!'--proves that this young man saw a formidable\ndanger which approached him, and from which someone else could protect\nhim. 'US,' mark you! Another person was involved. Who should it be but\nthe pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed himself in so nervous a state?\nWhat, then, is the connection between Godfrey Staunton and the bearded\nman? And what is the third source from which each of them sought for\nhelp against pressing danger? Our inquiry has already narrowed down to\nthat.\"\n\n\"We have only to find to whom that telegram is addressed,\" I suggested.\n\n\"Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection, though profound, had already\ncrossed my mind. But I daresay it may have come to your notice that,\ncounterfoil of another man's message, there may be some disinclination\non the part of the officials to oblige you. There is so much red tape in\nthese matters. However, I have no doubt that with a little delicacy\nand finesse the end may be attained. Meanwhile, I should like in your\npresence, Mr. Overton, to go through these papers which have been left\nupon the table.\"\n\nThere were a number of letters, bills, and notebooks, which Holmes\nturned over and examined with quick, nervous fingers and darting,\npenetrating eyes. \"Nothing here,\" he said, at last. \"By the way, I\nsuppose your friend was a healthy young fellow--nothing amiss with him?\"\n\n\"Sound as a bell.\"\n\n\"Have you ever known him ill?\"\n\n\"Not a day. He has been laid up with a hack, and once he slipped his\nknee-cap, but that was nothing.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. I should think he may\nhave had some secret trouble. With your assent, I will put one or two\nof these papers in my pocket, in case they should bear upon our future\ninquiry.\"\n\n\"One moment--one moment!\" cried a querulous voice, and we looked up to\nfind a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway. He\nwas dressed in rusty black, with a very broad-brimmed top-hat and a\nloose white necktie--the whole effect being that of a very rustic parson\nor of an undertaker's mute. Yet, in spite of his shabby and even absurd\nappearance, his voice had a sharp crackle, and his manner a quick\nintensity which commanded attention.\n\n\"Who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch this gentleman's\npapers?\" he asked.\n\n\"I am a private detective, and I am endeavouring to explain his\ndisappearance.\"\n\n\"Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed you, eh?\"\n\n\"This gentleman, Mr. Staunton's friend, was referred to me by Scotland\nYard.\"\n\n\"Who are you, sir?\"\n\n\"I am Cyril Overton.\"\n\n\"Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is Lord Mount-James. I\ncame round as quickly as the Bayswater bus would bring me. So you have\ninstructed a detective?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And are you prepared to meet the cost?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt, sir, that my friend Godfrey, when we find him, will be\nprepared to do that.\"\n\n\"But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!\"\n\n\"In that case, no doubt his family----\"\n\n\"Nothing of the sort, sir!\" screamed the little man. \"Don't look to me\nfor a penny--not a penny! You understand that, Mr. Detective! I am all\nthe family that this young man has got, and I tell you that I am not\nresponsible. If he has any expectations it is due to the fact that I\nhave never wasted money, and I do not propose to begin to do so now. As\nto those papers with which you are making so free, I may tell you that\nin case there should be anything of any value among them, you will be\nheld strictly to account for what you do with them.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"May I ask, in the meanwhile,\nwhether you have yourself any theory to account for this young man's\ndisappearance?\"\n\n\"No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old enough to look after\nhimself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself, I entirely refuse\nto accept the responsibility of hunting for him.\"\n\n\"I quite understand your position,\" said Holmes, with a mischievous\ntwinkle in his eyes. \"Perhaps you don't quite understand mine. Godfrey\nStaunton appears to have been a poor man. If he has been kidnapped, it\ncould not have been for anything which he himself possesses. The fame\nof your wealth has gone abroad, Lord Mount-James, and it is entirely\npossible that a gang of thieves have secured your nephew in order to\ngain from him some information as to your house, your habits, and your\ntreasure.\"\n\nThe face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as his\nneckcloth.\n\n\"Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought of such villainy! What\ninhuman rogues there are in the world! But Godfrey is a fine lad--a\nstaunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give his old uncle away. I'll\nhave the plate moved over to the bank this evening. In the meantime\nspare no pains, Mr. Detective! I beg you to leave no stone unturned to\nbring him safely back. As to money, well, so far as a fiver or even a\ntenner goes you can always look to me.\"\n\nEven in his chastened frame of mind, the noble miser could give us no\ninformation which could help us, for he knew little of the private life\nof his nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncated telegram, and with a\ncopy of this in his hand Holmes set forth to find a second link for\nhis chain. We had shaken off Lord Mount-James, and Overton had gone to\nconsult with the other members of his team over the misfortune which had\nbefallen them.\n\nThere was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel. We\nhalted outside it.\n\n\"It's worth trying, Watson,\" said Holmes. \"Of course, with a warrant we\ncould demand to see the counterfoils, but we have not reached that stage\nyet. I don't suppose they remember faces in so busy a place. Let us\nventure it.\"\n\n\"I am sorry to trouble you,\" said he, in his blandest manner, to the\nyoung woman behind the grating; \"there is some small mistake about a\ntelegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and I very much fear\nthat I must have omitted to put my name at the end. Could you tell me if\nthis was so?\"\n\nThe young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils.\n\n\"What o'clock was it?\" she asked.\n\n\"A little after six.\"\n\n\"Whom was it to?\"\n\nHolmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. \"The last words\nin it were 'For God's sake,'\" he whispered, confidentially; \"I am very\nanxious at getting no answer.\"\n\nThe young woman separated one of the forms.\n\n\"This is it. There is no name,\" said she, smoothing it out upon the\ncounter.\n\n\"Then that, of course, accounts for my getting no answer,\" said Holmes.\n\"Dear me, how very stupid of me, to be sure! Good-morning, miss, and\nmany thanks for having relieved my mind.\" He chuckled and rubbed his\nhands when we found ourselves in the street once more.\n\n\"Well?\" I asked.\n\n\"We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I had seven different schemes\nfor getting a glimpse of that telegram, but I could hardly hope to\nsucceed the very first time.\"\n\n\"And what have you gained?\"\n\n\"A starting-point for our investigation.\" He hailed a cab. \"King's Cross\nStation,\" said he.\n\n\"We have a journey, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think we must run down to Cambridge together. All the\nindications seem to me to point in that direction.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" I asked, as we rattled up Gray's Inn Road, \"have you any\nsuspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? I don't think that\namong all our cases I have known one where the motives are more obscure.\nSurely you don't really imagine that he may be kidnapped in order to\ngive information against his wealthy uncle?\"\n\n\"I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not appeal to me as a very\nprobable explanation. It struck me, however, as being the one which was\nmost likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant old person.\"\n\n\"It certainly did that; but what are your alternatives?\"\n\n\"I could mention several. You must admit that it is curious and\nsuggestive that this incident should occur on the eve of this important\nmatch, and should involve the only man whose presence seems essential to\nthe success of the side. It may, of course, be a coincidence, but it\nis interesting. Amateur sport is free from betting, but a good deal of\noutside betting goes on among the public, and it is possible that it\nmight be worth someone's while to get at a player as the ruffians of\nthe turf get at a race-horse. There is one explanation. A second\nvery obvious one is that this young man really is the heir of a great\nproperty, however modest his means may at present be, and it is not\nimpossible that a plot to hold him for ransom might be concocted.\"\n\n\"These theories take no account of the telegram.\"\n\n\"Quite true, Watson. The telegram still remains the only solid thing\nwith which we have to deal, and we must not permit our attention to\nwander away from it. It is to gain light upon the purpose of this\ntelegram that we are now upon our way to Cambridge. The path of our\ninvestigation is at present obscure, but I shall be very much surprised\nif before evening we have not cleared it up, or made a considerable\nadvance along it.\"\n\nIt was already dark when we reached the old university city. Holmes took\na cab at the station and ordered the man to drive to the house of Dr.\nLeslie Armstrong. A few minutes later, we had stopped at a large mansion\nin the busiest thoroughfare. We were shown in, and after a long wait\nwere at last admitted into the consulting-room, where we found the\ndoctor seated behind his table.\n\nIt argues the degree in which I had lost touch with my profession that\nthe name of Leslie Armstrong was unknown to me. Now I am aware that he\nis not only one of the heads of the medical school of the university,\nbut a thinker of European reputation in more than one branch of science.\nYet even without knowing his brilliant record one could not fail to be\nimpressed by a mere glance at the man, the square, massive face, the\nbrooding eyes under the thatched brows, and the granite moulding of the\ninflexible jaw. A man of deep character, a man with an alert mind, grim,\nascetic, self-contained, formidable--so I read Dr. Leslie Armstrong. He\nheld my friend's card in his hand, and he looked up with no very pleased\nexpression upon his dour features.\n\n\"I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I am aware of your\nprofession--one of which I by no means approve.\"\n\n\"In that, Doctor, you will find yourself in agreement with every\ncriminal in the country,\" said my friend, quietly.\n\n\"So far as your efforts are directed towards the suppression of crime,\nsir, they must have the support of every reasonable member of the\ncommunity, though I cannot doubt that the official machinery is amply\nsufficient for the purpose. Where your calling is more open to criticism\nis when you pry into the secrets of private individuals, when you rake\nup family matters which are better hidden, and when you incidentally\nwaste the time of men who are more busy than yourself. At the present\nmoment, for example, I should be writing a treatise instead of\nconversing with you.\"\n\n\"No doubt, Doctor; and yet the conversation may prove more important\nthan the treatise. Incidentally, I may tell you that we are doing the\nreverse of what you very justly blame, and that we are endeavouring\nto prevent anything like public exposure of private matters which must\nnecessarily follow when once the case is fairly in the hands of the\nofficial police. You may look upon me simply as an irregular pioneer,\nwho goes in front of the regular forces of the country. I have come to\nask you about Mr. Godfrey Staunton.\"\n\n\"What about him?\"\n\n\"You know him, do you not?\"\n\n\"He is an intimate friend of mine.\"\n\n\"You are aware that he has disappeared?\"\n\n\"Ah, indeed!\" There was no change of expression in the rugged features\nof the doctor.\n\n\"He left his hotel last night--he has not been heard of.\"\n\n\"No doubt he will return.\"\n\n\"To-morrow is the 'Varsity football match.\"\n\n\"I have no sympathy with these childish games. The young man's fate\ninterests me deeply, since I know him and like him. The football match\ndoes not come within my horizon at all.\"\n\n\"I claim your sympathy, then, in my investigation of Mr. Staunton's\nfate. Do you know where he is?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"You have not seen him since yesterday?\"\n\n\"No, I have not.\"\n\n\"Was Mr. Staunton a healthy man?\"\n\n\"Absolutely.\"\n\n\"Did you ever know him ill?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\nHolmes popped a sheet of paper before the doctor's eyes. \"Then perhaps\nyou will explain this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paid by Mr.\nGodfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie Armstrong, of Cambridge. I\npicked it out from among the papers upon his desk.\"\n\nThe doctor flushed with anger.\n\n\"I do not feel that there is any reason why I should render an\nexplanation to you, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\nHolmes replaced the bill in his notebook. \"If you prefer a public\nexplanation, it must come sooner or later,\" said he. \"I have already\ntold you that I can hush up that which others will be bound to publish,\nand you would really be wiser to take me into your complete confidence.\"\n\n\"I know nothing about it.\"\n\n\"Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?\"\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"Dear me, dear me--the postoffice again!\" Holmes sighed, wearily.\n\"A most urgent telegram was dispatched to you from London by Godfrey\nStaunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening--a telegram which is\nundoubtedly associated with his disappearance--and yet you have not had\nit. It is most culpable. I shall certainly go down to the office here\nand register a complaint.\"\n\nDr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind his desk, and his dark face\nwas crimson with fury.\n\n\"I'll trouble you to walk out of my house, sir,\" said he. \"You can tell\nyour employer, Lord Mount-James, that I do not wish to have anything to\ndo either with him or with his agents. No, sir--not another word!\" He\nrang the bell furiously. \"John, show these gentlemen out!\" A pompous\nbutler ushered us severely to the door, and we found ourselves in the\nstreet. Holmes burst out laughing.\n\n\"Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of energy and character,\" said\nhe. \"I have not seen a man who, if he turns his talents that way, was\nmore calculated to fill the gap left by the illustrious Moriarty.\nAnd now, my poor Watson, here we are, stranded and friendless in this\ninhospitable town, which we cannot leave without abandoning our case.\nThis little inn just opposite Armstrong's house is singularly adapted to\nour needs. If you would engage a front room and purchase the necessaries\nfor the night, I may have time to make a few inquiries.\"\n\nThese few inquiries proved, however, to be a more lengthy proceeding\nthan Holmes had imagined, for he did not return to the inn until nearly\nnine o'clock. He was pale and dejected, stained with dust, and exhausted\nwith hunger and fatigue. A cold supper was ready upon the table, and\nwhen his needs were satisfied and his pipe alight he was ready to take\nthat half comic and wholly philosophic view which was natural to him\nwhen his affairs were going awry. The sound of carriage wheels caused\nhim to rise and glance out of the window. A brougham and pair of grays,\nunder the glare of a gas-lamp, stood before the doctor's door.\n\n\"It's been out three hours,\" said Holmes; \"started at half-past six, and\nhere it is back again. That gives a radius of ten or twelve miles, and\nhe does it once, or sometimes twice, a day.\"\n\n\"No unusual thing for a doctor in practice.\"\n\n\"But Armstrong is not really a doctor in practice. He is a lecturer and\na consultant, but he does not care for general practice, which distracts\nhim from his literary work. Why, then, does he make these long journeys,\nwhich must be exceedingly irksome to him, and who is it that he visits?\"\n\n\"His coachman----\"\n\n\"My dear Watson, can you doubt that it was to him that I first applied?\nI do not know whether it came from his own innate depravity or from the\npromptings of his master, but he was rude enough to set a dog at me.\nNeither dog nor man liked the look of my stick, however, and the matter\nfell through. Relations were strained after that, and further inquiries\nout of the question. All that I have learned I got from a friendly\nnative in the yard of our own inn. It was he who told me of the doctor's\nhabits and of his daily journey. At that instant, to give point to his\nwords, the carriage came round to the door.\"\n\n\"Could you not follow it?