Sherlock Holmes book part 1

The Adventure of the Mazarin Stone
It was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find himself once more in the untidy room of the first floor in Baker Street which had been the
starting-point of so many remarkable adventures. He looked round him at the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred
bench of chemicals, the violin-case leaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle, which contained of old the pipes and tobacco. Finally,
his eyes came round to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the young but very wise and tactful page, who had helped a
little to fill up the gap of loneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturnine figure of the great detective.
"It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You don't change, ei- ther. I hope the same can be said of him?"
Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door of the bedroom.
"I think he's in bed and asleep," he said.
It was seven in the evening of a lovely summer's day, but Dr. Watson was sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of his old
friend's hours to feel no surprise at the idea.
"That means a case, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir, he is very hard at it just now. I'm frightened for his health. He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. 'When will
you be pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes?' Mrs. Hudson asked. 'Seven-thirty, the day after to-morrow,' said he. You know his way
when he is keen on a case."
"Yes, Billy, I know."
"He's following someone. Yesterday he was out as a work- man looking for a job. To-day he was an old woman. Fairly took
me in, he did, and I ought to know his ways by now." Billy pointed with a grin to a very baggy parasol which leaned against the
sofa. "That's part of the old woman's outfit," he said.
"But what is it all about, Billy?"
Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets of State. "I don't mind telling you, sir, but it should go no farther. It's
this case of the Crown diamond."
"What -- the hundred-thousand-pound burglary?"
"Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. Why, we had the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary both sitting on that very sofa.
Mr. Holmes was very nice to them. He soon put them at their ease and promised he would do all he could. Then there is Lord
Cantlemere --"
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir, you know what that means. He's a stiff'un, sir, if I may say so. I can get along with the Prime Minister, and I've
nothing against the Home Secretary, who seemed a civil, oblig- ing sort of man, but I can't stand his Lordship. Neither can Mr.
Holmes, sir. You see, he don't believe in Mr. Holmes and he was against employing him. He'd rather he failed."
"And Mr. Holmes knows it?"
"Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is to know."
"Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Lord Cantlemere will be confounded. But I say, Billy, what is that curtain for across the
window?"
"Mr. Holmes had it put up there three days ago. We've got something funny behind it."
Billy advanced and drew away the drapery which screened the alcove of the bow window.
Dr. Watson could not restrain a cry of amazement. There was a facsimile of his old friend, dressing-gown and all, the face
turned three-quarters towards the window and downward, as though reading an invisible book, while the body was sunk deep
in an armchair. Billy detached the head and held it in the air.
"We put it at different angles, so that it may seem more lifelike. I wouldn't dare touch it if the blind were not down. But when
it's up you can see this from across the way."
"We used something of the sort once before."
"Before my time," said Billy. He drew the window curtains apart and looked out into the street. "There are folk who watch us
from over yonder. I can see a fellow now at the window. Have a look for yourself."
Watson had taken a step forward when the bedroom door opened, and the long, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale
and drawn, but his step and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring he was at the window, and had drawn the blind
once more.
"That will do, Billy," said he. "You were in danger of your life then, my boy, and I can't do without you just yet. Well, Watson,
it is good to see you in your old quarters once again. You come at a critical moment."
"So I gather."
"You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Watson. How far am I justified in allowing him to be in danger?"
"Danger of what, Holmes?"
"Of sudden death. I'm expecting something this evening."
"Expecting what?"
"To be murdered, Watson."
"No, no, you are joking, Holmes!"
"Even my limited sense of humour could evolve a better joke than that. But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we
not? Is alcohol permitted? The gasogene and cigars are in the old place. Let me see you once more in the customary armchair.
You have not, I hope, learned to despise my pipe and my lamentable tobacco? It has to take the place of food these days."
"But why not eat?"
"Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why, surely, as a doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that
what your digestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to the brain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a
mere appendix. Therefore, it is the brain I must consider."
"But this danger, Holmes?"
"Ah. yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be as well that you should burden your memory with the name and
address of the murderer. You can give it to Scotland Yard, with my love and a parting blessing. Sylvius is the name -- Count
Negretto Sylvius. Write it down, man, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, N. W. Got it?"
Watson's honest face was twitching with anxiety. He knew only too well the immense risks taken by Holmes and was well
aware that what he said was more likely to be under-statement than exaggeration. Watson was always the man of action, and
he rose to the occasion.
"Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day or two."
"Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have added fib- bing to your other vices. You bear every sign of the busy medical
man, with calls on him every hour."
"Not such important ones. But can't you have this fellow arrested?"
"Yes, Watson, I could. That's what worries him so."
"But why don't you?"
"Because I don't know where the diamond is."
"Ah! Billy told me -- the missing Crown jewel!"
"Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast my net and I have my fish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use of
taking them? We can make the world a better place by laying them by the heels. But that is not what I am out for. It's the stone
I want."
"And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?"
"Yes, and he's a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton the boxer. Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Count has used him.
Sam's not a shark. He is a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he is flopping about in my net all the same."
"Where is this Count Sylvius?"
"I've been at his very elbow all the morning. You've seen me as an old lady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actually
picked up my parasol for me once. 'By your leave, madame,' said he -- half-ltalian, you know, and with the South- ern graces
of manner when in the mood, but a devil incarnate in the other mood. Life is full of whimsical happenings, Watson."
"It might have been tragedy."
"Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzee's workshop in the Minories. Straubenzee made the air-gun -- a very
pretty bit of work, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in the opposite window at the present moment. Have you seen the
dummy? Of course, Billy showed it to you. Well, it may get a bullet through its beautiful head at any moment. Ah, Billy, what is
it?"
The boy had reappeared in the room with a card upon a tray. Holmes glanced at it with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.
"The man himself. I had hardly expected this. Grasp the nettle, Watson! A man of nerve. Possibly you have heard of his
reputation as a shooter of big game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending to his excellent sporting record if he added me to
his bag. This is a proof that he feels my toe very close behind his heel."
"Send for the police."
"I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance care- fully out of the window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about
in the street?"
Watson looked warily round the edge of the curtain.
"Yes, there is one rough fellow near the door."
"That will be Sam Merton -- the faithful but rather fatuous Sam. Where is this gentleman, Billy?"
"In the waiting-room, sir."
"Show him up when I ring."
"Yes,sir."
"If I am not in the room, show him in all the same."
"Yes, sir."
Watson waited until the door was closed, and then he turned earnestly to his companion.
"Look here, Holmes, this is simply impossible. This is a desperate man, who sticks at nothing. He may have come to murder
you."
"I should not be surprised."

"I insist upon staying with you."
"You would be horribly in the way."
"In his way?"
"No, my dear fellow -- in my way."
"Well, I can't possibly leave you."
"Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failed to play the game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This man
has come for his own purpose, but he may stay for mine."
Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled a few lines. "Take a cab to Scotland Yard and give this to Youghal of the C. I. D.
Come back with the police. The fellow's arrest will follow."
"I'll do that with joy.
"Before you return I may have just time enough to find out where the stone is." He touched the bell. "I think we will go out
through the bedroom. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather want to see my shark without his seeing me, and I have,
as you will remember, my own way of doing it."
It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minute later, ushered Count Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman,
and man-about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formida- ble dark moustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and
surmounted by a long, curved nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed, but his brilliant necktie, shining pin, and
glittering rings were flamboyant in their effect. As the door closed behind him he looked round him with fierce, startled eyes,
like one who suspects a trap at every turn. Then he gave a violent start as he saw the impassive head and the collar of the
dressing-gown which projected above the armchair in the win- dow. At first his expression was one of pure amazement. Then
the light of a horrible hope gleamed in his dark, murderous eyes. He took one more glance round to see that there were no
witnesses, and then, on tiptoe, his thick stick half raised, he approached the silent figure. He was crouching for his final spring
and blow when a cool, sardonic voice greeted him from the open bedroom door:
"Don't break it, Count! Don't break it!"
The assassin staggered back, amazement in his convulsed face. For an instant he half raised his loaded cane once more, as if he
would turn his violence from the effigy to the original; but there was something in that steady gray eye and mocking smile which
caused his hand to sink to his side.
"It's a pretty little thing," said Holmes, advancing towards the image. "Tavernier, the French modeller, made it. He is as good at
waxworks as your friend Straubenzee is at air-guns."
"Air-guns, sir! What do you mean?"
"Put your hat and stick on the side-table. Thank you! Pray take a seat. Would you care to put your revolver out also? Oh, very
good, if you prefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really most opportune, for I wanted badly to have a few minutes' chat with you. "
The Count scowled, with heavy, threatening eyebrows.
"I, too, wished to have some words with you, Holmes. That is why I am here. I won't deny that I intended to assault you just
now."
Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table.
"I rather gathered that you had some idea of the sort in your head," said he. "But why these personal attentions?"
5
"Because you have gone out of your way to annoy me. Because you have put your creatures upon my track."
"My creatures! I assure you no!"
"Nonsense! I have had them followed. Two can play at that game, Holmes."
"It is a small point, Count Sylvius, but perhaps you would kindly give me my prefix when you address me. You can understand
that, with my routine of work, I should find myself on familiar terms with half the rogues' gallery, and you will agree that
exceptions are invidious."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, then."
"Excellent! But I assure you you are mistaken about my alleged agents."
Count Sylvius laughed contemptuously.
"Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was an old sporting man. To-day it was an elderly woman. They
held me in view all day."
"Really, sir, you compliment me. Old Baron Dowson said the night before he was hanged that in my case what the law had
gained the stage had lost. And now you give my little impersona- tions your kindly praise?"
"It was you -- you yourself?"
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "You can see in the corner the parasol which you so politely handed to me in the Minories
before you began to suspect."
"If I had known, you might never --"
"Have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. We all have neglected opportunities to deplore. As it happens, you
did not know, so here we are!"
The Count's knotted brows gathered more heavily over his menacing eyes. "What you say only makes the matter worse. It was
not your agents but your play-acting, busybody self! You admit that you have dogged me. Why?"
"Come now, Count. You used to shoot lions in Algeria."
"Well?"
"But why?"
"Why? The sport -- the excitement -- the danger!"
"And, no doubt, to free the country from a pest?"
"Exactly!"
"My reasons in a nutshell!"
The Count sprang to his feet, and his hand involuntarily moved back to his hip-pocket.
"Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, more practical, reason. I want that yellow diamond!"
Count Sylvius lay back in his chair with an evil smile.
"Upon my word!" said he.
6
"You knew that I was after you for that. The real reason why you are here to-night is to find out how much I know about the
matter and how far my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should say that, from your point of view, it is absolutely essential,
for I know all about it, save only one thing, which you are about to tell me."
"Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing fact?"
"Where the Crown diamond now is."
The Count looked sharply at his companion. "Oh, you want to know that, do you? How the devil should I be able to lell you
where it is?"
"You can, and you will."
"Indeed!"
"You can't bluff me, Count Sylvius." Holmes's eyes, as he gazed at him, contracted and lightened until they were like two
menacing points of steel. "You are absolute plate-glass. I see to the very back of your mind."
"Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!"
Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed a derisive finger. "Then you do know. You have admitted it!"
"I admit nothing."
"Now, Count, if you will be reasonable we can do business. If not, you will get hurt."
Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. "And you talk about bluff!" said he.
Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a master chess-player who meditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table
drawer and drew out a squat notebook.
"Do you know what I keep in this book?"
"No, sir, I do not!"
"You!"
"Me!"
"Yes, sir, you! You are all here -- every action of yor vile and dangerous life."
"Damn you, Holmes!" cried the Count with blazing eyes. "There are limits to my patience!"
"It's all here, Count. The real facts as to the death of old Mrs. Harold, who left you the Blymer estate, which you so rapidly
gambled away."
"You are dreaming!"
"And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender."
"Tut! You will make nothing of that!"
"Plenty more here, Count. Here is the robbery in the train de-luxe to the Riviera on February 13, 1892. Here is the forged
check in the same year on the Credit Lyonnais."
"No, you're wrong there."
7
"Then I am right on the others! Now, Count, you are a card-player. When the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to
throw down your hand."
"What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?"
"Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points in my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but,
above all, I have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case of the Crown diamond."
"Indeed!"
"I have the cabman who took you to Whitehall and the cabman who brought you away. I have the commissionaire who saw
you near the case. I have Ikey Sanders, who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey has peached, and the game is up."
The veins stood out on the Count's forehead. His dark, hairy hands were clenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He
tried to speak, but the words would not shape themselves.
"That's the hand I play from," said Holmes. "I put it all upon the table. But one card is missing. It's the king of dia- monds. I
don't know where the stone is."
"You never shall know."
"No? Now, be reasonable, Count. Consider the situation. You are going to be locked up for twenty years. So is Sam Merton.
What good are you going to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you hand it over -- well, I'll compound a
felony. We don't want you or Sam. We want the stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned you can go free so long as
you behave yourself in the future. If you make another slip well, it will be the last. But this time my commission is to get the
stone, not you."
"But if I refuse?"
"Why, then -- alas! -- it must be you and not the stone."
Billy had appeared in answer to a ring.
"I think, Count, that it would be as well to have your friend Sam at this conference. After all, his interests should be represented.
Billy, you will see a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask him to come up."
"If he won't come, sir?"
"No violence, Billy. Don't be rough with him. If you tell him that Count Sylvius wants him he will certainly come."
"What are you going to do now?" asked the Count as Billy disappeared.
"My friend Watson was with me just now. I told him that I had a shark and a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and
up they come together."
The Count had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind his back. Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket
of his dressing-gown.
"You won't die in your bed, Holmes."
"I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? Aher all, Count, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular
than horizontal. But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Why not give ourselves up to the unrestrained enjoyment of the
present?"
A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of the master criminal. Holmes's figure seemed to grow taller as
he grew tense and ready.
8
"It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend," he said in a quiet voice. "You know perfectly well that you dare not use it,
even if I gave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers, Count. Better stick to air-guns. Ah! I think I hear the fairy
footstep of your estimable partner. Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, is it not?"