\"\n\n\"Excellent, Watson! You are scintillating this evening. The idea did\ncross my mind. There is, as you may have observed, a bicycle shop next\nto our inn. Into this I rushed, engaged a bicycle, and was able to get\nstarted before the carriage was quite out of sight. I rapidly overtook\nit, and then, keeping at a discreet distance of a hundred yards or so, I\nfollowed its lights until we were clear of the town. We had got well out\non the country road, when a somewhat mortifying incident occurred. The\ncarriage stopped, the doctor alighted, walked swiftly back to where I\nhad also halted, and told me in an excellent sardonic fashion that\nhe feared the road was narrow, and that he hoped his carriage did not\nimpede the passage of my bicycle. Nothing could have been more admirable\nthan his way of putting it. I at once rode past the carriage, and,\nkeeping to the main road, I went on for a few miles, and then halted in\na convenient place to see if the carriage passed. There was no sign of\nit, however, and so it became evident that it had turned down one of\nseveral side roads which I had observed. I rode back, but again saw\nnothing of the carriage, and now, as you perceive, it has returned after\nme. Of course, I had at the outset no particular reason to connect\nthese journeys with the disappearance of Godfrey Staunton, and was only\ninclined to investigate them on the general grounds that everything\nwhich concerns Dr. Armstrong is at present of interest to us, but, now\nthat I find he keeps so keen a look-out upon anyone who may follow him\non these excursions, the affair appears more important, and I shall not\nbe satisfied until I have made the matter clear.\"\n\n\"We can follow him to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Can we? It is not so easy as you seem to think. You are not familiar\nwith Cambridgeshire scenery, are you? It does not lend itself to\nconcealment. All this country that I passed over to-night is as flat and\nclean as the palm of your hand, and the man we are following is no fool,\nas he very clearly showed to-night. I have wired to Overton to let us\nknow any fresh London developments at this address, and in the meantime\nwe can only concentrate our attention upon Dr. Armstrong, whose name\nthe obliging young lady at the office allowed me to read upon the\ncounterfoil of Staunton's urgent message. He knows where the young man\nis--to that I'll swear, and if he knows, then it must be our own fault\nif we cannot manage to know also. At present it must be admitted that\nthe odd trick is in his possession, and, as you are aware, Watson, it is\nnot my habit to leave the game in that condition.\"\n\nAnd yet the next day brought us no nearer to the solution of the\nmystery. A note was handed in after breakfast, which Holmes passed\nacross to me with a smile.\n\n\nSIR [it ran]:\n\nI can assure you that you are wasting your time in dogging my movements.\nI have, as you discovered last night, a window at the back of my\nbrougham, and if you desire a twenty-mile ride which will lead you to\nthe spot from which you started, you have only to follow me. Meanwhile,\nI can inform you that no spying upon me can in any way help Mr. Godfrey\nStaunton, and I am convinced that the best service you can do to that\ngentleman is to return at once to London and to report to your employer\nthat you are unable to trace him. Your time in Cambridge will certainly\nbe wasted. Yours faithfully, LESLIE ARMSTRONG.\n\n\n\"An outspoken, honest antagonist is the doctor,\" said Holmes. \"Well,\nwell, he excites my curiosity, and I must really know before I leave\nhim.\"\n\n\"His carriage is at his door now,\" said I. \"There he is stepping into\nit. I saw him glance up at our window as he did so. Suppose I try my\nluck upon the bicycle?\"\n\n\"No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for your natural acumen, I do\nnot think that you are quite a match for the worthy doctor. I think that\npossibly I can attain our end by some independent explorations of my\nown. I am afraid that I must leave you to your own devices, as the\nappearance of TWO inquiring strangers upon a sleepy countryside might\nexcite more gossip than I care for. No doubt you will find some sights\nto amuse you in this venerable city, and I hope to bring back a more\nfavourable report to you before evening.\"\n\nOnce more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed. He came\nback at night weary and unsuccessful.\n\n\"I have had a blank day, Watson. Having got the doctor's general\ndirection, I spent the day in visiting all the villages upon that side\nof Cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and other local news\nagencies. I have covered some ground. Chesterton, Histon, Waterbeach,\nand Oakington have each been explored, and have each proved\ndisappointing. The daily appearance of a brougham and pair could hardly\nhave been overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. The doctor has scored once\nmore. Is there a telegram for me?\"\n\n\"Yes, I opened it. Here it is:\n\n\"Ask for Pompey from Jeremy Dixon, Trinity College.\"\n\n\"I don't understand it.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our friend Overton, and is in answer\nto a question from me. I'll just send round a note to Mr. Jeremy Dixon,\nand then I have no doubt that our luck will turn. By the way, is there\nany news of the match?\"\n\n\"Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in its last\nedition. Oxford won by a goal and two tries. The last sentences of the\ndescription say:\n\n\"'The defeat of the Light Blues may be entirely attributed to the\nunfortunate absence of the crack International, Godfrey Staunton, whose\nwant was felt at every instant of the game. The lack of combination in\nthe three-quarter line and their weakness both in attack and defence\nmore than neutralized the efforts of a heavy and hard-working pack.'\"\n\n\"Then our friend Overton's forebodings have been justified,\" said\nHolmes. \"Personally I am in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, and football\ndoes not come within my horizon. Early to bed to-night, Watson, for I\nforesee that to-morrow may be an eventful day.\"\n\nI was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, for he\nsat by the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated that\ninstrument with the single weakness of his nature, and I feared the\nworst when I saw it glittering in his hand. He laughed at my expression\nof dismay and laid it upon the table.\n\n\"No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. It is not upon\nthis occasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be the\nkey which will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I base all my hopes.\nI have just returned from a small scouting expedition, and everything is\nfavourable. Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose to get upon Dr.\nArmstrong's trail to-day, and once on it I will not stop for rest or\nfood until I run him to his burrow.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said I, \"we had best carry our breakfast with us, for he\nis making an early start. His carriage is at the door.\"\n\n\"Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive where I\ncannot follow him. When you have finished, come downstairs with me, and\nI will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent specialist in\nthe work that lies before us.\"\n\nWhen we descended I followed Holmes into the stable yard, where\nhe opened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared,\nwhite-and-tan dog, something between a beagle and a foxhound.\n\n\"Let me introduce you to Pompey,\" said he. \"Pompey is the pride of the\nlocal draghounds--no very great flier, as his build will show, but\na staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not be fast, but\nI expect you will be too fast for a couple of middle-aged London\ngentlemen, so I will take the liberty of fastening this leather leash to\nyour collar. Now, boy, come along, and show what you can do.\" He led him\nacross to the doctor's door. The dog sniffed round for an instant, and\nthen with a shrill whine of excitement started off down the street,\ntugging at his leash in his efforts to go faster. In half an hour, we\nwere clear of the town and hastening down a country road.\n\n\"What have you done, Holmes?\" I asked.\n\n\"A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. I walked\ninto the doctor's yard this morning, and shot my syringe full of aniseed\nover the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed from here to John\no'Groat's, and our friend, Armstrong, would have to drive through the\nCam before he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the cunning rascal!\nThis is how he gave me the slip the other night.\"\n\nThe dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grown\nlane. Half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and the\ntrail turned hard to the right in the direction of the town, which we\nhad just quitted. The road took a sweep to the south of the town, and\ncontinued in the opposite direction to that in which we started.\n\n\"This DETOUR has been entirely for our benefit, then?\" said Holmes.\n\"No wonder that my inquiries among those villagers led to nothing. The\ndoctor has certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one would\nlike to know the reason for such elaborate deception. This should be\nthe village of Trumpington to the right of us. And, by Jove! here is the\nbrougham coming round the corner. Quick, Watson--quick, or we are done!\"\n\nHe sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompey\nafter him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when the\ncarriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong within, his\nshoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress.\nI could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had seen.\n\n\"I fear there is some dark ending to our quest,\" said he. \"It cannot\nbe long before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in the\nfield!\"\n\nThere could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey.\nPompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate, where the marks\nof the brougham's wheels were still to be seen. A footpath led across\nto the lonely cottage. Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastened\nonward. My friend knocked at the little rustic door, and knocked again\nwithout response. And yet the cottage was not deserted, for a low\nsound came to our ears--a kind of drone of misery and despair which was\nindescribably melancholy. Holmes paused irresolute, and then he glanced\nback at the road which he had just traversed. A brougham was coming down\nit, and there could be no mistaking those gray horses.\n\n\"By Jove, the doctor is coming back!\" cried Holmes. \"That settles it. We\nare bound to see what it means before he comes.\"\n\nHe opened the door, and we stepped into the hall. The droning sound\nswelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deep wail of\ndistress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up, and I followed him.\nHe pushed open a half-closed door, and we both stood appalled at the\nsight before us.\n\nA woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. Her calm pale\nface, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid a great\ntangle of golden hair. At the foot of the bed, half sitting, half\nkneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose frame\nwas racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he by his bitter grief, that he\nnever looked up until Holmes's hand was on his shoulder.\n\n\"Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I am--but you are too late. She is dead.\"\n\nThe man was so dazed that he could not be made to understand that we\nwere anything but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. Holmes\nwas endeavouring to utter a few words of consolation and to explain the\nalarm which had been caused to his friends by his sudden disappearance\nwhen there was a step upon the stairs, and there was the heavy, stern,\nquestioning face of Dr. Armstrong at the door.\n\n\"So, gentlemen,\" said he, \"you have attained your end and have certainly\nchosen a particularly delicate moment for your intrusion. I would not\nbrawl in the presence of death, but I can assure you that if I were a\nyounger man your monstrous conduct would not pass with impunity.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a little at cross-purposes,\"\nsaid my friend, with dignity. \"If you could step downstairs with us,\nwe may each be able to give some light to the other upon this miserable\naffair.\"\n\nA minute later, the grim doctor and ourselves were in the sitting-room\nbelow.\n\n\"Well, sir?\" said he.\n\n\"I wish you to understand, in the first place, that I am not employed\nby Lord Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this matter are entirely\nagainst that nobleman. When a man is lost it is my duty to ascertain his\nfate, but having done so the matter ends so far as I am concerned, and\nso long as there is nothing criminal I am much more anxious to hush up\nprivate scandals than to give them publicity. If, as I imagine, there is\nno breach of the law in this matter, you can absolutely depend upon my\ndiscretion and my cooperation in keeping the facts out of the papers.\"\n\nDr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and wrung Holmes by the hand.\n\n\"You are a good fellow,\" said he. \"I had misjudged you. I thank heaven\nthat my compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone in this plight\ncaused me to turn my carriage back and so to make your acquaintance.\nKnowing as much as you do, the situation is very easily explained.\nA year ago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London for a time and became\npassionately attached to his landlady's daughter, whom he married. She\nwas as good as she was beautiful and as intelligent as she was good.\nNo man need be ashamed of such a wife. But Godfrey was the heir to this\ncrabbed old nobleman, and it was quite certain that the news of his\nmarriage would have been the end of his inheritance. I knew the lad\nwell, and I loved him for his many excellent qualities. I did all I\ncould to help him to keep things straight. We did our very best to keep\nthe thing from everyone, for, when once such a whisper gets about, it is\nnot long before everyone has heard it. Thanks to this lonely cottage and\nhis own discretion, Godfrey has up to now succeeded. Their secret was\nknown to no one save to me and to one excellent servant, who has at\npresent gone for assistance to Trumpington. But at last there came a\nterrible blow in the shape of dangerous illness to his wife. It was\nconsumption of the most virulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed with\ngrief, and yet he had to go to London to play this match, for he could\nnot get out of it without explanations which would expose his secret. I\ntried to cheer him up by wire, and he sent me one in reply, imploring\nme to do all I could. This was the telegram which you appear in some\ninexplicable way to have seen. I did not tell him how urgent the danger\nwas, for I knew that he could do no good here, but I sent the truth to\nthe girl's father, and he very injudiciously communicated it to Godfrey.\nThe result was that he came straight away in a state bordering on\nfrenzy, and has remained in the same state, kneeling at the end of her\nbed, until this morning death put an end to her sufferings. That is all,\nMr. Holmes, and I am sure that I can rely upon your discretion and that\nof your friend.\"\n\nHolmes grasped the doctor's hand.\n\n\"Come, Watson,\" said he, and we passed from that house of grief into the\npale sunlight of the winter day.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE ABBEY GRANGE\n\n\nIt was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning, towards the end of the\nwinter of '97, that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It was\nHolmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face, and\ntold me at a glance that something was amiss.\n\n\"Come, Watson, come!\" he cried. \"The game is afoot. Not a word! Into\nyour clothes and come!\"\n\nTen minutes later we were both in a cab, and rattling through the silent\nstreets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint winter's\ndawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the occasional\nfigure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and indistinct in\nthe opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silence into his heavy\ncoat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air was most bitter, and\nneither of us had broken our fast.\n\nIt was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station and taken\nour places in the Kentish train that we were sufficiently thawed, he\nto speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his pocket, and read\naloud:\n\nAbbey Grange, Marsham, Kent, 3:30 A.M. MY DEAR MR. HOLMES:\n\nI should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to\nbe a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line. Except\nfor releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept exactly as I\nhave found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult\nto leave Sir Eustace there. Yours faithfully, STANLEY HOPKINS.\n\n\n\"Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his summons\nhas been entirely justified,\" said Holmes. \"I fancy that every one of\nhis cases has found its way into your collection, and I must admit,\nWatson, that you have some power of selection, which atones for much\nwhich I deplore in your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking at\neverything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientific\nexercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and even\nclassical series of demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmost\nfinesse and delicacy, in order to dwell upon sensational details which\nmay excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader.\"\n\n\"Why do you not write them yourself?\" I said, with some bitterness.\n\n\"I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know, fairly\nbusy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition of a\ntextbook, which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume.\nOur present research appears to be a case of murder.\"\n\n\"You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?\"\n\n\"I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agitation, and he\nis not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence, and\nthat the body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would not\nhave caused him to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it would\nappear that she has been locked in her room during the tragedy. We\nare moving in high life, Watson, crackling paper, 'E.B.' monogram,\ncoat-of-arms, picturesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will live\nup to his reputation, and that we shall have an interesting morning. The\ncrime was committed before twelve last night.\"\n\n\"How can you possibly tell?\"\n\n\"By an inspection of the trains, and by reckoning the time. The local\npolice had to be called in, they had to communicate with Scotland Yard,\nHopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. All that makes\na fair night's work. Well, here we are at Chiselhurst Station, and we\nshall soon set our doubts at rest.\"\n\nA drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes brought us\nto a park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whose\nhaggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. The avenue ran\nthrough a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low,\nwidespread house, pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio. The\ncentral part was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the\nlarge windows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and one\nwing of the house appeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure and\nalert, eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the open\ndoorway.\n\n\"I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you, too, Dr. Watson. But,\nindeed, if I had my time over again, I should not have troubled you, for\nsince the lady has come to herself, she has given so clear an account of\nthe affair that there is not much left for us to do. You remember that\nLewisham gang of burglars?\"\n\n\"What, the three Randalls?\"\n\n\"Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not a doubt\nof it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago and were seen and\ndescribed. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but it is\nthey, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this time.\"\n\n\"Sir Eustace is dead, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, his head was knocked in with his own poker.\"\n\n\"Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me.\"\n\n\"Exactly--one of the richest men in Kent--Lady Brackenstall is in the\nmorning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful experience. She\nseemed half dead when I saw her first. I think you had best see her\nand hear her account of the facts. Then we will examine the dining-room\ntogether.\"\n\nLady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seen so graceful\na figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face. She was\na blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would no doubt have had the\nperfect complexion which goes with such colouring, had not her recent\nexperience left her drawn and haggard. Her sufferings were physical as\nwell as mental, for over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling,\nwhich her maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously with\nvinegar and water. The lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but her\nquick, observant gaze, as we entered the room, and the alert expression\nof her beautiful features, showed that neither her wits nor her courage\nhad been shaken by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a\nloose dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covered\ndinner-dress lay upon the couch beside her.\n\n\"I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins,\" she said, wearily.\n\"Could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it necessary, I will\ntell these gentlemen what occurred. Have they been in the dining-room\nyet?\"\n\n\"I thought they had better hear your ladyship's story first.\"\n\n\"I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible to me to\nthink of him still lying there.\" She shuddered and buried her face in\nher hands. As she did so, the loose gown fell back from her forearms.\nHolmes uttered an exclamation.\n\n\"You have other injuries, madam! What is this?\" Two vivid red spots\nstood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily covered it.\n\n\"It is nothing. It has no connection with this hideous business\nto-night. If you and your friend will sit down, I will tell you all I\ncan.\n\n\"I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been married about\na year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal that our\nmarriage has not been a happy one. I fear that all our neighbours would\ntell you that, even if I were to attempt to deny it. Perhaps the fault\nmay be partly mine. I was brought up in the freer, less conventional\natmosphere of South Australia, and this English life, with its\nproprieties and its primness, is not congenial to me. But the main\nreason lies in the one fact, which is notorious to everyone, and that is\nthat Sir Eustace was a confirmed drunkard. To be with such a man for an\nhour is unpleasant. Can you imagine what it means for a sensitive\nand high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night? It is a\nsacrilege, a crime, a villainy to hold that such a marriage is binding.\nI say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the\nland--God will not let such wickedness endure.\" For an instant she sat\nup, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazing from under the terrible\nmark upon her brow. Then the strong, soothing hand of the austere maid\ndrew her head down on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into\npassionate sobbing. At last she continued:\n\n\"I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, that in this\nhouse all the servants sleep in the modern wing. This central block is\nmade up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our bedroom\nabove. My maid, Theresa, sleeps above my room. There is no one else, and\nno sound could alarm those who are in the farther wing. This must have\nbeen well known to the robbers, or they would not have acted as they\ndid.\n\n\"Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants had already gone\nto their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she had remained in her room\nat the top of the house until I needed her services. I sat until after\neleven in this room, absorbed in a book. Then I walked round to see\nthat all was right before I went upstairs. It was my custom to do this\nmyself, for, as I have explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be\ntrusted. I went into the kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room,\nthe billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I\napproached the window, which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly\nfelt the wind blow upon my face and realized that it was open. I flung\nthe curtain aside and found myself face to face with a broad-shouldered\nelderly man, who had just stepped into the room. The window is a long\nFrench one, which really forms a door leading to the lawn. I held my\nbedroom candle lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I\nsaw two others, who were in the act of entering. I stepped back, but the\nfellow was on me in an instant. He caught me first by the wrist and then\nby the throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a savage\nblow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the ground. I must\nhave been unconscious for a few minutes, for when I came to myself, I\nfound that they had torn down the bell-rope, and had secured me tightly\nto the oaken chair which stands at the head of the dining-table. I was\nso firmly bound that I could not move, and a handkerchief round my\nmouth prevented me from uttering a sound. It was at this instant that\nmy unfortunate husband entered the room. He had evidently heard some\nsuspicious sounds, and he came prepared for such a scene as he found.\nHe was dressed in nightshirt and trousers, with his favourite blackthorn\ncudgel in his hand. He rushed at the burglars, but another--it was an\nelderly man--stooped, picked the poker out of the grate and struck him a\nhorrible blow as he passed. He fell with a groan and never moved again.\nI fainted once more, but again it could only have been for a very few\nminutes during which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes I found\nthat they had collected the silver from the sideboard, and they had\ndrawn a bottle of wine which stood there. Each of them had a glass in\nhis hand. I have already told you, have I not, that one was elderly,\nwith a beard, and the others young, hairless lads. They might have been\na father with his two sons. They talked together in whispers. Then\nthey came over and made sure that I was securely bound. Finally they\nwithdrew, closing the window after them. It was quite a quarter of an\nhour before I got my mouth free. When I did so, my screams brought the\nmaid to my assistance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent\nfor the local police, who instantly communicated with London. That is\nreally all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it will not\nbe necessary for me to go over so painful a story again.\"\n\n\"Any questions, Mr. Holmes?\" asked Hopkins.\n\n\"I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstall's patience and\ntime,\" said Holmes. \"Before I go into the dining-room, I should like to\nhear your experience.\" He looked at the maid.\n\n\"I saw the men before ever they came into the house,\" said she. \"As I\nsat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the moonlight down by the\nlodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it at the time. It was more\nthan an hour after that I heard my mistress scream, and down I ran, to\nfind her, poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the floor, with his\nblood and brains over the room. It was enough to drive a woman out of\nher wits, tied there, and her very dress spotted with him, but she never\nwanted courage, did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide and Lady Brackenstall\nof Abbey Grange hasn't learned new ways. You've questioned her long\nenough, you gentlemen, and now she is coming to her own room, just with\nher old Theresa, to get the rest that she badly needs.\"\n\nWith a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm round her\nmistress and led her from the room.\n\n\"She has been with her all her life,\" said Hopkins. \"Nursed her as\na baby, and came with her to England when they first left Australia,\neighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and the kind of maid\nyou don't pick up nowadays. This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!\"\n\nThe keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive face, and I\nknew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed. There\nstill remained an arrest to be effected, but what were these commonplace\nrogues that he should soil his hands with them? An abstruse and learned\nspecialist who finds that he has been called in for a case of measles\nwould experience something of the annoyance which I read in my\nfriend's eyes. Yet the scene in the dining-room of the Abbey Grange was\nsufficiently strange to arrest his attention and to recall his waning\ninterest.\n\nIt was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling, oaken\npanelling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancient weapons around\nthe walls. At the further end from the door was the high French window\nof which we had heard. Three smaller windows on the right-hand side\nfilled the apartment with cold winter sunshine. On the left was a large,\ndeep fireplace, with a massive, overhanging oak mantelpiece. Beside\nthe fireplace was a heavy oaken chair with arms and cross-bars at the\nbottom. In and out through the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord,\nwhich was secured at each side to the crosspiece below. In releasing the\nlady, the cord had been slipped off her, but the knots with which it\nhad been secured still remained. These details only struck our attention\nafterwards, for our thoughts were entirely absorbed by the terrible\nobject which lay upon the tigerskin hearthrug in front of the fire.\n\nIt was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years of age.\nHe lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white teeth grinning\nthrough his short, black beard. His two clenched hands were raised\nabove his head, and a heavy, blackthorn stick lay across them. His dark,\nhandsome, aquiline features were convulsed into a spasm of vindictive\nhatred, which had set his dead face in a terribly fiendish expression.\nHe had evidently been in his bed when the alarm had broken out, for he\nwore a foppish, embroidered nightshirt, and his bare feet projected from\nhis trousers. His head was horribly injured, and the whole room bore\nwitness to the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck him down.\nBeside him lay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by the concussion.\nHolmes examined both it and the indescribable wreck which it had\nwrought.\n\n\"He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall,\" he remarked.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Hopkins. \"I have some record of the fellow, and he is a\nrough customer.\"\n\n\"You should have no difficulty in getting him.\"\n\n\"Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, and there was\nsome idea that he had got away to America. Now that we know that the\ngang are here, I don't see how they can escape. We have the news at\nevery seaport already, and a reward will be offered before evening. What\nbeats me is how they could have done so mad a thing, knowing that the\nlady could describe them and that we could not fail to recognize the\ndescription.\"\n\n\"Exactly. One would have expected that they would silence Lady\nBrackenstall as well.\"\n\n\"They may not have realized,\" I suggested, \"that she had recovered from\nher faint.\"\n\n\"That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless, they would not\ntake her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem to have\nheard some queer stories about him.\"\n\n\"He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a perfect fiend when\nhe was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for he seldom really\nwent the whole way. The devil seemed to be in him at such times, and he\nwas capable of anything. From what I hear, in spite of all his wealth\nand his title, he very nearly came our way once or twice. There was\na scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it on\nfire--her ladyship's dog, to make the matter worse--and that was only\nhushed up with difficulty. Then he threw a decanter at that maid,\nTheresa Wright--there was trouble about that. On the whole, and between\nourselves, it will be a brighter house without him. What are you looking\nat now?\"\n\nHolmes was down on his knees, examining with great attention the\nknots upon the red cord with which the lady had been secured. Then he\ncarefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end where it had snapped off\nwhen the burglar had dragged it down.\n\n\"When this was pulled down, the bell in the kitchen must have rung\nloudly,\" he remarked.\n\n\"No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right at the back of the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"How did the burglar know no one would hear it? How dared he pull at a\nbell-rope in that reckless fashion?\"\n\n\"Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the very question which I have\nasked myself again and again. There can be no doubt that this fellow\nmust have known the house and its habits. He must have perfectly\nunderstood that the servants would all be in bed at that comparatively\nearly hour, and that no one could possibly hear a bell ring in the\nkitchen. Therefore, he must have been in close league with one of the\nservants. Surely that is evident. But there are eight servants, and all\nof good character.\"\n\n\"Other things being equal,\" said Holmes, \"one would suspect the one\nat whose head the master threw a decanter. And yet that would involve\ntreachery towards the mistress to whom this woman seems devoted. Well,\nwell, the point is a minor one, and when you have Randall you will\nprobably find no difficulty in securing his accomplice. The lady's story\ncertainly seems to be corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by every\ndetail which we see before us.\" He walked to the French window and threw\nit open. \"There are no signs here, but the ground is iron hard, and one\nwould not expect them. I see that these candles in the mantelpiece have\nbeen lighted.\"\n\n\"Yes, it was by their light and that of the lady's bedroom candle, that\nthe burglars saw their way about.