The prize-fighter, a heavily built young man with a stupid, obstinate, slab-sided face, stood awkwardly at the door, looking
about him with a puzzled expression. Holmes's debonair manner was a new experience, and though he vaguely felt that it was
hostile, he did not know how to counter it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help.
"What's the game now, Count? What's this fellow want? What's up?" His voice was deep and raucous.
The Count shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes who answered.
"If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it was all up."
The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate.
"Is this cove trying to be funny, or what? I'm not in the funny mood myself."
"No, I expect not," said Holmes. "I think I can promise you that you will feel even less humorous as the evening advances.
Now, look here, Count Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste time. I'm going into that bedroom. Pray make yourselves
quite at home in my absence. You can explain to your friend how the matter lies without the restraint of my presence. I shall try
over the Hoffman 'Barcarole' upon my violin. In five min- utes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp the
alternative, do you not? Shall we take you, or shall we have the stone?"
Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from the corner as he passed. A few moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of
that most haunting of tunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom.
"What is it, then?" asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned to him. "Does he know about the stone?"
"He knows a damned sight too much about it. I'm not sure that he doesn't know all about it."
"Good Lord!" The boxer's sallow face turned a shade whiter.
"Ikey Sanders has split on us."
"He has, has he? I'll do him down a thick 'un for that if I swing for it."
"That won't help us much. We've got to make up our minds what to do."
"Half a mo'," said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door. "He's a leary cove that wants watching. I sup- pose
he's not listening?"
"How can he be listening with that music going?"
"That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too many curtains in this room." As he looked round he suddenly saw for
the first time the effigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed for words.
"Tut! it's only a dummy," said the Count.
"A fake, is it? Well, strike me! Madame Tussaud ain't in it. It's the living spit of him, gown and all. But them curtains Count!"
"Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is none too much. He can lag us over this stone."
"The deuce he can!"
"But he'll let us slip if we only tell him where the swag is."
9
"What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?"
"It's one or the other."
Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.
"He's alone in there. Let's do him in. If his light were out we should have nothing to fear."
The Count shook his head.
"He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in a place like this. Besides, it's likely enough that the police
know whatever evidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?"
There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men sprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one
strange figure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.
"Something in the street," said Merton. "Now look here, guv'nor, you've got the brains. Surely you can think a way out of it. If
slugging is no use then it's up to you."
"I've fooled better men than he," the Count answered. "The stone is here in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it
about. It can be out of England to-night and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before Sunday. He knows nothing of Van
Seddar."
"I thought Van Seddar was going next week."
"He was. But now he must get off by the next boat. One or other of us must slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tell
him."
"But the false bottom ain't ready."
"Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. There's not a moment to lose." Again, with the sense of danger which be- comes an
instinct with the sportsman, he paused and looked hard at the window. Yes, it was surely from the street that the faint sound
had come.
"As to Holmes," he continued, "we can fool him easily enough. You see, the damned fool won't arrest us if he can get the stone.
Well, we'll promise him the stone. We'll put him on the wrong track about it, and before he finds that it is the wrong track it will
be in Holland and we out of the country."
"That sounds good to me!" cried Sam Merton with a grin.
"You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a move on him. I'll see this sucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. I'll tell him
that the stone is in Liverpool. Confound that whining music; it gets on my nerves! By the time he finds it isn't in Liverpool it will
be in quarters and we on the blue water. Come back here, out of a line with that keyhole. Here is the stone."
"I wonder you dare carry it."
"Where could I have it safer? If we could take it out of Whitehall someone else could surely take it out of my lodgings."
"Let's have a look at it."
Count Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at his associate and disregarded the unwashed hand which was ex- tended
towards him.
"What -- d'ye think I'm going to snatch it off you? See here, mister, I'm getting a bit tired of your ways."
"Well, well, no offence, Sam. We can't afford to quarrel. Come over to the window if you want to see the beauty properly.
10
Now hold it to the light! Here!"
"Thank you!"
With a single spring Holmes had leaped from the dummy's chair and had grasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one
hand, while his other pointed a revolver at the Count's head. The two villains staggered back in utter amazement. Before they
had recovered Holmes had pressed the electric bell.
"No violence, gentlemen -- no violence, I beg of you! Con- sider the furniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is
an impossible one. The police are waiting below."
The Count's bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear.
"But how the deuce --?" he gasped.
"Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a second door from my bedroom leads behind that curtain. I fancied that
you must have heard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on my side. It gave me a chance of listening to your racy
conversation which would have been painfully constrained had you been aware of my presence."
The Count gave a gesture of resignation.
"We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devil himself."
"Not far from him, at any rate," Holmes answered with a polite smile.
Sam Merton's slow intellect had only gradually appreciated the situation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the
stairs outside, he broke silence at last.
"A fair cop!" said he. "But, I say, what about that bloomin' fiddle! I hear it yet."
"Tut, tut!" Holmes answered. "You are perfectly right. Let it play! These modern gramophones are a remarkable invention."
There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and the criminals were led to the waiting cab. Watson lingered with
Holmes, congratulating him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Once more their conversation was interrupted by the
imperturbable Billy with his card-tray.
"Lord Cantlemere sir."
"Show him up, Biily. This is the eminent peer who represents the very highest interests," said Holmes. "He is an excellent and
loyal person, but rather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend? Dare we venture upon a slight liberty? He knows, we
may conjecture, nothing of what has occurred."
The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face and drooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness
which hardly corresponded with the rounded shoulders and fee- ble gait. Holmes advanced affably, and shook an unresponsive
hand.
"How do you do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, but rather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?"
"No, I thank you; I will not take it off."
Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve.
"Pray allow me! My friend Dr. Watson would assure you that these changes of temperature are most insidious."
His Lordship shook himself free with some impatience.
11
"I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simply looked in to know how your self-appointed task was
progressing."
"It is difficult -- very difficult."
"I feared that you would find it so."
There was a distinct sneer in the old courtier's words and manner.
"Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures us of the weakness of self-satisfaction."
"Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed."
"No doubt."
"Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon
"You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought that you had your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help
you."
"You see, Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against the actual thieves."
"When you have caught them."
"Exactly. But the question is -- how shall we proceed against the receiver?"
"Is this not rather premature?"
"It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would you regard as final evidence against the receiver?"
"The actual possession of the stone."
"You would arrest him upon that?"
"Most undoubtedly."
Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it as his old friend Watson could remember.
"In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painful necessity of advising your arrest."
Lord Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient fires flickered up into his sallow cheeks.
"You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years of official life I cannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sir engaged
upon important affairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never been a believer
in your powers, and that I have always been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in the hands of the regular police force.
Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. I have the honour, sir, to wish you good-evening."
Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peer and the door.
"One moment, sir," said he. "To actually go off with the Mazarin stone would be a more serious offence than to be found in
temporary possession of it."
"Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass."
"Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat."
"What do you mean, sir?"
12
"Come -- come, do what I ask."
An instant later the amazed peer was standing, blinking and stammering, with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm.
"What! What! How is this, Mr. Holmes?"
"Too bad, Lord Cantlemere, too bad!" cried Holmes. "My old friend here will tell you that I have an impish habit of practical
joking. Also that I can never resist a dramatic situation. I took the liberty -- the very great liberty, I admit -- of putting the stone
into your pocket at the beginning of our interview."
The old peer stared from the stone to the smiling face before him.
"Sir, I am bewildered. But -- yes -- it is indeed the Mazarin stone. We are greatly your debtors, Mr. Holmes. Your sense of
humour may, as you admit, be somewhat perverted, and its exhibition remarkably untimely, but at least I withdraw any
reflection I have made upon your amazing professional powers. But how --"
"The case is but half finished; the details can wait. No doubt, Lord Cantlemere, your pleasure in telling of this successful result
in the exalted circle to which you return will be some small atonement for my practical joke. Billy, you will show his Lord- ship
out, and tell Mrs. Hudson that I should be glad if she would send up dinner for two as soon as possible."
The Problem of Thor Bridge
Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at Charing Cross, there is a travel-worn and battered tin dispatch- box
with my name, John H. Watson, M. D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid. It is crammed with papers, nearly all of which
are records of cases to illustrate the curious problems which Mr. Sherlock Holmes had at various times to examine. Some, and
not the least interesting, were complete failures, and as such will hardly bear narrating, since no final explanation is forthcoming.
A problem without a solution may interest the student, but can hardly fail to annoy the casual reader. Among these unfinished
tales is that of Mr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house to get his umbrella, was never more seen in this
world. No less remarkable is that of the cutter Alicia, which sailed one spring morning into a small patch of mist from where she
never again emerged, nor was anything further ever heard of herself and her crew. A third case worthy of note is that of
Isadora Persano, the well-known journalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a match box in front of him
which contained a remarkable worm said to be unknown to science. Apart from these unfathomed cases, there are some which
involve the secrets of private families to an extent which would mean consternation in many exalted quarters if it were thought
possible that they might find their way into print. I need not say that such a breach of confidence is unthink- able, and that these
records will be separated and destroyed now that my friend has time to turn his energies to the matter. There remain a
considerable residue of cases of greater or less interest which I might have edited before had I not feared to give the public a
surfeit which might react upon the reputation of the man whom above all others I revere. In some I was myself concerned and
can speak as an eye-witness, while in others I was either not present or played so small a part that they could only be told as
by a third person. The following narrative is drawn from my own experience.
It was a wild morning in October, and I observed as I was dressing how the last remaining leaves were being whirled from the
solitary plane tree which graces the yard behind our house. I descended to breakfast prepared to find my companion in depressed
spirits, for, like all great artists, he was easily impressed by his surroundings. On the contrary, I found that he had
nearly finished his meal, and that his mood was particularly bright and joyous, with that somewhat sinister cheerfulness which
was char- acteristic of his lighter moments.
"You have a case, Holmes?" I remarked.
"The faculty of deduction is certainly contagious, Watson," he answered. "It has enabled you to probe my secret. Yes, I have a
case. After a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels move once more."
"Might I share it?"
"There is little to share, but we may discuss it when you have consumed the two hard-boiled eggs with which our new cook has
13
favoured us. Their condition may not be unconnected with the copy of the Family Herald which I observed yesterday upon the
hall-table. Even so trivial a matter as cooking an egg demands an attention which is conscious of the passage of time and
incom- patible with the love romance in that excellent periodical."
A quarter of an hour later the table had been cleared and we were face to face. He had drawn a letter from his pocket.
"You have heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold King?" he said.
"You mean the American Senator?"
"Well, he was once Senator for some Western state, but is better known as the greatest gold-mining magnate in the world."
"Yes, I know of him. He has surely lived in England for some time. His name is very familiar."
"Yes, he bought a considerable estate in Hampshire some five years ago. Possibly you have already heard of the tragic end of
his wife?"
"Of course. I remember it now. That is why the name is familiar. But I really know nothing of the details."
Holmes waved his hand towards some papers on a chair. "I had no idea that the case was coming my way or I should have
had my extracts ready," said he. "The fact is that the problem, though exceedingly sensational, appeared to present no difficulty.
The interesting personality of the accused does not obscure the clearness of the evidence. That was the view taken by the
coroner's jury and also in the police-court proceedings. It is now referred to the Assizes at Winchester. I fear it is a thankless
business. I can discover facts, Watson, but I cannot change them. Unless some entirely new and unexpected ones come to light
I do not see what my client can hope for."
"Your client?"
"Ah, I forgot I had not told you. I am getting into your involved habit, Watson, of telling a story backward. You had best read
this first."
The letter which he handed to me, written in a bold, masterful hand, ran as follows:
CLARIDGE'S HOTEL,
October 3rd.
DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:
I can't see the best woman God ever made go to her
death without doing all that is possible to save her. I can't
explain things -- I can't even try to explain them, but I know
beyond all doubt that Miss Dunbar is innocent. You know
the facts -- who doesn't? It has been the gossip of the country.
And never a voice raised for her! It's the damned injustice
of it all that makes me crazy. That woman has a heart
that wouldn't let her kill a fly. Well, I'll come at eleven
to-morrow and see if you can get some ray of light in the
dark. Maybe I have a clue and don't know it. Anyhow, all I
know and all I have and all I am are for your use if only you
can save her. If ever in your life you showed your powers,
put them now into this case.
Yours faithfully,
J. NEIL GIBSON.
"There you have it," said Sherlock Holmes, knocking out the ashes of his after-breakfast pipe and slowly refilling it. "That is the
gentleman I await. As to the story, you have hardly time to master all these papers, so I must give it to you in a nutshell if you
are to take an intelligent interest in the proceedings. This man is the greatest financial power in the world, and a man, as I
understand, of most violent and formidable character. He mar- ried a wife, the victim of this tragedy, of whom I know nothing
save that she was past her prime, which was the more unfortu- nate as a very attractive governess superintended the education
14
of two young children. These are the three people concerned, and the scene is a grand old manor house, the centre of a
historical English state. Then as to the tragedy. The wife was found in the grounds nearly half a mile from the house, late at
night, clad in her dinner dress, with a shawl over her shoulders and a revolver bullet through her brain. No weapon was found
near her and there was no local clue as to the murder. No weapon near her, Watson -- mark that! The crime seems to have
been committed late in the evening, and the body was found by a gamekeeper about eleven o'clock, when it was examined by
the police and by a doctor before being carried up to the house. Is this too con- densed, or can you follow it clearly?"
"It is all very clear. But why suspect the governess?"
"Well, in the first place there is some very direct evidence. A revolver with one discharged chamber and a calibre which corresponded
with the bullet was found on the floor of her ward- robe." His eyes fixed and he repeated in broken words, "On --
the -- floor -- of -- her -- wardrobe." Then he sank into si- lence, and I saw that some train of thought had been set moving
which I should be foolish to interrupt. Suddenly with a start he emerged into brisk life once more. "Yes, Watson, it was found.
Pretty damning, eh? So the two juries thought. Then the dead woman had a note upon her making an appointment at that very
place and signed by the governess. How's that? Finally there is the motive. Senator Gibson is an attractive person. If his wife
dies, who more likely to succeed her than the young lady who had already by all accounts received pressing attentions from her
employer? Love, fortune, power, all depending upon one middle- aged life. Ugly, Watson -- very ugly!"
"Yes, indeed, Holmes."
"Nor could she prove an alibi. On the contrary, she had to admit that she was down near Thor Bridge -- that was the scene of
the tragedy -- about that hour. She couldn't deny it, for some passing villager had seen her there."
"That really seems final."
"And yet, Watson -- and yet! This bridge -- a single broad span of stone with balustraded sides -- carries the drive over the
nar- rowest part of a long, deep, reed-girt sheet of water. Thor Mere it is called. In the mouth of the bridge lay the dead
woman. Such are the main facts. But here, if I mistake not, is our client, considerably before his time."
Billy had opened the door, but the name which he announced was an unexpected one. Mr. Marlow Bates was a stranger to
both of us. He was a thin, nervous wisp of a man with frightened eyes and a twitching, hesitating manner -- a man whom my
own professional eye would judge to be on the brink of an absolute nervous breakdown.
"You seem agitated, Mr. Bates," said Holmes. "Pray sit down. I fear I can only give you a short time, for I have an appointment
at eleven."
"I know you have," our visitor gasped, shooting out short sentences like a man who is out of breath. "Mr. Gibson is coming.
Mr. Gibson is my employer. I am manager of his estate. Mr. Holmes, he is a villain -- an infernal villain."
"Strong language, Mr. Bates."
"I have to be emphatic, Mr. Holmes, for the time is so limited. I would not have him find me here for the world. He is almost
due now. But I was so situated that I could not come earlier. His secretary, Mr. Ferguson, only told me this morning of his
appointment with you."
"And you are his manager?"
"I have given him notice. In a couple of weeks I shall have shaken off his accursed slavery. A hard man, Mr. Holmes, hard to
all about him. Those public charities are a screen to cover his private iniquities. But his wife was his chief victim. He was brutal
to her -- yes, sir, brutal! How she came by her death I do not know, but I am sure that he had made her life a misery to her.
She was a creature of the tropics, a Brazilian by birth, as no doubt you know."
"No, it had escaped me."
15
"Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A child of the sun and of passion. She had loved him as such women can love, but
when her own physical charms had faded -- I am told that they once were great -- there was nothing to hold him. We all liked
her and felt for her and hated him for the way that he treated her. But he is plausible and cunning. That is all I have to say to
you. Don't take him at his face value. There is more behind. Now I'll go. No, no, don't detain me! He is almost due."
With a frightened look at the clock our strange visitor literally ran to the door and disappeared.
"Well! Well!" said Holmes after an interval of silence. "Mr. Gibson seems to have a nice loyal household. But the warning is a
useful one, and now we can only wait till the man himself appears."
Sharp at the hour we heard a heavy step upon the stairs, and the famous millionaire was shown into the room. As I looked
upon him I understood not only the fears and dislike of his manager but also the execrations which so many business rivals have
heaped upon his head. If I were a sculptor and desired to idealize the successful man of affairs, iron of nerve and leathery of
conscience, I should choose Mr. Neil Gibson as my model. His tall, gaunt, craggy figure had a suggestion of hunger and
rapacity. An Abraham Lincoln keyed to base uses instead of high ones would give some idea of the man. His face might have
been chiselled in granite, hard-set, craggy, remorseless, with deep lines upon it, the scars of many a crisis. Cold gray eyes,
looking shrewdly out from under bristling brows, surveyed us each in turn. He bowed in perfunctory fashion as Holmes
mentioned my name, and then with a masterful air of possession he drew a chair up to my companion and seated himself with
his bony knees almost touching him.
"Let me say right here, Mr. Holmes," he began, "that money is nothing to me in this case. You can burn it if it's any use in
lighting you to the truth. This woman is innocent and this woman has to be cleared, and it's up to you to do it. Name your
figure!"
"My professional charges are upon a fixed scale," said Holmes coldly. "I do not vary them, save when I remit them altogether."
"Well, if dollars make no difference to you, think of the reputation. If you pull this off every paper in England and America will
be booming you. You'll be the talk of two continents."
"Thank you, Mr. Gibson, I do not think that I am in need of booming. It may surprise you to know that I prefer to work
anonymously, and that it is the problem itself which attracts me. But we are wasting time. Let us get down to the facts."
"I think that you will find all the main ones in the press reports. I don't know that I can add anything which will help you. But if
there is anything you would wish more light upon -- well, I am here to give it."
"Well, there is just one point."
"What is it?"
"What were the exact relations between you and Miss Dunbar?"
The Gold King gave a violent start and half rose from his chair. Then his massive calm came back to him.
"I suppose you are within your rights -- and maybe doing your duty -- in asking such a question, Mr. Holmes."
"We will agree to suppose so," said Holmes.
"Then I can assure you that our relations were entirely and always those of an employer towards a young lady whom he never
conversed with, or ever saw, save when she was in the company of his children."
Holmes rose from his chair.
"I am a rather busy man, Mr. Gibson," said he, "and I have no time or taste for aimless conversations. I wish you goodmorning."
16
Our visitor had risen also, and his great loose figure towered above Holmes. There was an angry gleam from under those
bristling brows and a tinge of colour in the sallow cheeks.
"What the devil do you mean by this, Mr. Holmes? Do you dismiss my case?"
"Well, Mr. Gibson, at least I dismiss you. I should have thought my words were plain."
"Plain enough, but what's at the back of it? Raising the price on me, or afraid to tackle it, or what? I've a right to a plain
answer."
"Well, perhaps you have," said Holmes. "I'll give you one. This case is quite sufficiently complicated to start with without the
further difficulty of false information."
"Meaning that I lie."
"Well, I was trying to express it as delicately as I could, but if you insist upon the word I will not contradict you."
I sprang to my feet, for the expression upon the millionaire's face was fiendish in its intensity, and he had raised his great
knotted fist. Holmes smiled languidly and reached his hand out for his pipe.
"Don't be noisy, Mr. Gibson. I find that after breakfast even the smallest argument is unsettling. I suggest that a stroll in the
morning air and a little quiet thought will be greatly to your advantage."
With an effort the Gold King mastered his fury. I could not but admire him, for by a supreme self-command he had turned in a
minute from a hot flame of anger to a frigid and contemptuous indifference.
"Well, it's your choice. I guess you know how to run your own business. I can't make you touch the case against your will.
You've done yourself no good this morning, Mr. Holmes, for I have broken stronger men than you. No man ever crossed me
and was the better for it."
"So many have said so, and yet here I am," said Holmes, smiling. "Well, good-morning, Mr. Gibson. You have a good deal yet
to learn."
Our visitor made a noisy exit, but Holmes smoked in imper- turbable silence with dreamy eyes fixed upon the ceiling.
"Any views, Watson?" he asked at last.
"Well, Holmes, I must confess that when I consider that this is a man who would certainly brush any obstacle from his path,
and when I remember that his wife may have been an obstacle and an object of dislike, as that man Bates plainly told us, it
seems to me --"
"Exactly. And to me also."
"But what were his relations with the governess, and how did you discover them?"
"Bluff, Watson, bluff! When I considered the passionate, unconventional, unbusinesslike tone of his letter and contrasted it with
his self-contained manner and appearance, it was pretty clear that there was some deep emotion which centred upon the
accused woman rather than upon the victim. We've got to under- stand the exact relations of those three people if we are to
reach the truth. You saw the frontal attack which I made upon him, and how imperturbably he received it. Then I bluffed him
by giving him the impression that I was absolutely certain, when in reality I was only extremely suspicious."
"Perhaps he will come back?"
"He is sure to come back. He must come back. He can't leave it where it is. Ha! isn't that a ring? Yes, there is his footstep.
Well, Mr. Gibson, I was just saying to Dr. Watson that you were somewhat overdue."
17
The Gold King had reentered the room in a more chastened mood than he had left it. His wounded pride still showed in his
resentful eyes, but his common sense had shown him that he must yield if he would attain his end.
"I've been thinking it over, Mr. Holmes, and I feel that I have been hasty in taking your remarks amiss. You are justified in
getting down to the facts, whatever they may be, and I think the more of you for it. I can assure you, however, that the relations
between Miss Dunbar and me don't really touch this case."
"That is for me to decide, is it not?"
"Yes, I guess that is so. You're like a surgeon who wants every symptom before he can give his diagnosis."
"Exactly. That expresses it. And it is only a patient who has an object in deceiving his surgeon who would conceal the facts of
his case."
"That may be so, but you will admit, Mr. Holmes, that most men would shy off a bit when they are asked point-blank what
their relations with a woman may be -- if there is really some serious feeling in the case. I guess most men have a little private
reserve of their own in some corner of their souls where they don't welcome intruders. And you burst suddenly into it. But the
object excuses you, since it was to try and save her. Well, the stakes are down and the reserve open, and you can explore
where you will. What is it you want?"
"The truth."
The Gold King paused for a moment as one who marshals his thoughts. His grim, deep-lined face had become even sadder
and more grave.
"I can give it to you in a very few words, Mr. Holmes," said he at last. "There are some things that are painful as well as difficult
to say, so I won't go deeper than is needful. I met my wife when I was gold-hunting in Brazil. Maria Pinto was the daughter of
a government official at Manaos, and she was very beautiful. I was young and ardent in those days, but even now, as I look
back with colder blood and a more critical eye, I can see that she was rare and wonderful in her beauty. It was a deep rich
nature, too, passionate, whole-hearted, tropical, ill-balanced, very different from the American women whom I had known.
Well, to make a long story short, I loved her and I married her. It was only when the romance had passed -- and it lingered for
years -- that I realized that we had nothing -- absolutely nothing -- in common. My love faded. If hers had faded also it might
have been easier. But you know the wonderful way of women! Do what I might, nothing could turn her from me. If I have been
harsh to her, even brutal as some have said, it has been because I knew that if I could kill her love, or if it turned to hate, it
would be easier for both of us. But nothing changed her. She adored me in those English woods as she had adored me twenty
years ago on the banks of the Amazon. Do what I might, she was as devoted as ever.
"Then came Miss Grace Dunbar. She answered our advertise- ment and became governess to our two children. Perhaps you
have seen her portrait in the papers. The whole world has pro- claimed that she also is a very beautiful woman. Now, I make
no pretence to be more moral than my neighbours, and I will admit to you that I could not live under the same roof with such a
woman and in daily contact with her without feeling a passionate regard for her. Do you blame me, Mr. Holmes?"
"I do not blame you for feeling it. I should blame you if you expressed it, since this young lady was in a sense under your
protection."
"Well, maybe so," said the millionaire, though for a moment the reproof had brought the old angry gleam into his eyes. "I'm not
pretending to be any better than I am. I guess all my life I've been a man that reached out his hand for what he wanted, and I
never wanted anything more than the love and possession of that woman. I told her so."
"Oh, you did, did you?"
Holmes could look very formidable when he was moved.
"I said to her that if I could marry her I would, but that it was out of my power. I said that money was no object and that all I
18
could do to make her happy and comfortable would be done."
"Very generous, I am sure," said Holmes with a sneer.
"See here, Mr. Holmes. I came to you on a question of evidence, not on a question of morals. I'm not asking for your
criticism."
"It is only for the young lady's sake that I touch your case at all," said Holmes sternly. "I don't know that anything she is
accused of is really worse than what you have yourself admitted, that you have tried to ruin a defenceless girl who was under
your roof. Some of you rich men have to be taught that all the world cannot be bribed into condoning your offences."
To my surprise the Gold King took the reproof with equanimity.
"That's how I feel myself about it now. I thank God that my plans did not work out as I intended. She would have none of it,
and she wanted to leave the house instantly."
"Why did she not?"
"Well, in the first place, others were dependent upon her, and it was no light matter for her to let them all down by sacrificing
her living. When I had sworn -- as I did -- that she should never be molested again, she consented to remain. But there was
another reason. She knew the influence she had over me, and that it was stronger than any other influence in the world. She
wanted to use it for good."
"How?"
"Well, she knew something of my affairs. They are large, Mr. Holmes -- large beyond the belief of an ordinary man. I can
make or break -- and it is usually break. It wasn't individuals only. It was communities, cities, even nations. Business is a hard
game, and the weak go to the wall. I played the game for all it was worth. I never squealed myself, and I never cared if the
other fellow squealed. But she saw it different. I guess she was right. She believed and said that a fortune for one man that was
more than he needed should not be built on ten thousand ruined men who were left without the means of life. That was how she
saw it, and I guess she could see past the dollars to something that was more lasting. She found that I listened to what she said,
and she believed she was serving the world by influencing my actions. So she stayed -- and then this came along."
"Can you throw any light upon that?"
The Gold King paused for a minute or more, his head sunk in his hands, lost in deep thought.
"It's very black against her. I can't deny that. And women lead an inward life and may do things beyond the judgment of a man.
At first I was so rattled and taken aback that I was ready to think she had been led away in some extraordinary fashion that
was clean against her usual nature. One explanation came into my head. I give it to you, Mr. Holmes, for what it is worth.
There is no doubt that my wife was bitterly jealous. There is a soul-jealousy that can be as frantic as any body-jealousy, and
though my wife had no cause -- and I think she understood this -- for the latter, she was aware that this English girl exerted an
influence upon my mind and my acts that she herself never had. It was an influence for good, but that did not mend the matter.
She was crazy with hatred and the heat of the Amazon was always in her blood. She might have planned to murder Miss
Dunbar -- or we will say to threaten her with a gun and so frighten her into leaving us. Then there might have been a scuffle and
the gun gone off and shot the woman who held it."
"That possibility had already occurred to me," said Holmes. "Indeed, it is the only obvious alternative to deliberate murder."
"But she utterly denies it."
"Well, that is not final -- is it? One can understand that a woman placed in so awful a position might hurry home still in her
bewilderment holding the revolver. She might even throw it down among her clothes, hardly knowing what she was doing, and
when it was found she might try to lie her way out by a total denial, since all explanation was impossible. What is against such a
19
supposition?"