\"\n\n\"And what did they take?\"\n\n\"Well, they did not take much--only half a dozen articles of plate off\nthe sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they were themselves so\ndisturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they did not ransack the\nhouse, as they would otherwise have done.\"\n\n\"No doubt that is true, and yet they drank some wine, I understand.\"\n\n\"To steady their nerves.\"\n\n\"Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard have been untouched, I\nsuppose?\"\n\n\"Yes, and the bottle stands as they left it.\"\n\n\"Let us look at it. Halloa, halloa! What is this?\"\n\nThe three glasses were grouped together, all of them tinged with wine,\nand one of them containing some dregs of beeswing. The bottle stood near\nthem, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long, deeply stained cork.\nIts appearance and the dust upon the bottle showed that it was no common\nvintage which the murderers had enjoyed.\n\nA change had come over Holmes's manner. He had lost his listless\nexpression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in his keen,\ndeep-set eyes. He raised the cork and examined it minutely.\n\n\"How did they draw it?\" he asked.\n\nHopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it lay some table linen and\na large corkscrew.\n\n\"Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was used?\"\n\n\"No, you remember that she was senseless at the moment when the bottle\nwas opened.\"\n\n\"Quite so. As a matter of fact, that screw was not used. This bottle was\nopened by a pocket screw, probably contained in a knife, and not more\nthan an inch and a half long. If you will examine the top of the cork,\nyou will observe that the screw was driven in three times before the\ncork was extracted. It has never been transfixed. This long screw would\nhave transfixed it and drawn it up with a single pull. When you catch\nthis fellow, you will find that he has one of these multiplex knives in\nhis possession.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" said Hopkins.\n\n\"But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady Brackenstall actually\nSAW the three men drinking, did she not?\"\n\n\"Yes; she was clear about that.\"\n\n\"Then there is an end of it. What more is to be said? And yet, you must\nadmit, that the three glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins. What? You\nsee nothing remarkable? Well, well, let it pass. Perhaps, when a man has\nspecial knowledge and special powers like my own, it rather encourages\nhim to seek a complex explanation when a simpler one is at hand. Of\ncourse, it must be a mere chance about the glasses. Well, good-morning,\nHopkins. I don't see that I can be of any use to you, and you appear\nto have your case very clear. You will let me know when Randall is\narrested, and any further developments which may occur. I trust that I\nshall soon have to congratulate you upon a successful conclusion. Come,\nWatson, I fancy that we may employ ourselves more profitably at home.\"\n\nDuring our return journey, I could see by Holmes's face that he was much\npuzzled by something which he had observed. Every now and then, by an\neffort, he would throw off the impression, and talk as if the matter\nwere clear, but then his doubts would settle down upon him again, and\nhis knitted brows and abstracted eyes would show that his thoughts had\ngone back once more to the great dining-room of the Abbey Grange, in\nwhich this midnight tragedy had been enacted. At last, by a sudden\nimpulse, just as our train was crawling out of a suburban station, he\nsprang on to the platform and pulled me out after him.\n\n\"Excuse me, my dear fellow,\" said he, as we watched the rear carriages\nof our train disappearing round a curve, \"I am sorry to make you the\nvictim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life, Watson, I simply\nCAN'T leave that case in this condition. Every instinct that I possess\ncries out against it. It's wrong--it's all wrong--I'll swear that it's\nwrong. And yet the lady's story was complete, the maid's corroboration\nwas sufficient, the detail was fairly exact. What have I to put up\nagainst that? Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I had not taken\nthings for granted, if I had examined everything with the care which\nI should have shown had we approached the case DE NOVO and had no\ncut-and-dried story to warp my mind, should I not then have found\nsomething more definite to go upon? Of course I should. Sit down on this\nbench, Watson, until a train for Chiselhurst arrives, and allow me to\nlay the evidence before you, imploring you in the first instance to\ndismiss from your mind the idea that anything which the maid or her\nmistress may have said must necessarily be true. The lady's charming\npersonality must not be permitted to warp our judgment.\n\n\"Surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at in cold\nblood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made a considerable\nhaul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of them and of their\nappearance was in the papers, and would naturally occur to anyone who\nwished to invent a story in which imaginary robbers should play a part.\nAs a matter of fact, burglars who have done a good stroke of business\nare, as a rule, only too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet\nwithout embarking on another perilous undertaking. Again, it is unusual\nfor burglars to operate at so early an hour, it is unusual for burglars\nto strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since one would imagine that\nwas the sure way to make her scream, it is unusual for them to commit\nmurder when their numbers are sufficient to overpower one man, it is\nunusual for them to be content with a limited plunder when there was\nmuch more within their reach, and finally, I should say, that it was\nvery unusual for such men to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these\nunusuals strike you, Watson?\"\n\n\"Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet each of them\nis quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing of all, as it seems\nto me, is that the lady should be tied to the chair.\"\n\n\"Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson, for it is evident that they\nmust either kill her or else secure her in such a way that she could\nnot give immediate notice of their escape. But at any rate I have shown,\nhave I not, that there is a certain element of improbability about the\nlady's story? And now, on the top of this, comes the incident of the\nwineglasses.\"\n\n\"What about the wineglasses?\"\n\n\"Can you see them in your mind's eye?\"\n\n\"I see them clearly.\"\n\n\"We are told that three men drank from them. Does that strike you as\nlikely?\"\n\n\"Why not? There was wine in each glass.\"\n\n\"Exactly, but there was beeswing only in one glass. You must have\nnoticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?\"\n\n\"The last glass filled would be most likely to contain beeswing.\"\n\n\"Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable that\nthe first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged with it.\nThere are two possible explanations, and only two. One is that after the\nsecond glass was filled the bottle was violently agitated, and so the\nthird glass received the beeswing. That does not appear probable. No,\nno, I am sure that I am right.\"\n\n\"What, then, do you suppose?\"\n\n\"That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both were poured\ninto a third glass, so as to give the false impression that three people\nhad been here. In that way all the beeswing would be in the last glass,\nwould it not? Yes, I am convinced that this is so. But if I have hit\nupon the true explanation of this one small phenomenon, then in\nan instant the case rises from the commonplace to the exceedingly\nremarkable, for it can only mean that Lady Brackenstall and her maid\nhave deliberately lied to us, that not one word of their story is to be\nbelieved, that they have some very strong reason for covering the real\ncriminal, and that we must construct our case for ourselves without any\nhelp from them. That is the mission which now lies before us, and here,\nWatson, is the Sydenham train.\"\n\nThe household at the Abbey Grange were much surprised at our return, but\nSherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off to report to\nheadquarters, took possession of the dining-room, locked the door upon\nthe inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of those minute\nand laborious investigations which form the solid basis on which his\nbrilliant edifices of deduction were reared. Seated in a corner like an\ninterested student who observes the demonstration of his professor,\nI followed every step of that remarkable research. The window, the\ncurtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope--each in turn was minutely\nexamined and duly pondered. The body of the unfortunate baronet had\nbeen removed, and all else remained as we had seen it in the morning.\nFinally, to my astonishment, Holmes climbed up on to the massive\nmantelpiece. Far above his head hung the few inches of red cord which\nwere still attached to the wire. For a long time he gazed upward at it,\nand then in an attempt to get nearer to it he rested his knee upon a\nwooden bracket on the wall. This brought his hand within a few inches of\nthe broken end of the rope, but it was not this so much as the bracket\nitself which seemed to engage his attention. Finally, he sprang down\nwith an ejaculation of satisfaction.\n\n\"It's all right, Watson,\" said he. \"We have got our case--one of the\nmost remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how slow-witted I have\nbeen, and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime! Now, I\nthink that, with a few missing links, my chain is almost complete.\"\n\n\"You have got your men?\"\n\n\"Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person. Strong as a\nlion--witness the blow that bent that poker! Six foot three in height,\nactive as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers, finally, remarkably\nquick-witted, for this whole ingenious story is of his concoction. Yes,\nWatson, we have come upon the handiwork of a very remarkable individual.\nAnd yet, in that bell-rope, he has given us a clue which should not have\nleft us a doubt.\"\n\n\"Where was the clue?\"\n\n\"Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where would you\nexpect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached to the wire.\nWhy should it break three inches from the top, as this one has done?\"\n\n\"Because it is frayed there?\"\n\n\"Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He was cunning\nenough to do that with his knife. But the other end is not frayed. You\ncould not observe that from here, but if you were on the mantelpiece you\nwould see that it is cut clean off without any mark of fraying whatever.\nYou can reconstruct what occurred. The man needed the rope. He would not\ntear it down for fear of giving the alarm by ringing the bell. What did\nhe do? He sprang up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put\nhis knee on the bracket--you will see the impression in the dust--and so\ngot his knife to bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place by at\nleast three inches--from which I infer that he is at least three inches\na bigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair!\nWhat is it?\"\n\n\"Blood.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's story out of court.\nIf she were seated on the chair when the crime was done, how comes\nthat mark? No, no, she was placed in the chair AFTER the death of her\nhusband. I'll wager that the black dress shows a corresponding mark to\nthis. We have not yet met our Waterloo, Watson, but this is our Marengo,\nfor it begins in defeat and ends in victory. I should like now to have\na few words with the nurse, Theresa. We must be wary for a while, if we\nare to get the information which we want.\"\n\nShe was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse--taciturn,\nsuspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes's pleasant\nmanner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her into a\ncorresponding amiability. She did not attempt to conceal her hatred for\nher late employer.\n\n\"Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard him call\nmy mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare to speak so if\nher brother had been there. Then it was that he threw it at me. He\nmight have thrown a dozen if he had but left my bonny bird alone. He was\nforever ill-treating her, and she too proud to complain. She will not\neven tell me all that he has done to her. She never told me of those\nmarks on her arm that you saw this morning, but I know very well that\nthey come from a stab with a hatpin. The sly devil--God forgive me that\nI should speak of him so, now that he is dead! But a devil he was, if\never one walked the earth. He was all honey when first we met him--only\neighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen years. She\nhad only just arrived in London. Yes, it was her first voyage--she had\nnever been from home before. He won her with his title and his money\nand his false London ways. If she made a mistake she has paid for it,\nif ever a woman did. What month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was\njust after we arrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. They were\nmarried in January of last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-room\nagain, and I have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask too\nmuch of her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood will\nstand.\"\n\nLady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked brighter\nthan before. The maid had entered with us, and began once more to foment\nthe bruise upon her mistress's brow.\n\n\"I hope,\" said the lady, \"that you have not come to cross-examine me\nagain?\"\n\n\"No,\" Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, \"I will not cause you any\nunnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire is to make\nthings easy for you, for I am convinced that you are a much-tried woman.\nIf you will treat me as a friend and trust me, you may find that I will\njustify your trust.\"\n\n\"What do you want me to do?\"\n\n\"To tell me the truth.\"\n\n\"Mr. Holmes!\"\n\n\"No, no, Lady Brackenstall--it is no use. You may have heard of any\nlittle reputation which I possess. I will stake it all on the fact that\nyour story is an absolute fabrication.\"\n\nMistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces and\nfrightened eyes.\n\n\"You are an impudent fellow!\" cried Theresa. \"Do you mean to say that my\nmistress has told a lie?\"\n\nHolmes rose from his chair.\n\n\"Have you nothing to tell me?\"\n\n\"I have told you everything.\"\n\n\"Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not be better to be\nfrank?\"\n\nFor an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Then some new\nstrong thought caused it to set like a mask.\n\n\"I have told you all I know.\"\n\nHolmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. \"I am sorry,\" he said,\nand without another word we left the room and the house. There was a\npond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. It was frozen\nover, but a single hole was left for the convenience of a solitary\nswan. Holmes gazed at it, and then passed on to the lodge gate. There\nhe scribbled a short note for Stanley Hopkins, and left it with the\nlodge-keeper.\n\n\"It may be a hit, or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do something\nfor friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit,\" said he. \"I will\nnot quite take him into my confidence yet. I think our next scene of\noperations must be the shipping office of the Adelaide-Southampton line,\nwhich stands at the end of Pall Mall, if I remember right. There is a\nsecond line of steamers which connect South Australia with England, but\nwe will draw the larger cover first.\"\n\nHolmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention, and he\nwas not long in acquiring all the information he needed. In June of\n'95, only one of their line had reached a home port. It was the ROCK\nOF GIBRALTAR, their largest and best boat. A reference to the passenger\nlist showed that Miss Fraser, of Adelaide, with her maid had made the\nvoyage in her. The boat was now somewhere south of the Suez Canal on\nher way to Australia. Her officers were the same as in '95, with one\nexception. The first officer, Mr. Jack Crocker, had been made a captain\nand was to take charge of their new ship, the BASS ROCK, sailing in two\ndays' time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he was likely to\nbe in that morning for instructions, if we cared to wait for him.\n\nNo, Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to know more\nabout his record and character.\n\nHis record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the fleet to\ntouch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a wild,\ndesperate fellow off the deck of his ship--hot-headed, excitable, but\nloyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was the pith of the information\nwith which Holmes left the office of the Adelaide-Southampton company.\nThence he drove to Scotland Yard, but, instead of entering, he sat in\nhis cab with his brows drawn down, lost in profound thought. Finally he\ndrove round to the Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off a message,\nand then, at last, we made for Baker Street once more.