"Miss Dunbar herself."
"Well, perhaps."
Holmes looked at his watch. "I have no doubt we can get the necessary permits this morning and reach Winchester by the
evening train. When I have seen this young lady it is very possible that I may be of more use to you in the matter, though I
cannot promise that my conclusions will necessarily be such as you desire."
There was some delay in the official pass, and instead of reaching Winchester that day we went down to Thor Place, the
Hampshire estate of Mr. Neil Gibson. He did not accompany us himself, but we had the address of Sergeant Coventry, of the
local police, who had first examined into the affair. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous man, with a secretive and mysterious manner
which conveyed the idea that he knew or suspected a very great deal more than he dared say. He had a trick, too, of suddenly
sinking his voice to a whisper as if he had come upon something of vital importance, though the information was usu- ally
commonplace enough. Behind these tricks of manner he soon showed himself to be a decent, honest fellow who was not too
proud to admit that he was out of his depth and would welcome any help.
"Anyhow, I'd rather have you than Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If the Yard gets called into a case, then the local
loses all credit for success and may be blamed for failure. Now, you play straight, so I've heard."
"I need not appear in the matter at all," said Holmes to the evident relief of our melancholy acquaintance. "If I can clear it up I
don't ask to have my name mentioned."
"Well, it's very handsome of you, I am sure. And your friend, Dr. Watson, can be trusted, I know. Now, Mr. Holmes, as we
walk down to the place there is one question I should like to ask you. I'd breathe it to no soul but you." He looked round as
though he hardly dare utter the words. "Don't you think there might be a case against Mr. Neil Gibson himself?"
"I have been considering that."
"You've not seen Miss Dunbar. She is a wonderful fine woman in every way. He may well have wished his wife out of the
road. And these Americans are readier with pistols than our folk are. It was his pistol, you know."
"Was that clearly made out?"
"Yes, sir. It was one of a pair that he had."
"One of a pair? Where is the other?"
"Well, the gentleman has a lot of firearms of one sort and another. We never quite matched that particular pistol -- but the box
was made for two."
"If it was one of a pair you should surely be able to match it."
"Well, we have them all laid out at the house if you would care to look them over."
"Later, perhaps. I think we will walk down together and have a look at the scene of the tragedy."
This conversation had taken place in the little front room of Sergeant Coventry's humble cottage which served as the local
police-station. A walk of half a mile or so across a wind-swept heath, all gold and bronze with the fading ferns, brought us to a
side-gate opening into the grounds of the Thor Place estate. A path led us through the pheasant preserves, and then from a
clearing we saw the widespread, half-timbered house, half Tudor and half Georgian, upon the crest of the hill. Beside us there
was a long, reedy pool, constricted in the centre where the main carriage drive passed over a stone bridge, but swelling into
small lakes on either side. Our guide paused at the mouth of this bridge, and he pointed to the ground.

"That was where Mrs. Gibson's body lay. I marked it by that stone."
"I understand that you were there before it was moved?"
"Yes, they sent for me at once."
"Who did?"
"Mr. Gibson himself. The moment the alarm was given and he had rushed down with others from the house, he insisted that
nothing should be moved until the police should arrive."
"That was sensible. I gathered from the newspaper report that the shot was fired from close quarters."
"Yes, sir, very close."
"Near the right temple?"
"Just behind it, sir."
"How did the body lie?"
"On the back, sir. No trace of a struggle. No marks. No weapon. The short note from Miss Dunbar was clutched in her left
hand."
"Clutched, you say?"
"Yes, sir, we could hardly open the fingers."
"That is of great importance. It excludes the idea that anyone could have placed the note there after death in order to furnish a
false clue. Dear me! The note, as I remember, was quite short:
"I will be at Thor Bridge at nine o'clock."
"G. DUNBAR.
Was that not so?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did Miss Dunbar admit writing it?"
"Yes, sir."
"What was her explanation?"
"Her defence was reserved for the Assizes. She would say nothing."
"The problem is certainly a very interesting one. The point of the letter is very obscure, is it not?"
"Well, sir," said the guide, "it seemed, if I may be so bold as to say so, the only really clear point in the whole case."
Holmes shook his head.
"Granting that the letter is genuine and was really written, it was certainly received some time before -- say one hour or two.
Why, then, was this lady still clasping it in her left hand? Why should she carry it so carefully? She did not need to refer to it in
the interview. Does it not seem remarkable?"
"Well, sir, as you put it, perhaps it does."
21
"I think I should like to sit quietly for a few minutes and think it out." He seated himself upon the stone ledge of the bridge, and I
could see his quick gray eyes darting their questioning glances in every direction. Suddenly he sprang up again and ran across
to the opposite parapet, whipped his lens from his pocket, and began to examine the stonework.
"This is curious," said he.
"Yes, sir, we saw the chip on the ledge. I expect it's been done by some passer-by."
The stonework was gray, but at this one point it showed white for a space not larger than a sixpence. When examined closely
one could see that the surface was chipped as by a sharp blow.
"It took some violence to do that," said Holmes thoughtfully. With his cane he struck the ledge several times without leaving a
mark. "Yes, it was a hard knock. In a curious place, too. It was not from above but from below, for you see that it is on the
lower edge of the parapet."
"But it is at least fifteen feet from the body."
"Yes, it is fifteen feet from the body. It may have nothing to do with the matter, but it is a point worth noting. I do not think that
we have anything more to learn here. There were no foot- steps, you say?"
"The ground was iron hard, sir. There were no traces at all."
"Then we can go. We will go up to the house first and look over these weapons of which you speak. Then we shall get on to
Winchester, for I should desire to see Miss Dunbar before we go farther."
Mr. Neil Gibson had not returned from town, but we saw in the house the neurotic Mr. Bates who had called upon us in the
morning. He showed us with a sinister relish the formidable array of firearms of various shapes and sizes which his employer
had accumulated in the course of an adventurous life.
"Mr. Gibson has his enemies, as anyone would expect who knew him and his methods," said he. "He sleeps with a loaded
revolver in the drawer beside his bed. He is a man of violence, sir, and there are times when all of us are afraid of him. I am
sure that the poor lady who has passed was often terrified."
"Did you ever witness physical violence towards her?"
"No, I cannot say that. But I have heard words which were nearly as bad -- words of cold, cutting contempt, even before the
servants."
"Our millionaire does not seem to shine in private life," remarked Holmes as we made our way to the station. "Well, Watson,
we have come on a good many facts, some of them new ones, and yet I seem some way from my conclusion. In spite of the
very evident dislike which Mr. Bates has to his employer, I gather from him that when the alarm came he was undoubtedly in
his library. Dinner was over at 8:30 and all was normal up to then. It is true that the alarm was somewhat late in the evening,
but the tragedy certainly occurred about the hour named in the note. There is no evidence at all that Mr. Gibson had been out
of doors since his return from town at five o'clock. On the other hand, Miss Dunbar, as I understand it, admits that she had
made an appointment to meet Mrs. Gibson at the bridge. Beyond this she would say nothing, as her lawyer had advised her to
reserve her defence. We have several very vital questions to ask that young lady, and my mind will not be easy until we have
seen her. I must confess that the case would seem to me to be very black against her if it were not for one thing."
"And what is that, Holmes?"
"The finding of the pistol in her wardrobe."
"Dear me, Holmes!" I cried, "that seemed to me to be the most damning incident of all."
"Not so, Watson. It had struck me even at my first perfunc- tory reading as very strange, and now that I am in closer touch
22
with the case it is my only firm ground for hope. We must look for consistency. Where there is a want of it we must suspect
deception."
"I hardly follow you."
"Well now, Watson, suppose for a moment that we visualize you in the character of a woman who, in a cold, premeditated
fashion, is about to get rid of a rival. You have planned it. A note has been written. The victim has come. You have your
weapon. The crime is done. It has been workmanlike and com- plete. Do you tell me that after carrying out so crafty a crime
you would now ruin your reputation as a criminal by forgetting to fling your weapon into those adjacent reed-beds which would
forever cover it, but you must needs carry it carefully home and put it in your own wardrobe, the very first place that would be
searched? Your best friends would hardly call you a schemer, Watson, and yet I could not picture you doing anything so crude
as that."
"In the excitement of the moment "
"No, no, Watson, I will not admit that it is possible. Where a crime is coolly premeditated, then the means of covering it are
coolly premeditated also. I hope, therefore, that we are in the presence of a serious misconception."
"But there is so much to explain."
"Well, we shall set about explaining it. When once your point of view is changed, the very thing which was so damning
becomes a clue to the truth. For example, there is this revolver. Miss Dunbar disclaims all knowledge of it. On our new theory
she is speaking truth when she says so. Therefore, it was placed in her wardrobe. Who placed it there? Someone who wished
to incriminate her. Was not that person the actual criminal? You see how we come at once upon a most fruitful line of inquiry."
We were compelled to spend the night at Winchester, as the formalities had not yet been completed, but next morning, in the
company of Mr. Joyce Cummings, the rising barrister who was entrusted with the defence, we were allowed to see the young
lady in her cell. I had expected from all that we had heard to see a beautiful woman, but I can never forget the effect which
Miss Dunbar produced upon me. It was no wonder that even the masterful millionaire had found in her something more
powerful than himself -- something which could control and guide him. One felt, too, as one looked at the strong, clear-cut, and
yet sensitive face, that even should she be capable of some impetu- ous deed, none the less there was an innate nobility of
character which would make her influence always for the good. She was a brunette, tall, with a noble figure and commanding
presence, but her dark eyes had in them the appealing, helpless expression of the hunted creature who feels the nets around it,
but can see no way out from the toils. Now, as she realized the presence and the help of my famous friend, there came a touch
of colour in her wan cheeks and a light of hope began to glimmer in the glance which she turned upon us.
"Perhaps Mr. Neil Gibson has told you something of what occurred between us?" she asked in a low, agitated voice.
"Yes," Holmes answered, "you need not pain yourself by entering into that part of the story. After seeing you, I am prepared to
accept Mr. Gibson's statement both as to the influ- ence which you had over him and as to the innocence of your relations with
him. But why was the whole situation not brought out in court?"
"It seemed to me incredible that such a charge could be sustained. I thought that if we waited the whole thing must clear itself
up without our being compelled to enter into painful details of the inner life of the family. But I understand that far from clearing
it has become even more serious."
"My dear young lady," cried Holmes earnestly, "I beg you to have no illusions upon the point. Mr. Cummings here would
assure you that all the cards are at present against us, and that we must do everything that is possible if we are to win clear. It
would be a cruel deception to pretend that you are not in very great danger. Give me all the help you can, then, to get at the
truth."
"I will conceal nothing."
"Tell us, then, of your true relations with Mr. Gibson's wife."
23
"She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with all the fervour of her tropical nature. She was a woman who would do nothing
by halves, and the measure of her love for her husband was the measure also of her hatred for me. It is probable that she
misunderstood our relations. I would not wish to wrong her, but she loved so vividly in a physical sense that she could hardly
understand the mental, and even spiritual, tie which held her husband to me, or imagine that it was only my desire to influ- ence
his power to good ends which kept me under his roof. I can see now that I was wrong. Nothing could justify me in remaining
where I was a cause of unhappiness, and yet it is certain that the unhappiness would have remained even if I had left the
house."
"Now, Miss Dunbar," said Holmes, "I beg you to tell us exactly what occurred that evening."
"I can tell you the truth so far as I know it, Mr. Holmes, but I am in a position to prove nothing, and there are points -- the
most vital points -- which I can neither explain nor can I imagine any explanation."
"If you will find the facts, perhaps others may find the explanation."
"With regard, then, to my presence at Thor Bridge that night, I received a note from Mrs. Gibson in the morning. It lay on the
table of the schoolroom, and it may have been left there by her own hand. It implored me to see her there after dinner, said she
had something important to say to me, and asked me to leave an answer on the sundial in the garden, as she desired no one to
be in our confidence. I saw no reason for such secrecy, but I did as she asked, accepting the appointment. She asked me to
destroy her note and I burned it in the schoolroom grate. She was very much afraid of her husband, who treated her with a
harshness for which I frequently reproached him, and I could only imagine that she acted in this way because she did not wish
him to know of our interview."
"Yet she kept your reply very carefully?"
"Yes. I was surprised to hear that she had it in her hand when she died."
"Well, what happened then?"
"I went down as I had promised. When I reached the bridge she was waiting for me. Never did I realize till that moment how
this poor creature hated me. She was like a mad woman -- indeed, I think she was a mad woman, subtly mad with the deep
power of deception which insane people may have. How else could she have met me with unconcern every day and yet had so
raging a hatred of me in her heart? I will not say what she said. She poured her whole wild fury out in burning and horrible
words. I did not even answer -- I could not. It was dreadful to see her. I put my hands to my ears and rushed away. When I
left her she was standing, still shrieking out her curses at me, in the mouth of the bridge."
"Where she was afterwards found?"
"Within a few yards from the spot."
"And yet, presuming that she met her death shortly after you left her, you heard no shot?"
"No, I heard nothing. But, indeed, Mr. Holmes, I was so agitated and horrified by this terrible outbreak that I rushed to get
back to the peace of my own room, and I was incapable of noticing anything which happened."
"You say that you returned to your room. Did you leave it again before next morning?"
"Yes, when the alarm came that the poor creature had met her death I ran out with the others "
"Did you see Mr. Gibson?"
"Yes, he had just returned from the bridge when I saw him. He had sent for the doctor and the police."
"Did he seem to you much perturbed?"
24
"Mr. Gibson is a very strong, self-contained man. I do not think that he would ever show his emotions on the surface. But I,
who knew him so well, could see that he was deeply concerned."
"Then we come to the all-important point. This pistol that was found in your room. Had you ever seen it before?"
"Never, I swear it."
"When was it found?"
"Next morning, when the police made their search."
"Among your clothes?"
"Yes, on the floor of my wardrobe under my dresses."
"You could not guess how long it had been there?"
"It had not been there the morning before."
"How do you know?"
"Because I tidied out the wardrobe."
"That is final. Then someone came into your room and placed the pistol there in order to inculpate you."
"It must have been so."
"And when?"
"It could only have been at meal-time, or else at the hours when I would be in the schoolroom with the children."
"As you were when you got the note?"
"Yes, from that time onward for the whole morning."
"Thank you, Miss Dunbar. Is there any other point which could help me in the investigation?"
"I can think of none."
"There was some sign of violence on the stonework of the bridge -- a perfectly fresh chip just opposite the body. Could you
suggest any possible explanation of that?"
"Surely it must be a mere coincidence."
"Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why should it appear at the very time of the tragedy, and why at the very place?"
"But what could have caused it? Only great violence could have such an effect."
Holmes did not answer. His pale, eager face had suddenly assumed that tense, far-away expression which I had learned to
associate with the supreme manifestations of his genius. So evident was the crisis in his mind that none of us dared to speak,
and we sat, barrister, prisoner, and myself, watching him in a concentrated and absorbed silence. Suddenly he sprang from his
chair, vibrating with nervous energy and the pressing need for action.
"Come, Watson, come!" he cried.
"What is it, Mr. Holmes?"
25
"Never mind, my dear lady. You will hear from me, Mr. Cummings. With the help of the god of justice I will give you a case
which will make England ring. You will get news by to-morrow, Miss Dunbar, and meanwhile take my assurance that the
clouds are lifting and that I have every hope that the light of truth is breaking through."
It was not a long journey from Winchester to Thor Place, but it was long to me in my impatience, while for Holmes it was
evident that it seemed endless; for, in his nervous restlessness he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his
long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him. Suddenly, however, as we neared our destination he seated himself
opposite to me -- we had a first-class carriage to ourselves -- and laying a hand upon each of my knees he looked into my
eyes with the peculiarly mischievous gaze which was charactenstic of his more imp-like moods.
"Watson," said he, "I have some recollection that you go armed upon these excursions of ours."
It was as well for him that I did so, for he took little care for his own safety when his mind was once absorbed by a problem so
that more than once my revolver had been a good friend in need. I reminded him of the fact.
"Yes, yes, I am a little absent-minded in such matters. But have you your revolver on you?"
I produced it from my hip-pocket, a short, handy, but very serviceable little weapon. He undid the catch, shook out the
cartridges, and examined it with care.
"It's heavy -- remarkably heavy," said he.
"Yes, it is a solid bit of work."
He mused over it for a minute.
"Do you know, Watson," said he, "I believe your revolver is going to have a very intimate connection with the mystery which
we are investigating."
"My dear Holmes, you are joking."
"No, Watson, I am very serious. There is a test before us. If the test comes off, all will be clear. And the test will depend upon
the conduct of this little weapon. One cartridge out. Now we will replace the other five and put on the safety-catch. So! That
increases the weight and makes it a better reproduction."
I had no glimmer of what was in his mind, nor did he enlighten me, but sat lost in thought until we pulled up in the little
Hampshire station. We secured a ramshackle trap, and in a quarter of an hour were at the house of our confidential friend, the
sergeant.
"A clue, Mr. Holmes? What is it?"
"It all depends upon the behaviour of Dr. Watson's revolver," said my friend. "Here it is. Now, officer, can you give me ten
yards of string?"
The village shop provided a ball of stout twine.
"I think that this is all we will need," said Holmes. "Now, if you please, we will get off on what I hope is the last stage of our
journey."
The sun was setting and turning the rolling Hampshire moor into a wonderful autumnal panorama. The sergeant, with many
critical and incredulous glances, which showed his deep doubts of the sanity of my companion, lurched along beside us. As we
approached the scene of the crime I could see that my friend under all his habitual coolness was in truth deeply agitated.
"Yes," he said in answer to my remark, "you have seen me miss my mark before, Watson. I have an instinct for such things,
and yet it has sometimes played me false. It seemed a certainty when first it flashed across my mind in the cell at Winchester,
26
but one drawback of an active mind is that one can always conceive alternative explanations which would make our scent a
false one. And yet -- and yet -- Well, Watson, we can but try."
As he walked he had firmly tied one end of the string to the handle of the revolver. We had now reached the scene of the
tragedy. With great care he marked out under the guidance of the policeman the exact spot where the body had been
stretched. He then hunted among the heather and the ferns until he found a considerable stone. This he secured to the other end
of his line of string, and he hung it over the parapet of the bridge so that it swung clear above the water. He then stood on the
fatal spot, some distance from the edge of the bridge, with my revolver in his hand, the string being taut between the weapon
and the heavy stone on the farther side.
"Now for it!" he cried.
At the words he raised the pistol to his head, and then let go his grip. In an instant it had been whisked away by the weight of
the stone, had struck with a sharp crack against the parapet, and had vanished over the side into the water. It had hardly gone
before Holmes was kneeling beside the stonework, and a joyous cry showed that he had found what he expected.
"Was there ever a more exact demonstration?" he cried. "See, Watson, your revolver has solved the problem!" As he spoke he
pointed to a second chip of the exact size and shape of the first which had appeared on the under edge of the stone balustrade.
"We'll stay at the inn to-night," he continued as he rose and faced the astonished sergeant. "You will, of course, get a
grappling-hook and you will easily restore my friend's revolver. You will also find beside it the revolver, string and weight with
which this vindictive woman attempted to disguise her own crime and to fasten a charge of murder upon an innocent victim.
You can let Mr. Gibson know that I will see him in the morning, when steps can be taken for Miss Dunbar's vindication."
Late that evening, as we sat together smoking our pipes in the village inn, Holmes gave me a brief review of what had passed.
"I fear, Watson," said he, "that you will not improve any reputation which I may have acquired by adding the case of the Thor
Bridge mystery to your annals. I have been sluggish in mind and wanting in that mixture of imagination and reality which is the
basis of my art. I confess that the chip in the stonework was a sufficient clue to suggest the true solution, and that I blame
myself for not having attained it sooner.
"It must be admitted that the workings of this unhappy wom- an's mind were deep and subtle, so that it was no very simple
matter to unravel her plot. I do not think that in our adventures we have ever come across a stranger example of what
perverted love can bring about. Whether Miss Dunbar was her rival in a physical or in a merely mental sense seems to have
been equally unforgivable in her eyes. No doubt she blamed this innocent lady for all those harsh dealings and unkind words
with which her husband tried to repel her too demonstrative affection. Her first resolution was to end her own life. Her second
was to do it in such a way as to involve her victim in a fate which was worse far than any sudden death could be.
"We can follow the various steps quite clearly, and they show a remarkable subtlety of mind. A note was extracted very cleverly
from Miss Dunbar which would make it appear that she had chosen the scene of the crime. In her anxiety that it should be
discovered she somewhat overdid it by holding it in her hand to the last. This alone should have excited my suspicions earlier
than it did.
"Then she took one of her husband's revolvers -- there was, as you saw, an arsenal in the house -- and kept it for her own use.
A similar one she concealed that morning in Miss Dunbar's ward- robe after discharging one barrel, which she could easily do
in the woods without attracting attention. She then went down to the bridge where she had contrived this exceedingly ingenious
method for getting rid of her weapon. When Miss Dunbar ap- peared she used her last breath in pouring out her hatred, and
then, when she was out of hearing, carried out her terrible purpose. Every link is now in its place and the chain is complete. The
papers may ask why the mere was not dragged in the first instance, but it is easy to be wise after the event, and in any case the
expanse of a reed-filled lake is no easy matter to drag unless you have a clear perception of what you are looking for and
where. Well, Watson, we have helped a remark- able woman, and also a formidable man. Should they in the future join their
forces, as seems not unlikely, the financial world may find that Mr. Neil Gibson has learned something in that schoolroom of
sorrow where our earthly lessons are taught."
27
The Adventure of the Creeping Man
Mr. Sherlock Holmes was always of opinion that I should publish the singular facts connected with Professor Presbury, if only
to dispel once for all the ugly rumours which some twenty years ago agitated the university and were echoed in the learned
societies of London. There were, however, certain obstacles in the way, and the true history of this curious case remained
entombed in the tin box which contains so many records of my friend's adventures. Now we have at last obtained permission
to ventilate the facts which formed one of the very last cases handled by Holmes before his retirement from practice. Even now
a certain reticence and discretion have to be observed in laying the matter before the public.
It was one Sunday evening early in September of the year 1903 that I received one of Holmes's laconic messages:
Come at once if convenient -- if inconvenient come all the
same. S. H.
The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar. He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I had
become one of them. As an institution I was like the violin, the shag tobacco, the old black pipe, the index books, and others
perhaps less excusable. When it was a case of active work and a comrade was needed upon whose nerve he could place
some reliance, my role was obvious. But apart from this I had uses. I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked
to think aloud in my presence. His remarks could hardly be said to be made to me -- many of them would have been as
appropriately addressed to his bedstead -- but none the less, having formed the habit, it had become in some way helpful that I
should register and interject. If I irritated him by a certain methodical slowness in my mentality, that irritation served only to
make his own flame-like intuitions and impressions flash up the more vividly and swiftly. Such was my humble role in our
alliance.
When I arrived at Baker Street I found him huddled up in his armchair with updrawn knees, his pipe in his mouth and his brow
furrowed with thought. It was clear that he was in the throes of some vexatious problem. With a wave of his hand he indicated
my old armchair, but otherwise for half an hour he gave no sign that he was aware of my presence. Then with a start he seemed
to come from his reverie, and with his usual whimsi- cal smile he greeted me back to what had once been my home.
"You will excuse a certain abstraction of mind, my dear Watson," said he. "Some curious facts have been submitted to me
within the last twenty-four hours, and they in turn have given rise to some speculations of a more general character. I have
serious thoughts of writing a small monograph upon the uses of dogs in the work of the detective."
"But surely, Holmes, this has been explored," said I. "Bloodhounds -- sleuth-hounds --"
"No, no, Watson, that side of the matter is, of course, obvious. But there is another which is far more subtle. You may recollect
that in the case which you, in your sensational way, coupled with the Copper Beeches, I was able, by watching the mind of the
child, to form a deduction as to the criminal habits of the very smug and respectable father."
"Yes, I remember it well."
"My line of thoughts about dogs is analogous. A dog reflects the family life. Whoever saw a frisky dog in a gloomy family, or a
sad dog in a happy one? Snarling people have snarling dogs, dangerous people have dangerous ones. And their passing moods
may reflect the passing moods of others."
I shook my head. "Surely, Holmes, this is a little far-fetched," said I.
He had refilled his pipe and resumed his seat, taking no notice of my comment.
"The practical application of what I have said is very close to the problem which I am investigating. It is a tangled skein, you
understand. and I am looking for a loose end. One possible loose end lies in the question: Why does Professor Presbury's
wolf- hound, Roy, endeavour to bite him?"
I sank back in my chair in some disappointment. Was it for so trivial a question as this that I had been summoned from my
work? Holmes glanced across at me.
28
"The same old Watson!" said he. "You never learn that the gravest issues may depend upon the smallest things. But is it not on
the face of it strange that a staid, elderly philosopher -- you've heard of Presbury, of course, the famous Camford physiologist?
-- that such a man, whose friend has been his devoted wolf- hound, should now have been twice attacked by his own dog?
What do you make of it?"
"The dog is ill."
"Well, that has to be considered. But he attacks no one else, nor does he apparently molest his master, save on very special
occasions. Curious, Watson -- very curious. But young Mr. Ben- nett is before his time if that is his ring. I had hoped to have a
longer chat with you before he came."
There was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp tap at the door and a moment later the new client presented himself. He was a
tall, handsome youth about thirty, well dressed and elegant, but with something in his bearing which suggested the shyness of
the student rather than the self-possession of the man of the world. He shook hands with Holmes, and then looked with some
sur- prise at me.
"This matter is very delicate, Mr. Holmes," he said. "Con- sider the relation in which I stand to Professor Presbury both
privately and publicly. I really can hardly justify myself if I speak before any third person."
"Have no fear, Mr. Bennett. Dr. Watson is the very soul of discretion, and I can assure you that this is a matter in which I am
very likely to need an assistant."
"As you like, Mr. Holmes. You will, I am sure, understand my having some reserves in the matter."
"You will appreciate it, Watson, when I tell you that this gentleman, Mr. Trevor Bennett, is professional assistant to the great
scientist, lives under his roof, and is engaged to his only daughter. Certainly we must agree that the professor has every claim
upon his loyalty and devotion. But it may best be shown by taking the necessary steps to clear up this strange mystery."
"I hope so, Mr. Holmes. That is my one object. Does Dr. Watson know the situation?"
"I have not had time to explain it."
"Then perhaps I had better go over the ground again before explaining some fresh developments."
"I will do so myself," said Holmes, "in order to show that I have the events in their due order. The professor, Watson, is a man
of European reputation. His life has been academic. There has never been a breath of scandal. He is a widower with one
daughter, Edith. He is, I gather, a man of very virile and positive, one might almost say combative, character. So the matter
stood until a very few months ago.
"Then the current of his life was broken. He is sixty-one years of age, but he became engaged to the daughter of Professor
Morphy, his colleague in the chair of comparative anatomy. It was not, as I understand, the reasoned courting of an elderly
man but rather the passionate frenzy of youth, for no one could have shown himself a more devoted lover. The lady, Alice
Morphy, was a very perfect girl both in mind and body, so that there was every excuse for the professor's infatuation. None
the less, it did not meet with full approval in his own family."
"We thought it rather excessive," said our visitor.
"Exactly. Excessive and a little violent and unnatural. Profes- sor Presbury was rich, however, and there was no objection upon
the part of the father. The daughter, however, had other views, and there were already several candidates for her hand, who, if
they were less eligible from a worldly point of view, were at least more of an age. The girl seemed to like the professor in spite
of his eccentricities. It was only age which stood in the way.