\n\n\"No, I couldn't do it, Watson,\" said he, as we reentered our room. \"Once\nthat warrant was made out, nothing on earth would save him. Once\nor twice in my career I feel that I have done more real harm by my\ndiscovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime. I have\nlearned caution now, and I had rather play tricks with the law of\nEngland than with my own conscience. Let us know a little more before we\nact.\"\n\nBefore evening, we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins. Things\nwere not going very well with him.\n\n\"I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do sometimes\nthink that you have powers that are not human. Now, how on earth could\nyou know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of that pond?\"\n\n\"I didn't know it.\"\n\n\"But you told me to examine it.\"\n\n\"You got it, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, I got it.\"\n\n\"I am very glad if I have helped you.\"\n\n\"But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair far more difficult.\nWhat sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then throw it into\nthe nearest pond?\"\n\n\"It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely going on\nthe idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did not\nwant it--who merely took it for a blind, as it were--then they would\nnaturally be anxious to get rid of it.\"\n\n\"But why should such an idea cross your mind?\"\n\n\"Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through the French\nwindow, there was the pond with one tempting little hole in the ice,\nright in front of their noses. Could there be a better hiding-place?\"\n\n\"Ah, a hiding-place--that is better!\" cried Stanley Hopkins. \"Yes, yes,\nI see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon the roads, they\nwere afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the pond,\nintending to return for it when the coast was clear. Excellent, Mr.\nHolmes--that is better than your idea of a blind.\"\n\n\"Quite so, you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt that my\nown ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have ended in\ndiscovering the silver.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir--yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad setback.\"\n\n\"A setback?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New York this\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theory that\nthey committed a murder in Kent last night.\"\n\n\"It is fatal, Mr. Holmes--absolutely fatal. Still, there are other gangs\nof three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new gang of which the\npolice have never heard.\"\n\n\"Quite so, it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to the bottom\nof the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?\"\n\n\"I have given you one.\"\n\n\"Which?\"\n\n\"Well, I suggested a blind.\"\n\n\"But why, Mr. Holmes, why?\"\n\n\"Ah, that's the question, of course. But I commend the idea to your\nmind. You might possibly find that there was something in it. You won't\nstop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know how you get on.\"\n\nDinner was over, and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to the\nmatter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to the\ncheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch.\n\n\"I expect developments, Watson.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Now--within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted rather badly\nto Stanley Hopkins just now?\"\n\n\"I trust your judgment.\"\n\n\"A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way: what\nI know is unofficial, what he knows is official. I have the right to\nprivate judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all, or he is a\ntraitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not put him in so\npainful a position, and so I reserve my information until my own mind is\nclear upon the matter.\"\n\n\"But when will that be?\"\n\n\"The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of a\nremarkable little drama.\"\n\nThere was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to admit as\nfine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. He was a very\ntall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with a skin which had been\nburned by tropical suns, and a springy step, which showed that the huge\nframe was as active as it was strong. He closed the door behind him, and\nthen he stood with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking down some\novermastering emotion.\n\n\"Sit down, Captain Crocker. You got my telegram?\"\n\nOur visitor sank into an armchair and looked from one to the other of us\nwith questioning eyes.\n\n\"I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard that you\nhad been down to the office. There was no getting away from you. Let's\nhear the worst. What are you going to do with me? Arrest me? Speak out,\nman! You can't sit there and play with me like a cat with a mouse.\"\n\n\"Give him a cigar,\" said Holmes. \"Bite on that, Captain Crocker, and\ndon't let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit here smoking\nwith you if I thought that you were a common criminal, you may be sure\nof that. Be frank with me and we may do some good. Play tricks with me,\nand I'll crush you.\"\n\n\"What do you wish me to do?\"\n\n\"To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey Grange last\nnight--a TRUE account, mind you, with nothing added and nothing taken\noff. I know so much already that if you go one inch off the straight,\nI'll blow this police whistle from my window and the affair goes out of\nmy hands forever.\"\n\nThe sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his great\nsunburned hand.\n\n\"I'll chance it,\" he cried. \"I believe you are a man of your word, and\na white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one thing I will say\nfirst. So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing and I fear nothing,\nand I would do it all again and be proud of the job. Damn the beast, if\nhe had as many lives as a cat, he would owe them all to me! But it's\nthe lady, Mary--Mary Fraser--for never will I call her by that accursed\nname. When I think of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life\njust to bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul\ninto water. And yet--and yet--what less could I do? I'll tell you my\nstory, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you, as man to man, what less could\nI do?\n\n\"I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expect that you\nknow that I met her when she was a passenger and I was first officer of\nthe ROCK OF GIBRALTAR. From the first day I met her, she was the only\nwoman to me. Every day of that voyage I loved her more, and many a time\nsince have I kneeled down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed\nthe deck of that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was\nnever engaged to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated\na man. I have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side, and all\ngood comradeship and friendship on hers. When we parted she was a free\nwoman, but I could never again be a free man.\n\n\"Next time I came back from sea, I heard of her marriage. Well, why\nshouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and money--who could carry\nthem better than she? She was born for all that is beautiful and dainty.\nI didn't grieve over her marriage. I was not such a selfish hound as\nthat. I just rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and that she had\nnot thrown herself away on a penniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary\nFraser.\n\n\"Well, I never thought to see her again, but last voyage I was promoted,\nand the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait for a couple of\nmonths with my people at Sydenham. One day out in a country lane I met\nTheresa Wright, her old maid. She told me all about her, about him,\nabout everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This\ndrunken hound, that he should dare to raise his hand to her, whose\nboots he was not worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary\nherself--and met her again. Then she would meet me no more. But the\nother day I had a notice that I was to start on my voyage within a week,\nand I determined that I would see her once before I left. Theresa was\nalways my friend, for she loved Mary and hated this villain almost as\nmuch as I did. From her I learned the ways of the house. Mary used to\nsit up reading in her own little room downstairs. I crept round there\nlast night and scratched at the window. At first she would not open to\nme, but in her heart I know that now she loves me, and she could not\nleave me in the frosty night. She whispered to me to come round to the\nbig front window, and I found it open before me, so as to let me into\nthe dining-room. Again I heard from her own lips things that made my\nblood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mishandled the woman I\nloved. Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her just inside the window,\nin all innocence, as God is my judge, when he rushed like a madman into\nthe room, called her the vilest name that a man could use to a woman,\nand welted her across the face with the stick he had in his hand. I had\nsprung for the poker, and it was a fair fight between us. See here,\non my arm, where his first blow fell. Then it was my turn, and I went\nthrough him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do you think I was\nsorry? Not I! It was his life or mine, but far more than that, it was\nhis life or hers, for how could I leave her in the power of this madman?\nThat was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well, then, what would either of\nyou gentlemen have done, if you had been in my position?\"\n\n\"She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old Theresa down\nfrom the room above. There was a bottle of wine on the sideboard, and I\nopened it and poured a little between Mary's lips, for she was half dead\nwith shock. Then I took a drop myself. Theresa was as cool as ice, and\nit was her plot as much as mine. We must make it appear that burglars\nhad done the thing. Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress,\nwhile I swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed her in\nher chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it look natural,\nelse they would wonder how in the world a burglar could have got up\nthere to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates and pots of silver, to\ncarry out the idea of the robbery, and there I left them, with orders\nto give the alarm when I had a quarter of an hour's start. I dropped the\nsilver into the pond, and made off for Sydenham, feeling that for once\nin my life I had done a real good night's work. And that's the truth and\nthe whole truth, Mr. Holmes, if it costs me my neck.\"\n\nHolmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the room, and\nshook our visitor by the hand.\n\n\"That's what I think,\" said he. \"I know that every word is true, for you\nhave hardly said a word which I did not know. No one but an acrobat or a\nsailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the bracket, and no one\nbut a sailor could have made the knots with which the cord was fastened\nto the chair. Only once had this lady been brought into contact with\nsailors, and that was on her voyage, and it was someone of her own class\nof life, since she was trying hard to shield him, and so showing that\nshe loved him. You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands upon you\nwhen once I had started upon the right trail.\"\n\n\"I thought the police never could have seen through our dodge.\"\n\n\"And the police haven't, nor will they, to the best of my belief. Now,\nlook here, Captain Crocker, this is a very serious matter, though I am\nwilling to admit that you acted under the most extreme provocation to\nwhich any man could be subjected. I am not sure that in defence of your\nown life your action will not be pronounced legitimate. However, that is\nfor a British jury to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you\nthat, if you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours, I will\npromise you that no one will hinder you.\"\n\n\"And then it will all come out?\"\n\n\"Certainly it will come out.\"\n\nThe sailor flushed with anger.\n\n\"What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I know enough of law to\nunderstand that Mary would be held as accomplice. Do you think I would\nleave her alone to face the music while I slunk away? No, sir, let them\ndo their worst upon me, but for heaven's sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way\nof keeping my poor Mary out of the courts.\"\n\nHolmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor.\n\n\"I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, it is a\ngreat responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given Hopkins\nan excellent hint and if he can't avail himself of it I can do no more.\nSee here, Captain Crocker, we'll do this in due form of law. You are the\nprisoner. Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a man who was\nmore eminently fitted to represent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman\nof the jury, you have heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner\nguilty or not guilty?\"\n\n\"Not guilty, my lord,\" said I.\n\n\"VOX POPULI, VOX DEI. You are acquitted, Captain Crocker. So long as the\nlaw does not find some other victim you are safe from me. Come back\nto this lady in a year, and may her future and yours justify us in the\njudgment which we have pronounced this night!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN\n\n\nI had intended \"The Adventure of the Abbey Grange\" to be the last of\nthose exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which I should ever\ncommunicate to the public. This resolution of mine was not due to any\nlack of material, since I have notes of many hundreds of cases to which\nI have never alluded, nor was it caused by any waning interest on the\npart of my readers in the singular personality and unique methods of\nthis remarkable man. The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr.\nHolmes has shown to the continued publication of his experiences.\nSo long as he was in actual professional practice the records of\nhis successes were of some practical value to him, but since he\nhas definitely retired from London and betaken himself to study and\nbee-farming on the Sussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful to him,\nand he has peremptorily requested that his wishes in this matter should\nbe strictly observed. It was only upon my representing to him that I\nhad given a promise that \"The Adventure of the Second Stain\" should be\npublished when the times were ripe, and pointing out to him that it is\nonly appropriate that this long series of episodes should culminate in\nthe most important international case which he has ever been called\nupon to handle, that I at last succeeded in obtaining his consent that a\ncarefully guarded account of the incident should at last be laid before\nthe public. If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat vague in\ncertain details, the public will readily understand that there is an\nexcellent reason for my reticence.\n\nIt was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be nameless,\nthat upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found two visitors of\nEuropean fame within the walls of our humble room in Baker Street. The\none, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and dominant, was none other than\nthe illustrious Lord Bellinger, twice Premier of Britain. The other,\ndark, clear-cut, and elegant, hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with\nevery beauty of body and of mind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney\nHope, Secretary for European Affairs, and the most rising statesman in\nthe country. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee,\nand it was easy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it was\nbusiness of the most pressing importance which had brought them. The\nPremier's thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over the ivory\nhead of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face looked gloomily from\nHolmes to me. The European Secretary pulled nervously at his moustache\nand fidgeted with the seals of his watch-chain.\n\n\"When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight o'clock this\nmorning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It was at his suggestion\nthat we have both come to you.\"\n\n\"Have you informed the police?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisive manner for\nwhich he was famous. \"We have not done so, nor is it possible that we\nshould do so. To inform the police must, in the long run, mean to inform\nthe public. This is what we particularly desire to avoid.\"\n\n\"And why, sir?\"\n\n\"Because the document in question is of such immense importance that\nits publication might very easily--I might almost say probably--lead to\nEuropean complications of the utmost moment. It is not too much to say\nthat peace or war may hang upon the issue. Unless its recovery can be\nattended with the utmost secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered\nat all, for all that is aimed at by those who have taken it is that its\ncontents should be generally known.