"About this time a little mystery suddenly clouded the normal routine of the professor's life. He did what he had never done
before. He left home and gave no indication where he was going. He was away a fortnight and returned looking rather
29
travel-worn. He made no allusion to where he had been, al- though he was usually the frankest of men. It chanced, however,
that our client here, Mr. Bennett, received a letter from a fellow- student in Prague, who said that he was glad to have seen
Professor Presbury there, although he had not been able to talk to him. Only in this way did his own household learn where he
had been.
"Now comes the point. From that time onward a curious change came over the professor. He became furtive and sly. Those
around him had always the feeling that he was not the man that they had known, but that he was under some shadow which
had darkened his higher qualities. His intellect was not affected. His lectures were as brilliant as ever. But always there was
something new, something sinister and unexpected. His daughter, who was devoted to him, tried again and again to resume the
old relations and to penetrate this mask which her father seemed to have put on. You, sir, as I understand, did the same -- but
all was in vain. And now, Mr. Bennett, tell in your own words the incident of the letters."
"You must understand, Dr. Watson, that the professor had no secrets from me. If I were his son or his younger brother I could
not have more completely enjoyed his confidence. As his secre- tary I handled every paper which came to him, and I opened
and subdivided his letters. Shortly after his return all this was changed. He told me that certain letters might come to him from
London which would be marked by a cross under the stamp. These were to be set aside for his own eyes only. I may say that
several of these did pass through my hands, that they had the E. C. mark, and were in an illiterate handwriting. If he answered
them at all the answers did not pass through my hands nor into the letter- basket in which our correspondence was collected."
"And the box," said Holmes.
"Ah, yes, the box. The professor brought back a little wooden box from his travels. It was the one thing which suggested a
Continental tour, for it was one of those quaint carved things which one associates with Germany. This he placed in his instrument
cupboard. One day, in looking for a canula, I took up the box. To my surprise he was very angry, and reproved me in
words which were quite savage for my curiosity. It was the first time such a thing had happened, and I was deeply hurt. I
endeavoured to explain that it was a mere accident that I had touched the box, but all the evening I was conscious that he
looked at me harshly and that the incident was rankling in his mind." Mr. Bennett drew a little diary book from his pocket.
"That was on July 2d," said he.
"You are certainly an admirable witness," said Holmes. "I may need some of these dates which you have noted."
"I learned method among other things from my great teacher. From the time that I observed abnormality in his behaviour I felt
that it was my duty to study his case. Thus I have it here that it was on that very day, July 2d, that Roy attacked the professor
as he came from his study into the hall. Again, on July 11th, there was a scene of the same sort, and then I have a note of yet
another upon July 20th. After that we had to banish Roy to the stables. He was a dear, affectionate animal -- but I fear I weary
you."
Mr. Bennett spoke in a tone of reproach, for it was very clear that Holmes was not listening. His face was rigid and his eyes
gazed abstractedly at the ceiling. With an effort he recovered himself.
"Singular! Most singular!" he murmured. "These details were new to me, Mr. Bennett. I think we have now fairly gone over the
old ground, have we not? But you spoke of some fresh developments."
The pleasant, open face of our visitor clouded over, shadowed by some grim remembrance. "What I speak of occurred the
night before last," said he. "I was lying awake about two in the morning, when I was aware of a dull muffled sound coming from
the passage. I opened my door and peeped out. I should explain that the professor sleeps at the end of the passage --"
"The date being?" asked Holmes.
Our visitor was clearly annoyed at so irrelevant an interruption.
"I have said, sir, that it was the night before last -- that is, September 4th."
Holmes nodded and smiled.
30
"Pray continue," said he.
"He sleeps at the end of the passage and would have to pass my door in order to reach the staircase. It was a really terrifying
experience, Mr. Holmes. I think that I am as strong-nerved as my neighbours, but I was shaken by what I saw. The passage
was dark save that one window halfway along it threw a patch of light. I could see that something was coming along the
passage, something dark and crouching. Then suddenly it emerged into the light, and I saw that it was he. He was crawling,
Mr. Holmes -- crawling! He was not quite on his hands and knees. I should rather say on his hands and feet, with his face sunk
between his hands. Yet he seemed to move with ease. I was so paralyzed by the sight that it was not until he had reached my
door that I was able to step forward and ask if I could assist him. His answer was extraordinary. He sprang up, spat out some
atrocious word at me, and hurried on past me, and down the staircase. I waited about for an hour, but he did not come back.
It must have been daylight before he regained his room."
"Well, Watson, what make you of that?" asked Holmes with the air of the pathologist who presents a rare specimen.
"Lumbago, possibly. I have known a severe attack make a man walk in just such a way, and nothing would be more trying to
the temper."
"Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground. But we can hardly accept lumbago, since he was able to stand
erect in a moment."
"He was never better in health," said Bennett. "In fact, he is stronger than I have known him for years. But there are the facts,
Mr. Holmes. It is not a case in which we can consult the police, and yet we are utterly at our wit's end as to what to do, and
we feel in some strange way that we are drifting towards disaster. Edith -- Miss Presbury -- feels as I do, that we cannot wait
passively any longer."
"It is certainly a very curious and suggestive case. What do you think, Watson?"
"Speaking as a medical man," said I, "it appears to be a case for an alienist. The old gentleman's cerebral processes were
disturbed by the love affair. He made a journey abroad in the hope of breaking himself of the passion. His letters and the box
may be connected with some other private trans- action -- a loan, perhaps, or share cenificates, which are in the box."
"And the wolfhound no doubt disapproved of the financial bargain. No, no, Watson, there is more in it than this. Now, I can
only suggest --"
What Sherlock Holmes was about to suggest will never be known, for at this moment the door opened and a young lady was
shown into the room. As she appeared Mr. Bennett sprang up with a cry and ran forward with his hands out to meet those
which she had herself outstretched.
"Edith, dear! Nothing the matter, I hope?"
"I felt I must follow you. Oh, Jack, I have been so dreadfully frightened! It is awful to be there alone."
"Mr. Holmes, this is the young lady I spoke of. This is my fiancee."
"We were gradually coming to that conclusion, were we not, Watson?" Holmes answered with a smile. "I take it, Miss
Presbury, that there is some fresh development in the case, and that you thought we should know?"
Our new visitor, a bright, handsome girl of a conventional English type, smiled back at Holmes as she seated herself beside Mr.
Bennett.
"When I found Mr. Bennett had left his hotel I thought I should probably find him here. Of course, he had told me that he
would consult you. But, oh, Mr. Holmes, can you do nothing for my poor father?"
"I have hopes, Miss Presbury, but the case is still obscure. Perhaps what you have to say may throw some fresh light upon it."
31
"It was last night, Mr. Holmes. He had been very strange all day. I am sure that there are times when he has no recollection of
what he does. He lives as in a strange dream. Yesterday was such a day. It was not my father with whom I lived. His outward
shell was there, but it was not really he."
"Tell me what happened."
"I was awakened in the night by the dog barking most furi- ously. Poor Roy, he is chained now near the stable. I may say that I
always sleep with my door locked; for, as Jack -- as Mr. Bennett -- will tell you, we all have a feeling of impending danger.
My room is on the second floor. It happened that the blind was up in my window, and there was bright moonlight outside. As I
lay with my eyes fixed upon the square of light, listening to the frenzied barkings of the dog, I was amazed to see my father's
face looking in at me. Mr. Holmes, I nearly died of surprise and horror. There it was pressed against the window- pane, and
one hand seemed to be raised as if to push up the window. If that window had opened, I think I should have gone mad. It was
no delusion, Mr. Holmes. Don't deceive yourself by thinking so. I dare say it was twenty seconds or so that I lay paralyzed and
watched the face. Then it vanished, but I could not -- I could not spring out of bed and look out after it. I lay cold and shivering
till morning. At breakfast he was sharp and fierce in manner, and made no allusion to the adventure of the night. Neither did I,
but I gave an excuse for coming to town -- and here I am."
Holmes looked thoroughly surprised at Miss Presbury's narrative.
"My dear young lady, you say that your room is on the second floor. Is there a long ladder in the garden?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, that is the amazing part of it. There is no possible way of reaching the window -- and yet he was there."
"The date being September 5th," said Holmes. "That cer- tainly complicates matters."
It was the young lady's turn to look surprised. "This is the second time that you have alluded to the date, Mr. Holmes," said
Bennett. "Is it possible that it has any bearing upon the case?"
"It is possible -- very possible -- and yet I have not my full material at present."
"Possibly you are thinking of the connection between insanity and phases of the moon?"
"No, I assure you. It was quite a different line of thought. Possibly you can leave your notebook with me, and I will check the
dates. Now I think, Watson, that our line of action is perfectly clear. This young lady has informed us -- and I have the greatest
confidence in her intuition -- that her father remembers little or nothing which occurs upon certain dates. We will there- fore call
upon him as if he had given us an appointment upon such a date. He will put it down to his own lack of memory. Thus we will
open our campaign by having a good close view of him."
"That is excellent," said Mr. Bennett. "I warn you, however, that the professor is irascible and violent at times."
Holmes smiled. "There are reasons why we should come at once -- very cogent reasons if my theories hold good. To-morrow,
Mr. Bennett, will certainly see us in Camford. There is, if I remember right, an inn called the Chequers where the port used to
be above mediocrity and the linen was above reproach. I think, Watson, that our lot for the next few days might lie in less
pleasant places."
Monday morning found us on our way to the famous univer- sity town -- an easy effort on the part of Holmes, who had no
roots to pull up, but one which involved frantic planning and hurrying on my part, as my practice was by this time not
inconsiderable. Holmes made no allusion to the case until after we had deposited our suitcases at the ancient hostel of which he
had spoken.
"I think, Watson, that we can catch the professor just before lunch. He lectures at eleven and should have an interval at home."
"What possible excuse have we for calling?"
32
Holmes glanced at his notebook.
"There was a period of excitement upon August 26th. We will assume that he is a little hazy as to what he does at such times. If
we insist that we are there by appointment I think he will hardly venture to contradict us. Have you the effrontery necessary to
put it through?"
"We can but try."
"Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy Bee and Excel- sior. We can but try -- the motto of the firm. A friendly native will
surely guide us."
Such a one on the back of a smart hansom swept us past a row of ancient colleges and, finally turning into a tree-lined drive,
pulled up at the door of a charming house, girt round with lawns and covered with purple wistaria. Professor Presbury was
cer- tainly surrounded with every sign not only of comfort but of luxury. Even as we pulled up, a grizzled head appeared at the
front window, and we were aware of a pair of keen eyes from under shaggy brows which surveyed us through large horn
glasses. A moment later we were actually in his sanctum, and the myste- rious scientist, whose vagaries had brought us from
London, was standing before us. There was certainly no sign of eccentricity either in his manner or appearance, for he was a
portly, large- featured man, grave, tall, and frock-coated, with the dignity of bearing which a lecturer needs. His eyes were his
most remark- able feature, keen, observant, and clever to the verge of cunning.
He looked at our cards. "Pray sit down, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"
Mr. Holmes smiled amiably.
"It was the question which I was about to put to you, Professor."
"To me, sir!"
"Possibly there is some mistake. I heard through a second person that Professor Presbury of Camford had need of my
services."
"Oh, indeed!" It seemed to me that there was a malicious sparkle in the intense gray eyes. "You heard that, did you? May I ask
the name of your informant?"
"I am sorry, Professor, but the matter was rather confidential. If I have made a mistake there is no harm done. I can only
express my regret."
"Not at all. I should wish to go funher into this matter. It interests me. Have you any scrap of writing, any letter or telegram, to
bear out your assertion?"
"No, I have not."
"I presume that you do not go so far as to assert that I summoned you?"
"I would rather answer no questions," said Holmes.
"No, I dare say not," said the professor with asperity. "How- ever, that particular one can be answered very easily without
your aid."
He walked across the room to the bell. Our London friend Mr. Bennett, answered the call.
"Come in, Mr. Bennett. These two gentlemen have come from London under the impression that they have been sum- moned.
You handle all my correspondence. Have you a note of anything going to a person named Holmes?"
"No, sir," Bennett answered with a flush.
33
"That is conclusive," said the professor, glaring angrily at my companion. "Now, sir" -- he leaned forward with his two hands
upon the table --" it seems to me that your position is a very questionable one."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"I can only repeat that I am sorry that we have made a needless intrusion."
"Hardly enough, Mr. Holmes!" the old man cried in a high screaming voice, with extraordinary malignancy upon his face. He
got between us and the door as he spoke, and he shook his two hands at us with furious passion. "You can hardly get out of it
so easily as that." His face was convulsed, and he grinned and gibbered at us in his senseless rage. I am convinced that we
should have had to fight our way out of the room if Mr. Bennett had not intervened.
"My dear Professor," he cried, "consider your position! Consider the scandal at the university! Mr. Holmes is a well- known
man. You cannot possibly treat him with such discourtesy."
Sulkily our host -- if I may call him so -- cleared the path to the door. We were glad to find ourselves outside the house and in
the quiet of the tree-lined drive. Holmes seemed great!y amused by the episode.
"Our learned friend's nerves are somewhat out of order," said he. "Perhaps our intrusion was a little crude, and yet we have
gained that personal contact which I desired. But, dear me, Watson, he is surely at our heels. The villain still pursues us."
There were the sounds of running feet behind, but it was, to my relief, not the formidable professor but his assistant who
appeared round the curve of the drive. He came panting up to us.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Holmes. I wished to apologize."
"My dear sir, there is no need. It is all in the way of professional experience."
"I have never seen him in a more dangerous mood. But he grows more sinister. You can understand now why his daughter and
I are alarmed. And yet his mind is perfectly clear."
"Too clear!" said Holmes. "That was my miscalculation. It is evident that his memory is much more reliable than I had thought.
By the way, can we, before we go, see the window of Miss Presbury's room?"
Mr. Bennett pushed his way through some shrubs, and we had a view of the side of the house.
"It is there. The second on the left."
"Dear me, it seems hardly accessible. And yet you will observe that there is a creeper below and a water-pipe above which
give some foothold."
"I could not climb it myself," said Mr. Bennett.
"Very likely. It would certainly be a dangerous exploit for any normal man."
"There was one other thing I wish to tell you, Mr. Holmes. I have the address of the man in London to whom the professor
writes. He seems to have written this morning, and I got it from his blotting-paper. It is an ignoble position for a trusted secretary,
but what else can I do?"
Holmes glanced at the paper and put it into his pocket.
"Dorak -- a curious name. Slavonic, I imagine. Well, it is an important link in the chain. We return to London this afternoon,
Mr. Bennett. I see no good purpose to be served by our remain- ing. We cannot arrest the professor because he has done no
crime, nor can we place him under constraint, for he cannot be proved to be mad. No action is as yet possible."
"Then what on earth are we to do?"
34
"A little patience, Mr. Bennett. Things will soon develop. Unless I am mistaken, next Tuesday may mark a crisis. Certainly we
shall be in Camford on that day. Meanwhile, the general position is undeniably unpleasant, and if Miss Presbury can prolong
her visit "
"That is easy."
"Then let her stay till we can assure her that all danger is past. Meanwhile, let him have his way and do not cross him. So long
as he is in a good humour all is well."
"There he is!" said Bennett in a startled whisper. Looking between the branches we saw the tall, erect figure emerge from the
hall door and look around him. He stood leaning forward, his hands swinging straight before him, his head turning from side to
side. The secretary with a last wave slipped off among the trees, and we saw him presently rejoin his employer, the two
entering the house together in what seemed to be animated and even excited conversation.
"I expect the old gentleman has been putting two and two together," said Holmes as we walked hotelward. "He struck me as
having a particularly clear and logical brain from the little I saw of him. Explosive, no doubt, but then from his point of view he
has something to explode about if detectives are put on his track and he suspects his own household of doing it. I rather fancy
that friend Bennett is in for an uncomfortable time."
Holmes stopped at a post-office and sent off a telegram on our way. The answer reached us in the evening, and he tossed it
across to me.
Have visited the Commercial Road and seen Dorak. Suave
person, Bohemian, elderly. Keeps large general store.
MERCER.
"Mercer is since your time," said Holmes. "He is my general utility man who looks up routine business. It was important to
know something of the man with whom our professor was so secretly corresponding. His nationality connects up with the
Prague visit."
"Thank goodness that something connects with something," said I. "At present we seem to be faced by a long series of
inexplicable incidents with no bearing upon each other."For example, what possible connection can there be between an angry
wolfhound and a visit to Bohemia, or either of them with a man crawling down a passage at night? As to your dates, that is the
biggest mystification of all."
Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. We were, I may say, seated in the old sitting-room of the ancient hotel, with a bottle of
the famous vintage of which Holmes had spoken on the table between us.
"Well, now, let us take the dates first," said he, his finger- tips together and his manner as if he were addressing a class. "This
excellent young man's diary shows that there was trouble upon July 2d, and from then onward it seems to have been at
nine-day intervals, with, so far as I remember, only one excep- tion. Thus the last outbreak upon Friday was on September 3d,
which also falls into the series, as did August 26th, which preceded it. The thing is beyond coincidence."
I was forced to agree.
"Let us, then, form the provisional theory that every nine days the professor takes some strong drug which has a passing but
highly poisonous effect. His naturally violent nature is inten- sified by it. He learned to take this drug while he was in Prague,
and is now supplied with it by a Bohemian intermediary in London. This all hangs together, Watson!"
"But the dog, the face at the window, the creeping man in the passage?"
"Well, well, we have made a beginning. I should not expect any fresh developments until next Tuesday. In the meantime we can
35
only keep in touch with friend Bennett and enjoy the ameni- ties of this charming town."
In the morning Mr. Bennett slipped round to bring us the latest report. As Holmes had imagined, times had not been easy with
him. Without exactly accusing him of being responsible for our presence, the professor had been very rough and rude in his
speech, and evidently felt some strong grievance. This morning he was quite himself again, however, and had delivered his usual
brilliant lecture to a crowded class. "Apart from his queer fits," said Bennett, "he has actually more energy and vitality than I can
ever remember, nor was his brain ever clearer. But it's not he -- it's never the man whom we have known."
"I don't think you have anything to fear now for a week at least," Holmes answered. "I am a busy man, and Dr. Watson has his
patients to attend to. Let us agree that we meet here at this hour next Tuesday, and I shall be surprised if before we leave you
again we are not able to explain, even if we cannot perhaps put an end to, your troubles. Meanwhile, keep us posted in what
occurs."
I saw nothing of my friend for the next few days, but on the following Monday evening I had a short note asking me to meet
him next day at the train. From what he told me as we travelled up to Camford all was well, the peace of the professor's house
had been unruffled, and his own conduct perfectly normal. This also was the report which was given us by Mr. Bennett himself
when he called upon us that evening at our old quarters in the Chequers. "He heard from his London correspondent to-day.
There was a letter and there was a small packet, each with the cross under the stamp which warned me not to touch them.
There has been nothing else."
"That may prove quite enough," said Holmes grimly. "Now, Mr. Bennett, we shall, I think, come to some conclusion to- night.
If my deductions are correct we should have an opportu- nity of bringing matters to a head. In order to do so it is necessary to
hold the professor under observation. I would sug- gest, therefore, that you remain awake and on the lookout. Should you hear
him pass your door, do not interrupt him, but follow him as discreetly as you can. Dr. Watson and I will not be far off. By the
way, where is the key of that little box of which you spoke?"
"Upon his watch-chain."
"I fancy our researches must lie in that direction. At the worst the lock should not be very formidable. Have you any other
able-bodied man on the premises?"
"There is the coachman, Macphail."
"Where does he sleep?"
"Over the stables."
"We might possibly want him. Well, we can do no more until we see how things develop, Good-bye -- but I expect that we
shall see you before morning."
It was nearly midnight before we took our station among some bushes immediately opposite the hall door of the professor. It
was a fine night, but chilly, and we were glad of our warm overcoats. There was a breeze, and clouds were scudding across
the sky, obscuring from time to time the half-moon. It would have been a dismal vigil were it not for the expectation and
excitement which carried us along, and the assurance of my comrade that we had probably reached the end of the strange
sequence of events which had engaged our attention.
"If the cycle of nine days holds good then we shall have the professor at his worst to-night," said Holmes. "The fact that these
strange symptoms began after his visit to Prague, that he is in secret correspondence with a Bohemian dealer in London, who
presumably represents someone in Prague, and that he received a packet from him this very day, all point in one direction.
What he takes and why he takes it are still beyond our ken, but that it emanates in some way from Prague is clear enough. He
takes it under definite directions which regulate this ninth-day system, which was the first point which attracted my attention.
But his symptoms are most remarkable. Did you ob- serve his knuckles?"
I had to confess that I did not.
36
"Thick and horny in a way which is quite new in my experi- ence. Always look at the hands first, Watson. Then cuffs, trouserknees,
and boots. Very curious knuckles which can only be explained by the mode of progression observed by --" Holmes
paused and suddenly clapped his hand to his forehead. "Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have been! It seems incredible,
and yet it must be true. All points in one direction. How could I miss seeing the connection of ideas? Those knuckles how
could I have passed those knuckles? And the dog! And the ivy! It's surely time that I disappeared into that little farm of my
dreams. Look out, Watson! Here he is! We shall have the chance of seeing for ourselves."
The hall door had slowly opened, and against the lamplit background we saw the tall figure of Professor Presbury. He was clad
in his dressing gown. As he stood outlined in the doorway he was erect but leaning forward with dangling arms, as when we
saw him last.
Now he stepped forward into the drive, and an extraordinary change came over him. He sank down into a crouching position
and moved along upon his hands and feet, skipping every now and then as if he were overflowing with energy and vitality. He
moved along the face of the house and then round the corner. As he disappeared Bennett slipped through the hall door and
softly followed him.
"Come, Watson, come!" cried Holmes, and we stole as softly as we could through the bushes until we had gained a spot
whence we could see the other side of the house, which was bathed in the light of the half-moon. The professor was clearly
visible crouching at the foot of the ivy-covered wall. As we watched him he suddenly began with incredible agility to ascend it.
From branch to branch he sprang, sure of foot and firm of grasp, climbing apparently in mere joy at his own powers, with no
definite object in view. With his dressing-gown flapping on each side of him, he looked like some huge bat glued against the
side of his own house, a great square dark patch upon the moonlit wall. Presently he tired of this amusement, and, drop- ping
from branch to branch, he squatted down into the old attitude and moved towards the stables, creeping along in the same

strange way as before. The wolfhound was out now, barking furiously, and more excited than ever when it actually caught sight
of its master. It was straining on its chain and quivering with eagerness and rage. The professor squatted down very deliberately
just out of reach of the hound and began to provoke it in every possible way. He took handfuls of pebbles from the drive and
threw them in the dog's face, prodded him with a stick which he had picked up, flicked his hands about only a few inches from
the gaping mouth, and endeavoured in every way to increase the animal's fury, which was already beyond all control. In all our
adventures I do not know that I have ever seen a more strange sight than this impassive and still dignified figure crouching
frog-like upon the ground and goading to a wilder exhibition of passion the maddened hound, which ramped and raged in front
of him, by all manner of ingenious and calculated cruelty.
And then in a moment it happened! It was not the chain that broke, but it was the collar that slipped, for it had been made for a
thick-necked Newfoundland. We heard the rattle of falling metal, and the next instant dog and man were rolling on the ground
together, the one roaring in rage, the other screaming in a strange shrill falsetto of terror. It was a very narrow thing for the
professor's life. The savage creature had him fairly by the throat, its fangs had bitten deep, and he was senseless before we
could reach them and drag the two apart. It might have been a danger- ous task for us, but Bennett's voice and presence
brought the great wolflhound instantly to reason. The uproar had brought the sleepy and astonished coachman from his room
above the sta- bles. "I'm not surprised," said he, shaking his head. "I've seen him at it before. I knew the dog would get him
sooner or later."
The hound was secured, and together we carried the professor up to his room, where Bennett, who had a medical degree,
helped me to dress his torn throat. The sharp teeth had passed dangerously near the carotid artery, and the haemorrhage was
serious. In half an hour the danger was past, I had given the patient an injection of morphia, and he had sunk into deep sleep.
Then, and only then, were we able to look at each other and to take stock of the situation.
"I think a first-class surgeon should see him," said I.
"For God's sake, no!" cried Bennett. "At present the scandal is confined to our own household. It is safe with us. If it gets
beyond these walls it will never stop. Consider his position at the university, his European reputation, the feelings of his
daughter."
37
"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think it may be quite possible to keep the matter to ourselves, and also to prevent its recurrence
now that we have a free hand. The key from the watch-chain, Mr. Bennett. Macphail will guard the patient and let us know if
there is any change. Let us see what we can find in the profes- sor's mysterious box."
There was not much, but there was enough -- an empty phial, another nearly full, a hypodermic syringe, several letters in a
crabbed, foreign hand. The marks on the envelopes showed that they were those which had disturbed the routine of the
secretary, and each was dated from the Commercial Road and signed "A. Dorak." They were mere invoices to say that a fresh
bottle was being sent to Professor Presbury, or receipt to acknowledge money. There was one other envelope, however, in a
more educated hand and bearing the Austrian stamp with the postmark of Prague. "Here we have our material!" cried Holmes
as he tore out the enclosure.
HONOURED COLLEAGUE [it ran]: Since your esteemed visit I have thought much of your case, and though in your
circumstances there are some special reasons for the treatment, I would none the less enjoin caution, as my results have shown
that it is not without danger of a kind. It is possible that the serum of anthropoid would have been better. I have, as I explained
to you, used black-faced langur because a specimen was accessible. Langur is, of course, a crawler and climber, while
anthropoid walks erect and is in all ways nearer. I beg you to take every possible precaution that there be no premature
revelation of the process. I have one other client in England, and Dorak is my agent for both. Weekly reports will oblige. Yours
with high esteem, H. LOWENSTEIN.
Lowenstein! The name brought back to me the memory of some snippet from a newspaper which spoke of an obscure
scientist who was striving in some unknown way for the secret of rejuvenescence and the elixir of life. Lowenstein of Prague!
Lowenstein with the wondrous strength-giving serum, tabooed by the profession because he refused to reveal its source. In a
few words I said what I remembered. Bennett had taken a manual of zoology from the shelves. " 'Langur.' " he read. " 'the
great black-faced monkey of the Himalayan slopes, big- gest and most human of climbing monkeys. Many details are added.
Well, thanks to you, Mr. Holmes, it is very clear that we have traced the evil to its source."
"The real source," said Holmes, "lies, of course, in that untimely love affair which gave our impetuous professor the idea that he
could only gain his wish by turning himself into a younger man. When one tries to rise above Nature one is liable to fall below it.
The highest type of man may revert to the animal if he leaves the straight road of destiny." He sat musing for a little with the
phial in his hand, looking at the clear liquid within. "When I have written to this man and told him that I hold him criminally
responsible for the poisons which he cir- culates, we will have no more trouble. But it may recur. Others may find a better way.
There is danger there -- a very real danger to humanity. Consider, Watson, that the material, the sensual, the worldly would all
prolong their worthless lives. The spiritual would not avoid the call to something higher. It would be the survival of the least fit.
What sort of cesspool may not our poor world become?" Suddenly the dreamer disappeared, and Holmes, the man of action,
sprang from his chair. "I think there is nothing more to be said, Mr. Bennett. The various incidents will now fit themselves easily
into the general scheme. The dog, of course, was aware of the change far more quickly than you. His smell would insure that. It
was the monkey, not the professor, whom Roy attacked, just as it was the monkey who teased Roy. Climbing was a joy to the
creature, and it was a mere chance, I take it, that the pastime brought him to the young lady's win- dow. There is an early train
to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have time for a cup of tea at the Chequers before we catch it."