\"\n\n\"I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much obliged if\nyou would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this document\ndisappeared.\"\n\n\"That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letter--for it\nwas a letter from a foreign potentate--was received six days ago. It was\nof such importance that I have never left it in my safe, but have taken\nit across each evening to my house in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in\nmy bedroom in a locked despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that\nI am certain. I actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner\nand saw the document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-box\nhad stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night. I am a\nlight sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swear that no\none could have entered the room during the night. And yet I repeat that\nthe paper is gone.\"\n\n\"What time did you dine?\"\n\n\"Half-past seven.\"\n\n\"How long was it before you went to bed?\"\n\n\"My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was half-past\neleven before we went to our room.\"\n\n\"Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?\"\n\n\"No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the house-maid in the\nmorning, and my valet, or my wife's maid, during the rest of the day.\nThey are both trusty servants who have been with us for some time.\nBesides, neither of them could possibly have known that there was\nanything more valuable than the ordinary departmental papers in my\ndespatch-box.\"\n\n\"Who did know of the existence of that letter?\"\n\n\"No one in the house.\"\n\n\"Surely your wife knew?\"\n\n\"No, sir. I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the paper this\nmorning.\"\n\nThe Premier nodded approvingly.\n\n\"I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty,\" said\nhe. \"I am convinced that in the case of a secret of this importance it\nwould rise superior to the most intimate domestic ties.\"\n\nThe European Secretary bowed.\n\n\"You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I have never\nbreathed one word to my wife upon this matter.\"\n\n\"Could she have guessed?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed--nor could anyone have\nguessed.\"\n\n\"Have you lost any documents before?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Who is there in England who did know of the existence of this letter?\"\n\n\"Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday, but the pledge\nof secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting was increased by the\nsolemn warning which was given by the Prime Minister. Good heavens,\nto think that within a few hours I should myself have lost it!\" His\nhandsome face was distorted with a spasm of despair, and his hands\ntore at his hair. For a moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man,\nimpulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the aristocratic mask was\nreplaced, and the gentle voice had returned. \"Besides the members of\nthe Cabinet there are two, or possibly three, departmental officials who\nknow of the letter. No one else in England, Mr. Holmes, I assure you.\"\n\n\"But abroad?\"\n\n\"I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who wrote it. I\nam well convinced that his Ministers--that the usual official channels\nhave not been employed.\"\n\nHolmes considered for some little time.\n\n\"Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this document is, and\nwhy its disappearance should have such momentous consequences?\"\n\nThe two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the Premier's shaggy\neyebrows gathered in a frown.\n\n\"Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue colour. There\nis a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion. It is addressed in\nlarge, bold handwriting to----\"\n\n\"I fear, sir,\" said Holmes, \"that, interesting and indeed essential as\nthese details are, my inquiries must go more to the root of things. What\nWAS the letter?\"\n\n\"That is a State secret of the utmost importance, and I fear that I\ncannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the aid of the\npowers which you are said to possess you can find such an envelope as\nI describe with its enclosure, you will have deserved well of your\ncountry, and earned any reward which it lies in our power to bestow.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes rose with a smile.\n\n\"You are two of the most busy men in the country,\" said he, \"and in\nmy own small way I have also a good many calls upon me. I regret\nexceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter, and any continuation\nof this interview would be a waste of time.\"\n\nThe Premier sprang to his feet with that quick, fierce gleam of his\ndeep-set eyes before which a Cabinet has cowered. \"I am not accustomed,\nsir,\" he began, but mastered his anger and resumed his seat. For a\nminute or more we all sat in silence. Then the old statesman shrugged\nhis shoulders.\n\n\"We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right, and\nit is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we give you our\nentire confidence.\"\n\n\"I agree with you,\" said the younger statesman.\n\n\"Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour and that of\nyour colleague, Dr. Watson. I may appeal to your patriotism also, for\nI could not imagine a greater misfortune for the country than that this\naffair should come out.\"\n\n\"You may safely trust us.\"\n\n\"The letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who has been\nruffled by some recent Colonial developments of this country. It\nhas been written hurriedly and upon his own responsibility entirely.\nInquiries have shown that his Ministers know nothing of the matter.\nAt the same time it is couched in so unfortunate a manner, and certain\nphrases in it are of so provocative a character, that its publication\nwould undoubtedly lead to a most dangerous state of feeling in this\ncountry. There would be such a ferment, sir, that I do not hesitate to\nsay that within a week of the publication of that letter this country\nwould be involved in a great war.\"\n\nHolmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to the Premier.\n\n\"Exactly. It was he. And it is this letter--this letter which may well\nmean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the lives of a hundred\nthousand men--which has become lost in this unaccountable fashion.\"\n\n\"Have you informed the sender?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been despatched.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he desires the publication of the letter.\"\n\n\"No, sir, we have strong reason to believe that he already understands\nthat he has acted in an indiscreet and hot-headed manner. It would be a\ngreater blow to him and to his country than to us if this letter were to\ncome out.\"\n\n\"If this is so, whose interest is it that the letter should come out?\nWhy should anyone desire to steal it or to publish it?\"\n\n\"There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions of high international\npolitics. But if you consider the European situation you will have no\ndifficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole of Europe is an armed\ncamp. There is a double league which makes a fair balance of military\npower. Great Britain holds the scales. If Britain were driven into\nwar with one confederacy, it would assure the supremacy of the other\nconfederacy, whether they joined in the war or not. Do you follow?\"\n\n\"Very clearly. It is then the interest of the enemies of this potentate\nto secure and publish this letter, so as to make a breach between his\ncountry and ours?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And to whom would this document be sent if it fell into the hands of an\nenemy?\"\n\n\"To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe. It is probably speeding on\nits way thither at the present instant as fast as steam can take it.\"\n\nMr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his chest and groaned aloud. The\nPremier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder.\n\n\"It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No one can blame you. There is\nno precaution which you have neglected. Now, Mr. Holmes, you are in full\npossession of the facts. What course do you recommend?\"\n\nHolmes shook his head mournfully.\n\n\"You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered there will be\nwar?\"\n\n\"I think it is very probable.\"\n\n\"Then, sir, prepare for war.\"\n\n\"That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable that it was taken after\neleven-thirty at night, since I understand that Mr. Hope and his wife\nwere both in the room from that hour until the loss was found out.\nIt was taken, then, yesterday evening between seven-thirty and\neleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour, since whoever took it\nevidently knew that it was there and would naturally secure it as early\nas possible. Now, sir, if a document of this importance were taken at\nthat hour, where can it be now? No one has any reason to retain it. It\nhas been passed rapidly on to those who need it. What chance have we now\nto overtake or even to trace it? It is beyond our reach.\"\n\nThe Prime Minister rose from the settee.\n\n\"What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel that the matter\nis indeed out of our hands.\"\n\n\"Let us presume, for argument's sake, that the document was taken by the\nmaid or by the valet----\"\n\n\"They are both old and tried servants.\"\n\n\"I understand you to say that your room is on the second floor, that\nthere is no entrance from without, and that from within no one could go\nup unobserved. It must, then, be somebody in the house who has taken it.\nTo whom would the thief take it? To one of several international spies\nand secret agents, whose names are tolerably familiar to me. There are\nthree who may be said to be the heads of their profession. I will begin\nmy research by going round and finding if each of them is at his post.\nIf one is missing--especially if he has disappeared since last night--we\nwill have some indication as to where the document has gone.\"\n\n\"Why should he be missing?\" asked the European Secretary. \"He would take\nthe letter to an Embassy in London, as likely as not.\"\n\n\"I fancy not. These agents work independently, and their relations with\nthe Embassies are often strained.\"\n\nThe Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence.\n\n\"I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so valuable a prize\nto headquarters with his own hands. I think that your course of action\nis an excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we cannot neglect all our other\nduties on account of this one misfortune. Should there be any fresh\ndevelopments during the day we shall communicate with you, and you will\nno doubt let us know the results of your own inquiries.\"\n\nThe two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room.\n\nWhen our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipe in\nsilence and sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. I had opened\nthe morning paper and was immersed in a sensational crime which had\noccurred in London the night before, when my friend gave an exclamation,\nsprang to his feet, and laid his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"there is no better way of approaching it. The situation\nis desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we could be sure which of\nthem has taken it, it is just possible that it has not yet passed out of\nhis hands. After all, it is a question of money with these fellows, and\nI have the British treasury behind me. If it's on the market I'll buy\nit--if it means another penny on the income-tax. It is conceivable\nthat the fellow might hold it back to see what bids come from this\nside before he tries his luck on the other. There are only those three\ncapable of playing so bold a game--there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and\nEduardo Lucas. I will see each of them.\"\n\nI glanced at my morning paper.\n\n\"Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You will not see him.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"He was murdered in his house last night.\"\n\nMy friend has so often astonished me in the course of our adventures\nthat it was with a sense of exultation that I realized how completely I\nhad astonished him. He stared in amazement, and then snatched the\npaper from my hands. This was the paragraph which I had been engaged in\nreading when he rose from his chair.\n\n\nMURDER IN WESTMINSTER\n\n\nA crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16 Godolphin\nStreet, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows of eighteenth century\nhouses which lie between the river and the Abbey, almost in the shadow\nof the great Tower of the Houses of Parliament. This small but select\nmansion has been inhabited for some years by Mr. Eduardo Lucas, well\nknown in society circles both on account of his charming personality\nand because he has the well-deserved reputation of being one of the\nbest amateur tenors in the country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man,\nthirty-four years of age, and his establishment consists of Mrs.\nPringle, an elderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet. The former\nretires early and sleeps at the top of the house. The valet was out for\nthe evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten o'clock onward\nMr. Lucas had the house to himself. What occurred during that time has\nnot yet transpired, but at a quarter to twelve Police-constable Barrett,\npassing along Godolphin Street observed that the door of No. 16 was\najar. He knocked, but received no answer. Perceiving a light in the\nfront room, he advanced into the passage and again knocked, but without\nreply. He then pushed open the door and entered. The room was in a state\nof wild disorder, the furniture being all swept to one side, and one\nchair lying on its back in the centre. Beside this chair, and still\ngrasping one of its legs, lay the unfortunate tenant of the house. He\nhad been stabbed to the heart and must have died instantly. The knife\nwith which the crime had been committed was a curved Indian dagger,\nplucked down from a trophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of the\nwalls. Robbery does not appear to have been the motive of the crime, for\nthere had been no attempt to remove the valuable contents of the room.\nMr. Eduardo Lucas was so well known and popular that his violent and\nmysterious fate will arouse painful interest and intense sympathy in a\nwidespread circle of friends.\n\n\"Well, Watson, what do you make of this?\" asked Holmes, after a long\npause.\n\n\"It is an amazing coincidence.\"\n\n\"A coincidence! Here is one of the three men whom we had named as\npossible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent death during the\nvery hours when we know that that drama was being enacted. The odds are\nenormous against its being coincidence. No figures could express them.\nNo, my dear Watson, the two events are connected--MUST be connected. It\nis for us to find the connection.\"\n\n\"But now the official police must know all.\"\n\n\"Not at all. They know all they see at Godolphin Street. They know--and\nshall know--nothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only WE know of both events,\nand can trace the relation between them. There is one obvious point\nwhich would, in any case, have turned my suspicions against Lucas.\nGodolphin Street, Westminster, is only a few minutes' walk from\nWhitehall Terrace. The other secret agents whom I have named live in\nthe extreme West End. It was easier, therefore, for Lucas than for the\nothers to establish a connection or receive a message from the\nEuropean Secretary's household--a small thing, and yet where events are\ncompressed into a few hours it may prove essential. Halloa! what have we\nhere?\"\n\nMrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady's card upon her salver. Holmes\nglanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over to me.\n\n\"Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will be kind enough to step up,\"\nsaid he.\n\nA moment later our modest apartment, already so distinguished that\nmorning, was further honoured by the entrance of the most lovely woman\nin London. I had often heard of the beauty of the youngest daughter of\nthe Duke of Belminster, but no description of it, and no contemplation\nof colourless photographs, had prepared me for the subtle, delicate\ncharm and the beautiful colouring of that exquisite head. And yet as\nwe saw it that autumn morning, it was not its beauty which would be the\nfirst thing to impress the observer. The cheek was lovely but it was\npaled with emotion, the eyes were bright but it was the brightness\nof fever, the sensitive mouth was tight and drawn in an effort after\nself-command. Terror--not beauty--was what sprang first to the eye as\nour fair visitor stood framed for an instant in the open door.\n\n\"Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"Yes, madam, he has been here.\"\n\n\"Mr. Holmes. I implore you not to tell him that I came here.\" Holmes\nbowed coldly, and motioned the lady to a chair.\n\n\"Your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. I beg that you\nwill sit down and tell me what you desire, but I fear that I cannot make\nany unconditional promise.\"\n\nShe swept across the room and seated herself with her back to the\nwindow. It was a queenly presence--tall, graceful, and intensely\nwomanly. \"Mr. Holmes,\" she said--and her white-gloved hands clasped and\nunclasped as she spoke--\"I will speak frankly to you in the hopes\nthat it may induce you to speak frankly in return. There is complete\nconfidence between my husband and me on all matters save one. That one\nis politics. On this his lips are sealed. He tells me nothing. Now, I\nam aware that there was a most deplorable occurrence in our house last\nnight. I know that a paper has disappeared. But because the matter is\npolitical my husband refuses to take me into his complete confidence.\nNow it is essential--essential, I say--that I should thoroughly\nunderstand it. You are the only other person, save only these\npoliticians, who knows the true facts. I beg you then, Mr. Holmes, to\ntell me exactly what has happened and what it will lead to. Tell me all,\nMr. Holmes. Let no regard for your client's interests keep you silent,\nfor I assure you that his interests, if he would only see it, would be\nbest served by taking me into his complete confidence. What was this\npaper which was stolen?\"\n\n\"Madam, what you ask me is really impossible.\"\n\nShe groaned and sank her face in her hands.\n\n\"You must see that this is so, madam. If your husband thinks fit to keep\nyou in the dark over this matter, is it for me, who has only learned the\ntrue facts under the pledge of professional secrecy, to tell what he has\nwithheld? It is not fair to ask it. It is him whom you must ask.\"\n\n\"I have asked him. I come to you as a last resource. But without your\ntelling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you may do a great service if\nyou would enlighten me on one point.\"\n\n\"What is it, madam?\"\n\n\"Is my husband's political career likely to suffer through this\nincident?\"\n\n\"Well, madam, unless it is set right it may certainly have a very\nunfortunate effect.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" She drew in her breath sharply as one whose doubts are resolved.\n\n\"One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression which my husband\ndropped in the first shock of this disaster I understood that terrible\npublic consequences might arise from the loss of this document.\"\n\n\"If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it.\"\n\n\"Of what nature are they?\"\n\n\"Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than I can possibly answer.\"\n\n\"Then I will take up no more of your time. I cannot blame you, Mr.\nHolmes, for having refused to speak more freely, and you on your side\nwill not, I am sure, think the worse of me because I desire, even\nagainst his will, to share my husband's anxieties. Once more I beg that\nyou will say nothing of my visit.\"\n\nShe looked back at us from the door, and I had a last impression of that\nbeautiful haunted face, the startled eyes, and the drawn mouth. Then she\nwas gone.\n\n\"Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department,\" said Holmes, with a\nsmile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in the slam\nof the front door. \"What was the fair lady's game? What did she really\nwant?\"\n\n\"Surely her own statement is clear and her anxiety very natural.\"\n\n\"Hum! Think of her appearance, Watson--her manner, her suppressed\nexcitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in asking questions. Remember\nthat she comes of a caste who do not lightly show emotion.\"\n\n\"She was certainly much moved.\"\n\n\"Remember also the curious earnestness with which she assured us that it\nwas best for her husband that she should know all. What did she mean by\nthat? And you must have observed, Watson, how she manoeuvred to have the\nlight at her back. She did not wish us to read her expression.\"\n\n\"Yes, she chose the one chair in the room.\"\n\n\"And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable. You remember the\nwoman at Margate whom I suspected for the same reason. No powder on her\nnose--that proved to be the correct solution. How can you build on such\na quicksand? Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most\nextraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling tongs.\nGood-morning, Watson.\"\n\n\"You are off?\"\n\n\"Yes, I will while away the morning at Godolphin Street with our friends\nof the regular establishment. With Eduardo Lucas lies the solution of\nour problem, though I must admit that I have not an inkling as to what\nform it may take. It is a capital mistake to theorize in advance of\nthe facts. Do you stay on guard, my good Watson, and receive any fresh\nvisitors. I'll join you at lunch if I am able.\"\n\nAll that day and the next and the next Holmes was in a mood which his\nfriends would call taciturn, and others morose. He ran out and ran in,\nsmoked incessantly, played snatches on his violin, sank into reveries,\ndevoured sandwiches at irregular hours, and hardly answered the casual\nquestions which I put to him. It was evident to me that things were not\ngoing well with him or his quest. He would say nothing of the case, and\nit was from the papers that I learned the particulars of the inquest,\nand the arrest with the subsequent release of John Mitton, the valet of\nthe deceased. The coroner's jury brought in the obvious Wilful Murder,\nbut the parties remained as unknown as ever. No motive was suggested.\nThe room was full of articles of value, but none had been taken. The\ndead man's papers had not been tampered with. They were carefully\nexamined, and showed that he was a keen student of international\npolitics, an indefatigable gossip, a remarkable linguist, and an\nuntiring letter writer. He had been on intimate terms with the leading\npoliticians of several countries. But nothing sensational was discovered\namong the documents which filled his drawers. As to his relations with\nwomen, they appeared to have been promiscuous but superficial. He had\nmany acquaintances among them, but few friends, and no one whom he\nloved. His habits were regular, his conduct inoffensive. His death was\nan absolute mystery and likely to remain so.\n\nAs to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet, it was a council of despair\nas an alternative to absolute inaction. But no case could be sustained\nagainst him. He had visited friends in Hammersmith that night. The ALIBI\nwas complete. It is true that he started home at an hour which should\nhave brought him to Westminster before the time when the crime was\ndiscovered, but his own explanation that he had walked part of the way\nseemed probable enough in view of the fineness of the night. He had\nactually arrived at twelve o'clock, and appeared to be overwhelmed\nby the unexpected tragedy. He had always been on good terms with his\nmaster. Several of the dead man's possessions--notably a small case of\nrazors--had been found in the valet's boxes, but he explained that they\nhad been presents from the deceased, and the housekeeper was able to\ncorroborate the story. Mitton had been in Lucas's employment for three\nyears. It was noticeable that Lucas did not take Mitton on the Continent\nwith him. Sometimes he visited Paris for three months on end, but Mitton\nwas left in charge of the Godolphin Street house. As to the housekeeper,\nshe had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her master had a\nvisitor he had himself admitted him.\n\nSo for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as I could follow it\nin the papers. If Holmes knew more, he kept his own counsel, but, as\nhe told me that Inspector Lestrade had taken him into his\nconfidence in the case, I knew that he was in close touch with every\ndevelopment. Upon the fourth day there appeared a long telegram from\nParis which seemed to solve the whole question.\n\nA discovery has just been made by the Parisian police [said the DAILY\nTELEGRAPH] which raises the veil which hung round the tragic fate of\nMr. Eduardo Lucas, who met his death by violence last Monday night\nat Godolphin Street, Westminster. Our readers will remember that\nthe deceased gentleman was found stabbed in his room, and that some\nsuspicion attached to his valet, but that the case broke down on an\nALIBI. Yesterday a lady, who has been known as Mme. Henri Fournaye,\noccupying a small villa in the Rue Austerlitz, was reported to the\nauthorities by her servants as being insane. An examination showed\nshe had indeed developed mania of a dangerous and permanent form.\nOn inquiry, the police have discovered that Mme. Henri Fournaye only\nreturned from a journey to London on Tuesday last, and there is\nevidence to connect her with the crime at Westminster. A comparison of\nphotographs has proved conclusively that M. Henri Fournaye and Eduardo\nLucas were really one and the same person, and that the deceased had for\nsome reason lived a double life in London and Paris. Mme. Fournaye,\nwho is of Creole origin, is of an extremely excitable nature, and has\nsuffered in the past from attacks of jealousy which have amounted to\nfrenzy. It is conjectured that it was in one of these that she committed\nthe terrible crime which has caused such a sensation in London. Her\nmovements upon the Monday night have not yet been traced, but it is\nundoubted that a woman answering to her description attracted much\nattention at Charing Cross Station on Tuesday morning by the wildness\nof her appearance and the violence of her gestures. It is probable,\ntherefore, that the crime was either committed when insane, or that\nits immediate effect was to drive the unhappy woman out of her mind. At\npresent she is unable to give any coherent account of the past, and the\ndoctors hold out no hopes of the reestablishment of her reason. There is\nevidence that a woman, who might have been Mme. Fournaye, was seen for\nsome hours upon Monday night watching the house in Godolphin Street.\n\n\"What do you think of that, Holmes?\" I had read the account aloud to\nhim, while he finished his breakfast.\n\n\"My dear Watson,\" said he, as he rose from the table and paced up and\ndown the room, \"You are most long-suffering, but if I have told you\nnothing in the last three days, it is because there is nothing to tell.\nEven now this report from Paris does not help us much.\"\n\n\"Surely it is final as regards the man's death.\"\n\n\"The man's death is a mere incident--a trivial episode--in comparison\nwith our real task, which is to trace this document and save a European\ncatastrophe. Only one important thing has happened in the last three\ndays, and that is that nothing has happened. I get reports almost hourly\nfrom the government, and it is certain that nowhere in Europe is there\nany sign of trouble. Now, if this letter were loose--no, it CAN'T be\nloose--but if it isn't loose, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it\nheld back? That's the question that beats in my brain like a hammer. Was\nit, indeed, a coincidence that Lucas should meet his death on the night\nwhen the letter disappeared? Did the letter ever reach him? If so, why\nis it not among his papers? Did this mad wife of his carry it off with\nher? If so, is it in her house in Paris? How could I search for it\nwithout the French police having their suspicions aroused? It is a case,\nmy dear Watson, where the law is as dangerous to us as the criminals\nare. Every man's hand is against us, and yet the interests at stake\nare colossal. Should I bring it to a successful conclusion, it will\ncertainly represent the crowning glory of my career. Ah, here is my\nlatest from the front!\" He glanced hurriedly at the note which had\nbeen handed in. \"Halloa! Lestrade seems to have observed something of\ninterest. Put on your hat, Watson, and we will stroll down together to\nWestminster.\"\n\nIt was my first visit to the scene of the crime--a high, dingy,\nnarrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like the century which\ngave it birth. Lestrade's bulldog features gazed out at us from the\nfront window, and he greeted us warmly when a big constable had opened\nthe door and let us in. The room into which we were shown was that in\nwhich the crime had been committed, but no trace of it now remained save\nan ugly, irregular stain upon the carpet. This carpet was a small square\ndrugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse\nof beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square blocks, highly\npolished. Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weapons, one of\nwhich had been used on that tragic night. In the window was a sumptuous\nwriting-desk, and every detail of the apartment, the pictures, the rugs,\nand the hangings, all pointed to a taste which was luxurious to the\nverge of effeminacy.\n\n\"Seen the Paris news?\" asked Lestrade.\n\nHolmes nodded.\n\n\"Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time. No doubt\nit's just as they say. She knocked at the door--surprise visit, I\nguess, for he kept his life in water-tight compartments--he let her in,\ncouldn't keep her in the street. She told him how she had traced him,\nreproached him. One thing led to another, and then with that dagger so\nhandy the end soon came. It wasn't all done in an instant, though, for\nthese chairs were all swept over yonder, and he had one in his hand as\nif he had tried to hold her off with it. We've got it all clear as if we\nhad seen it.\"\n\nHolmes raised his eyebrows.\n\n\"And yet you have sent for me?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, that's another matter--a mere trifle, but the sort of thing\nyou take an interest in--queer, you know, and what you might call\nfreakish. It has nothing to do with the main fact--can't have, on the\nface of it.\"\n\n\"What is it, then?\"\n\n\"Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very careful to keep\nthings in their position. Nothing has been moved. Officer in charge here\nday and night. This morning, as the man was buried and the investigation\nover--so far as this room is concerned--we thought we could tidy up\na bit. This carpet. You see, it is not fastened down, only just laid\nthere. We had occasion to raise it. We found----\"\n\n\"Yes? You found----\"\n\nHolmes's face grew tense with anxiety.\n\n\"Well, I'm sure you would never guess in a hundred years what we did\nfind. You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a great deal must have\nsoaked through, must it not?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly it must.\"\n\n\"Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain on the white\nwoodwork to correspond.\"\n\n\"No stain! But there must----\"\n\n\"Yes, so you would say. But the fact remains that there isn't.\"\n\nHe took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it over, he\nshowed that it was indeed as he said.\n\n\"But the under side is as stained as the upper. It must have left a\nmark.\"\n\nLestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famous expert.\n\n\"Now, I'll show you the explanation. There IS a second stain, but it\ndoes not correspond with the other. See for yourself.\" As he spoke he\nturned over another portion of the carpet, and there, sure enough, was\na great crimson spill upon the square white facing of the old-fashioned\nfloor. \"What do you make of that, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did correspond, but the carpet\nhas been turned round. As it was square and unfastened it was easily\ndone.\"\n\n\"The official police don't need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell them that the\ncarpet must have been turned round. That's clear enough, for the stains\nlie above each other--if you lay it over this way. But what I want to\nknow is, who shifted the carpet, and why?\"\n\nI could see from Holmes's rigid face that he was vibrating with inward\nexcitement.\n\n\"Look here, Lestrade,\" said he, \"has that constable in the passage been\nin charge of the place all the time?\"\n\n\"Yes, he has.\"\n\n\"Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don't do it before us.\nWe'll wait here. You take him into the back room. You'll be more likely\nto get a confession out of him alone. Ask him how he dared to admit\npeople and leave them alone in this room. Don't ask him if he has done\nit. Take it for granted. Tell him you KNOW someone has been here. Press\nhim. Tell him that a full confession is his only chance of forgiveness.\nDo exactly what I tell you!\"\n\n\"By George, if he knows I'll have it out of him!\" cried Lestrade. He\ndarted into the hall, and a few moments later his bullying voice sounded\nfrom the back room.\n\n\"Now, Watson, now!\" cried Holmes with frenzied eagerness. All the\ndemoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless manner burst out\nin a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget from the floor, and in an\ninstant was down on his hands and knees clawing at each of the squares\nof wood beneath it. One turned sideways as he dug his nails into the\nedge of it. It hinged back like the lid of a box. A small black cavity\nopened beneath it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into it and drew it out\nwith a bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It was empty.\n\n\"Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!\" The wooden lid was replaced,\nand the drugget had only just been drawn straight when Lestrade's voice\nwas heard in the passage. He found Holmes leaning languidly against\nthe mantelpiece, resigned and patient, endeavouring to conceal his\nirrepressible yawns.\n\n\"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes, I can see that you are bored to\ndeath with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed, all right. Come\nin here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear of your most inexcusable\nconduct.\"\n\nThe big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room.\n\n\"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure. The young woman came to the door last\nevening--mistook the house, she did. And then we got talking. It's\nlonesome, when you're on duty here all day.\"\n\n\"Well, what happened then?\"\n\n\"She wanted to see where the crime was done--had read about it in the\npapers, she said. She was a very respectable, well-spoken young woman,\nsir, and I saw no harm in letting her have a peep. When she saw that\nmark on the carpet, down she dropped on the floor, and lay as if she\nwere dead. I ran to the back and got some water, but I could not bring\nher to. Then I went round the corner to the Ivy Plant for some brandy,\nand by the time I had brought it back the young woman had recovered and\nwas off--ashamed of herself, I daresay, and dared not face me.\"\n\n\"How about moving that drugget?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly, when I came back. You see,\nshe fell on it and it lies on a polished floor with nothing to keep it\nin place. I straightened it out afterwards.\"\n\n\"It's a lesson to you that you can't deceive me, Constable MacPherson,\"\nsaid Lestrade, with dignity. \"No doubt you thought that your breach of\nduty could never be discovered, and yet a mere glance at that drugget\nwas enough to convince me that someone had been admitted to the room.\nIt's lucky for you, my man, that nothing is missing, or you would find\nyourself in Queer Street. I'm sorry to have called you down over such a\npetty business, Mr. Holmes, but I thought the point of the second stain\nnot corresponding with the first would interest you.\"\n\n\"Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this woman only been here once,\nconstable?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, only once.\"\n\n\"Who was she?\"\n\n\"Don't know the name, sir. Was answering an advertisement about\ntypewriting and came to the wrong number--very pleasant, genteel young\nwoman, sir.\"\n\n\"Tall? Handsome?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, she was a well-grown young woman. I suppose you might say\nshe was handsome. Perhaps some would say she was very handsome. 'Oh,\nofficer, do let me have a peep!' says she. She had pretty, coaxing ways,\nas you might say, and I thought there was no harm in letting her just\nput her head through the door.\"\n\n\"How was she dressed?\"\n\n\"Quiet, sir--a long mantle down to her feet.\"\n\n\"What time was it?\"\n\n\"It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting the lamps as I\ncame back with the brandy.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" said Holmes. \"Come, Watson, I think that we have more\nimportant work elsewhere.\"\n\nAs we left the house Lestrade remained in the front room, while the\nrepentant constable opened the door to let us out. Holmes turned on the\nstep and held up something in his hand. The constable stared intently.\n\n\"Good Lord, sir!\" he cried, with amazement on his face. Holmes put his\nfinger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast pocket, and burst\nout laughing as we turned down the street. \"Excellent!\" said he. \"Come,\nfriend Watson, the curtain rings up for the last act. You will be\nrelieved to hear that there will be no war, that the Right Honourable\nTrelawney Hope will suffer no setback in his brilliant career, that the\nindiscreet Sovereign will receive no punishment for his indiscretion,\nthat the Prime Minister will have no European complication to deal\nwith, and that with a little tact and management upon our part\nnobody will be a penny the worse for what might have been a very ugly\nincident.\"\n\nMy mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary man.\n\n\"You have solved it!\" I cried.\n\n\"Hardly that, Watson. There are some points which are as dark as ever.\nBut we have so much that it will be our own fault if we cannot get the\nrest. We will go straight to Whitehall Terrace and bring the matter to a\nhead.\"\n\nWhen we arrived at the residence of the European Secretary it was for\nLady Hilda Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes inquired. We were shown\ninto the morning-room.\n\n\"Mr. Holmes!\" said the lady, and her face was pink with her indignation.\n\"This is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon your part. I desired,\nas I have explained, to keep my visit to you a secret, lest my husband\nshould think that I was intruding into his affairs. And yet you\ncompromise me by coming here and so showing that there are business\nrelations between us.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible alternative. I have been\ncommissioned to recover this immensely important paper. I must therefore\nask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in my hands.\"\n\nThe lady sprang to her feet, with the colour all dashed in an instant\nfrom her beautiful face. Her eyes glazed--she tottered--I thought that\nshe would faint. Then with a grand effort she rallied from the shock,\nand a supreme astonishment and indignation chased every other expression\nfrom her features.\n\n\"You--you insult me, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"Come, come, madam, it is useless. Give up the letter.\"\n\nShe darted to the bell.\n\n\"The butler shall show you out.\"\n\n\"Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all my earnest efforts to\navoid a scandal will be frustrated. Give up the letter and all will be\nset right. If you will work with me I can arrange everything. If you\nwork against me I must expose you.\"\n\nShe stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure, her eyes fixed upon his as\nif she would read his very soul. Her hand was on the bell, but she had\nforborne to ring it.\n\n\"You are trying to frighten me. It is not a very manly thing, Mr.\nHolmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. You say that you know\nsomething. What is it that you know?\"\n\n\"Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself there if you fall. I will\nnot speak until you sit down. Thank you.\"\n\n\"I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes.\"\n\n\"One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your visit to Eduardo Lucas, of\nyour giving him this document, of your ingenious return to the room\nlast night, and of the manner in which you took the letter from the\nhiding-place under the carpet.\"\n\nShe stared at him with an ashen face and gulped twice before she could\nspeak.\n\n\"You are mad, Mr. Holmes--you are mad!\" she cried, at last.\n\nHe drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. It was the face of a\nwoman cut out of a portrait.\n\n\"I have carried this because I thought it might be useful,\" said he.\n\"The policeman has recognized it.\"\n\nShe gave a gasp, and her head dropped back in the chair.\n\n\"Come, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. The matter may still be\nadjusted. I have no desire to bring trouble to you. My duty ends when\nI have returned the lost letter to your husband. Take my advice and be\nfrank with me. It is your only chance.\"\n\nHer courage was admirable. Even now she would not own defeat.\n\n\"I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are under some absurd illusion.\"\n\nHolmes rose from his chair.\n\n\"I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done my best for you. I can see\nthat it is all in vain.\"\n\nHe rang the bell. The butler entered.\n\n\"Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?\"\n\n\"He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one.\"\n\nHolmes glanced at his watch.\n\n\"Still a quarter of an hour,\" said he. \"Very good, I shall wait.\"\n\nThe butler had hardly closed the door behind him when Lady Hilda\nwas down on her knees at Holmes's feet, her hands outstretched, her\nbeautiful face upturned and wet with her tears.\n\n\"Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!\" she pleaded, in a frenzy of\nsupplication. \"For heaven's sake, don't tell him! I love him so! I would\nnot bring one shadow on his life, and this I know would break his noble\nheart.\"\n\nHolmes raised the lady. \"I am thankful, madam, that you have come to\nyour senses even at this last moment! There is not an instant to lose.\nWhere is the letter?\"\n\nShe darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out a long\nblue envelope.\n\n\"Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to heaven I had never seen it!\"\n\n\"How can we return it?\" Holmes muttered. \"Quick, quick, we must think of\nsome way! Where is the despatch-box?\"\n\n\"Still in his bedroom.\"\n\n\"What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here!\" A moment later she\nhad appeared with a red flat box in her hand.\n\n\"How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes, of course\nyou have. Open it!\"\n\nFrom out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn a small key. The box flew\nopen. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes thrust the blue envelope deep\ndown into the heart of them, between the leaves of some other document.\nThe box was shut, locked, and returned to the bedroom.\n\n\"Now we are ready for him,\" said Holmes. \"We have still ten minutes.\nI am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda. In return you will spend\nthe time in telling me frankly the real meaning of this extraordinary\naffair.\"\n\n\"Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything,\" cried the lady. \"Oh, Mr.\nHolmes, I would cut off my right hand before I gave him a moment of\nsorrow! There is no woman in all London who loves her husband as I\ndo, and yet if he knew how I have acted--how I have been compelled to\nact--he would never forgive me. For his own honour stands so high that\nhe could not forget or pardon a lapse in another. Help me, Mr. Holmes!\nMy happiness, his happiness, our very lives are at stake!\"\n\n\"Quick, madam, the time grows short!\"\n\n\"It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet letter written\nbefore my marriage--a foolish letter, a letter of an impulsive, loving\ngirl. I meant no harm, and yet he would have thought it criminal. Had he\nread that letter his confidence would have been forever destroyed. It\nis years since I wrote it. I had thought that the whole matter was\nforgotten. Then at last I heard from this man, Lucas, that it had passed\ninto his hands, and that he would lay it before my husband. I implored\nhis mercy. He said that he would return my letter if I would bring him a\ncertain document which he described in my husband's despatch-box. He had\nsome spy in the office who had told him of its existence. He assured me\nthat no harm could come to my husband. Put yourself in my position, Mr.\nHolmes! What was I to do?\"\n\n\"Take your husband into your confidence.\"\n\n\"I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the one side seemed certain\nruin, on the other, terrible as it seemed to take my husband's paper,\nstill in a matter of politics I could not understand the consequences,\nwhile in a matter of love and trust they were only too clear to me. I\ndid it, Mr. Holmes! I took an impression of his key. This man, Lucas,\nfurnished a duplicate. I opened his despatch-box, took the paper, and\nconveyed it to Godolphin Street.\"\n\n\"What happened there, madam?\"\n\n\"I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed him into\nhis room, leaving the hall door ajar behind me, for I feared to be alone\nwith the man. I remember that there was a woman outside as I entered.\nOur business was soon done. He had my letter on his desk, I handed him\nthe document. He gave me the letter. At this instant there was a sound\nat the door. There were steps in the passage. Lucas quickly turned\nback the drugget, thrust the document into some hiding-place there, and\ncovered it over.\n\n\"What happened after that is like some fearful dream. I have a vision of\na dark, frantic face, of a woman's voice, which screamed in French, 'My\nwaiting is not in vain. At last, at last I have found you with her!'\nThere was a savage struggle. I saw him with a chair in his hand, a knife\ngleamed in hers. I rushed from the horrible scene, ran from the house,\nand only next morning in the paper did I learn the dreadful result. That\nnight I was happy, for I had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the\nfuture would bring.\n\n\"It was the next morning that I realized that I had only exchanged one\ntrouble for another. My husband's anguish at the loss of his paper went\nto my heart. I could hardly prevent myself from there and then kneeling\ndown at his feet and telling him what I had done. But that again would\nmean a confession of the past. I came to you that morning in order to\nunderstand the full enormity of my offence. From the instant that I\ngrasped it my whole mind was turned to the one thought of getting back\nmy husband's paper. It must still be where Lucas had placed it, for it\nwas concealed before this dreadful woman entered the room. If it had not\nbeen for her coming, I should not have known where his hiding-place was.\nHow was I to get into the room? For two days I watched the place, but\nthe door was never left open. Last night I made a last attempt. What I\ndid and how I succeeded, you have already learned. I brought the paper\nback with me, and thought of destroying it, since I could see no way of\nreturning it without confessing my guilt to my husband. Heavens, I hear\nhis step upon the stair!\"\n\nThe European Secretary burst excitedly into the room. \"Any news, Mr.\nHolmes, any news?\" he cried.\n\n\"I have some hopes.\"\n\n\"Ah, thank heaven!\" His face became radiant. \"The Prime Minister is\nlunching with me. May he share your hopes? He has nerves of steel, and\nyet I know that he has hardly slept since this terrible event. Jacobs,\nwill you ask the Prime Minister to come up? As to you, dear, I fear that\nthis is a matter of politics. We will join you in a few minutes in the\ndining-room.\"\n\nThe Prime Minister's manner was subdued, but I could see by the gleam\nof his eyes and the twitchings of his bony hands that he shared the\nexcitement of his young colleague.\n\n\"I understand that you have something to report, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"Purely negative as yet,\" my friend answered. \"I have inquired at every\npoint where it might be, and I am sure that there is no danger to be\napprehended.\"\n\n\"But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot live forever on such a\nvolcano. We must have something definite.\"\n\n\"I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I am here. The more I think of\nthe matter the more convinced I am that the letter has never left this\nhouse.\"\n\n\"Mr. Holmes!\"\n\n\"If it had it would certainly have been public by now.\"\n\n\"But why should anyone take it in order to keep it in his house?\"\n\n\"I am not convinced that anyone did take it.\"\n\n\"Then how could it leave the despatch-box?\"\n\n\"I am not convinced that it ever did leave the despatch-box.\"\n\n\"Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed. You have my assurance that\nit left the box.\"\n\n\"Have you examined the box since Tuesday morning?\"\n\n\"No. It was not necessary.\"\n\n\"You may conceivably have overlooked it.\"\n\n\"Impossible, I say.\"\n\n\"But I am not convinced of it. I have known such things to happen. I\npresume there are other papers there. Well, it may have got mixed with\nthem.\"\n\n\"It was on the top.\"\n\n\"Someone may have shaken the box and displaced it.\"\n\n\"No, no, I had everything out.\"\n\n\"Surely it is easily decided, Hope,\" said the Premier. \"Let us have the\ndespatch-box brought in.\"\n\nThe Secretary rang the bell.\n\n\"Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is a farcical waste of time,\nbut still, if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall be done. Thank\nyou, Jacobs, put it here. I have always had the key on my watch-chain.\nHere are the papers, you see. Letter from Lord Merrow, report from Sir\nCharles Hardy, memorandum from Belgrade, note on the Russo-German grain\ntaxes, letter from Madrid, note from Lord Flowers----Good heavens! what\nis this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!\"\n\nThe Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand.\n\n\"Yes, it is it--and the letter is intact. Hope, I congratulate you.\"\n\n\"Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my heart. But this is\ninconceivable--impossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard, a sorcerer! How\ndid you know it was there?\"\n\n\"Because I knew it was nowhere else.\"\n\n\"I cannot believe my eyes!\" He ran wildly to the door. \"Where is my\nwife? I must tell her that all is well. Hilda! Hilda!\" we heard his\nvoice on the stairs.\n\nThe Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling eyes.\n\n\"Come, sir,\" said he. \"There is more in this than meets the eye. How\ncame the letter back in the box?\"\n\nHolmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny of those wonderful\neyes.\n\n\"We also have our diplomatic secrets,\" said he and, picking up his hat,\nhe turned to the door.\n\nTHE END"