The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire
Holmes had read carefully a note which the last post had brought him. Then, with the dry chuckle which was his nearest
approach to a laugh, he tossed it over to me.
"For a mixture of the modern and the mediaeval, of the practical and of the wildly fanciful, I think this is surely the limit," said
he. "What do you make of it, Watson?"
I read as follows:
46, OLD JEWRY,
Nov. 19th.
38
Re Vampires
SIR:
Our client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of Ferguson and
Muirhead, tea brokers, of Mincing Lane, has made some
inquiry from us in a communication of even date concerning
vampires. As our firm specializes entirely upon the assessment
of machinery the matter hardly comes within our
purview, and we have therefore recommended Mr. Ferguson
to call upon you and lay the matter before you. We
have not forgotten your successful action in the case of
Matilda Briggs.
We are, sir,
Faithfully yours,
MORRISON, MORRISON, AND DODD.
per E. J. C.
"Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Wat- son," said Holmes in a reminiscent voice. "It was a ship which is
associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared. But what do we know about
vampires? Does it come within our purview either? Anything is better than stagnation, but really we seem to have been
switched on to a Grimms' fairy tale. Make a long arm, Watson, and see what V has to say."
I leaned back and took down the great index volume to which he referred. Holmes balanced it on his knee, and his eyes
moved slowly and lovingly over the record of old cases, mixed with the accumulated information of a lifetime.
"Voyage of the Gloria Scott," he read. "That was a bad business. I have some recollection that you made a record of it,
Watson, though I was unable to congratulate you upon the result. Victor Lynch, the forger. Venomous lizard or gila.
Remarkable case, that! Vittoria, the circus belle. Vanderbilt and the Yegg- man. Vipers. Vigor, the Hammersmith wonder.
Hullo! Hullo! Good old index. You can't beat it. Listen to this, Watson. Vampirism in Hungary. And again, Vampires in
Transylvania." He turned over the pages with eagerness, but after a short intent perusal he threw down the great book with a
snarl of disap- pointment.
"Rubbish, Watson, rubbish! What have we to do with walking corpses who can only be held in their grave by stakes driven
through their hearts? It's pure lunacy."
"But surely," said I, "the vampire was not necessarily a dead man? A living person might have the habit. I have read, for
example, of the old sucking the blood of the young in order to retain their youth."
"You are right, Watson. It mentions the legend in one of these references. But are we to give serious attention to such things?
This agency stands flat-footed upon the ground, and there it must remain. The world is big enough for us. No ghosts need
apply. I fear that we cannot take Mr. Robert Ferguson very seriously. Possibly this note may be from him and may throw some
light upon what is worrying him."
He took up a second letter which had lain unnoticed upon the table while he had been absorbed with the first. This he began to
read with a smile of amusement upon his face which gradually faded away into an expression of intense interest and concentration.
When he had finished he sat for some little time lost in thought with the letter dangling from his fingers. Finally, with a start,
he aroused himself from his reverie.
"Cheeseman's, Lamberley. Where is Lamberley, Watson?"
"lt is in Sussex, South of Horsham."
39
"Not very far, eh? And Cheeseman's?"
"I know that country, Holmes. It is full of old houses which are named after the men who built them centuries ago. You get
Odley's and Harvey's and Carriton's -- the folk are forgotten but their names live in their houses."
"Precisely," said Holmes coldly. It was one of the peculiari- ties of his proud, self-contained nature that though he docketed any
fresh information very quietly and accurately in his brain, he seldom made any acknowledgment to the giver. "I rather fancy we
shall know a good deal more about Cheeseman's, Lamberley, before we are through. The letter is, as I had hoped, from
Robert Ferguson. By the way, he claims acquaintance with you."
"With me!"
"You had better read it."
He handed the letter across. It was headed with the address quoted.
DEAR MR HOLMES [it said]:
I have been recommended to you by my lawyers, but
indeed the matter is so extraordinarily delicate that it is most
difficult to discuss. It concerns a friend for whom I am
acting. This gentleman married some five years ago a Peruvian
lady the daughter of a Peruvian merchant, whom he had
met in connection with the importation of nitrates. The lady
was very beautiful, but the fact of her foreign birth and of
her alien religion always caused a separation of interests and
of feelings between husband and wife, so that after a time
his love may have cooled towards her and he may have
come to regard their union as a mistake. He felt there were
sides of her character which he could never explore or
understand. This was the more painful as she was as loving
a wife as a man could have -- to all appearance absolutely
devoted.
Now for the point which I will make more plain when we
meet. Indeed, this note is merely to give you a general idea
of the situation and to ascertain whether you would care to
interest yourself in the matter. The lady began to show
some curious traits quite alien to her ordinarily sweet and
gentle disposition. The gentleman had been married twice
and he had one son by the first wife. This boy was now
fifteen, a very charming and affectionate youth, though
unhappily injured through an accident in childhood. Twice
the wife was caught in the act of assaulting this poor lad in
the most unprovoked way. Once she struck him with a stick
and left a great weal on his arm.
This was a small matter, however, compared with her
conduct to her own child, a dear boy just under one year of
age. On one occasion about a month ago this child had
been left by its nurse for a few minutes. A loud cry from the
baby, as of pain, called the nurse back. As she ran into the
room she saw her employer, the lady, leaning over the baby
and apparently biting his neck. There was a small wound in
the neck from which a stream of blood had escaped. The
nurse was so horrified that she wished to call the husband,
but the lady implored her not to do so and actually gave her
five pounds as a price for her silence. No explanation was
ever given, and for the moment the matter was passed over.
It left, however, a terrible impression upon the nurse's
mind, and from that time she began to watch her mistress
closely and to keep a closer guard upon the baby, whom she
tenderly loved. It seemed to her that even as she watched
40
the mother, so the mother watched her, and that every time
she was compelled to leave the baby alone the mother was
waiting to get at it. Day and night the nurse covered the
child, and day and night the silent, watchful mother seemed
to be lying in wait as a wolf waits for a lamb. It must read
most incredible to you, and yet I beg you to take it seriously,
for a child's life and a man's sanity may depend
upon it.
At last there came one dreadful day when the facts could
no longer be concealed from the husband. The nurse's nerve
had given way; she could stand the strain no longer, and
she made a clean breast of it all to the man. To him it
seemed as wild a tale as it may now seem to you. He knew
his wife to be a loving wife, and, save for the assaults
upon her stepson, a loving mother. Why, then, should
she wound her own dear little baby? He told the nurse that
she was dreaming, that her suspicions were those of a
lunatic, and that such libels upon her mistress were not to be
tolerated. While they were talking a sudden cry of pain was
heard. Nurse and master rushed together to the nursery.
Imagine his feelings, Mr. Holmes, as he saw his wife rise
from a kneeling position beside the cot and saw blood upon
the child's exposed neck and upon the sheet. With a cry of
horror, he turned his wife's face to the light and saw blood
all round her lips. It was she -- she beyond all question --
who had drunk the poor baby's blood.
So the matter stands. She is now confined to her room.
There has been no explanation. The husband is half demented.
He knows, and I know, little of vampirism beyond
the name. We had thought it was some wild tale of foreign
parts. And yet here in the very heart of the English Sussex --
well, all this can be discussed with you in the morning. Will
you see me? Will you use your great powers in aiding a
distracted man? If so, kindly wire to Ferguson, Cheeseman's,
Lamberley, and I will be at your rooms by ten o'clock.
Yours faithfully,
ROBERT FERGUSON.
P. S. I believe your friend Watson played Rugby for
Blackheath when I was three-quarter for Richmond. It is the
only personal introduction which I can give.
"Of course I remembered him," said I as I laid down the letter. "Big Bob Ferguson, the finest three-quarter Richmond ever had.
He was always a good-natured chap. It's like him to be so concerned over a friend's case."
Holmes looked at me thoughtfully and shook his head.
"I never get your limits, Watson," said he. "There are unexplored possibilities about you. Take a wire down, like a good fellow.
'Will examine your case with pleasure.' "
"Your case!"
"We must not let him think that this agency is a home for the weak-minded. Of course it is his case. Send him that wire and let
the matter rest till morning."
Promptly at ten o'clock next morning Ferguson strode into our room. I had remembered him as a long, slab-sided man with
loose limbs and a fine turn of speed which had carried him round many an opposing back. There is surely nothing in life more
painful than to meet the wreck of a fine athlete whom one has known in his prime. His great frame had fallen in, his flaxen hair
was scanty, and his shoulders were bowed. I fear that I roused corresponding emotions in him.
"Hullo, Watson," said he, and his voice was still deep and hearty. "You don't look quite the man you did when I threw you over
41
the ropes into the crowd at the Old Deer Park. I expect I have changed a bit also. But it's this last day or two that has aged
me. I see by your telegram, Mr. Holmes, that it is no use my pretending to be anyone's deputy." .
"It is simpler to deal direct," said Holmes.
"Of course it is. But you can imagine how difficult it is when you are speaking of the one woman whom you are bound to
protect and help. What can I do? How am I to go to the police with such a story? And yet the kiddies have got to be
protected. Is it madness, Mr. Holmes? Is it something in the blood? Have you any similar case in your experience? For God's
sake, give me some advice, for I am at my wit's end."
"Very naturally, Mr. Ferguson. Now sit here and pull your- self together and give me a few clear answers. I can assure you that
I am very far from being at my wit's end, and that I am confident we shall find some solution. First of all, tell me what steps you
have taken. Is your wife still near the children?"
"We had a dreadful scene. She is a most loving woman, Mr. Holmes. If ever a woman loved a man with all her heart and soul,
she loves me. She was cut to the heart that I should have discovered this horrible, this incredible, secret. She would not even
speak. She gave no answer to my reproaches, save to gaze at me with a sort of wild, despairing look in her eyes. Then she
rushed to her room and locked herself in. Since then she has refused to see me. She has a maid who was with her before her
marriage, Dolores by name -- a friend rather than a servant. She takes her food to her."
"Then the child is in no immediate danger?"
"Mrs. Mason, the nurse, has sworn that she will not leave it night or day. I can absolutely trust her. I am more uneasy about
poor little Jack, for, as I told you in my note, he has twice been assaulted by her."
"But never wounded?"
"No, she struck him savagely. It is the more terrible as he is a poor little inoffensive cripple." Ferguson's gaunt features softened
as he spoke of his boy. "You would think that the dear lad's condition would soften anyone's heart. A fall in childhood
and a twisted spine, Mr. Holmes. But the dearest, most loving heart within."
Holmes had picked up the letter of yesterday and was reading it over. "What other inmates are there in your house, Mr.
Ferguson?"
"Two servants who have not been long with us. One stable- hand, Michael, who sleeps in the house. My wife, myself, my boy
Jack, baby, Dolores, and Mrs. Mason. That is all."
"I gather that you did not know your wife well at the time of your marriage?"
"I had only known her a few weeks."
"How long had this maid Dolores been with her?"
"Some years."
"Then your wife's character would really be better known by Dolores than by you?"
"Yes, you may say so."
Holmes made a note.
"I fancy," said he, "that I may be of more use at Lamberley than here. It is eminently a case for personal investigation. If the
lady remains in her room, our presence could not annoy or inconvenience her. Of course, we would stay at the inn."
Ferguson gave a gesture of relief.
42
"It is what I hoped, Mr. Holmes. There is an excellent train at two from Victoria if you could come."
"Of course we could come. There is a lull at present. I can give you my undivided energies. Watson, of course, comes with us.
But there are one or two points upon which I wish to be very sure before I start. This unhappy lady, as I understand it, has
appeared to assault both the children, her own baby and your little son?"
"That is so."
"But the assaults take different forms, do they not? She has beaten your son."
"Once with a stick and once very savagely with her hands."
"Did she give no explanation why she struck him?"
"None save that she hated him. Again and again she said so."
"Well, that is not unknown among stepmothers. A posthu- mous jealousy, we will say. Is the lady jealous by nature?"
"Yes, she is very jealous -- jealous with all the strength of her fiery tropical love."
"But the boy -- he is fifteen, I understand, and probably very developed in mind, since his body has been circumscribed in
action. Did he give you no explanation of these assaults?"
"No, he declared there was no reason."
"Were they good friends at other times?"
"No, there was never any love between them."
"Yet you say he is affectionate?"
"Never in the world could there be so devoted a son. My life is his life. He is absorbed in what I say or do."
Once again Holmes made a note. For some time he sat lost in thought.
"No doubt you and the boy were great comrades before this second marriage. You were thrown very close together, were you
not?"
"Very much so."
"And the boy, having so affectionate a nature, was devoted, no doubt, to the memory of his mother?"
"Most devoted."
"He would certainly seem to be a most interesting lad. There is one other point about these assaults. Were the strange attacks
upon the baby and the assaults upon yow son at the same period?"
"In the first case it was so. It was as if some frenzy had seized her, and she had vented her rage upon both. In the second case
it was only Jack who suffered. Mrs. Mason had no complaint to make about the baby."
"That certainly complicates matters."
"I don't quite follow you, Mr. Holmes."
"Possibly not. One forms provisional theories and waits for time or fuller knowledge to explode them. A bad habit, Mr.
Ferguson, but human nature is weak. I fear that your old friend here has given an exaggerated view of my scientific methods.
However, I will only say at the present stage that your problem does not appear to me to be insoluble, and that you may
43
expect to find us at Victoria at two o'clock."
It was evening of a dull, foggy November day when, having left our bags at the Chequers, Lamberley, we drove through the
Sussex clay of a long winding lane and finally reached the isolated and ancient farmhouse in which Ferguson dwelt. It was a
large, straggling building, very old in the centre, very new at the wings with towering Tudor chimneys and a lichen-spotted,
high-pitched roof of Horsham slabs. The doorsteps were worn into curves, and the ancient tiles which lined the porch were
marked with the rebus of a cheese and a man after the original builder. Within, the ceilings were corrugated with heavy oaken
beams, and the uneven floors sagged into sharp curves. An odour of age and decay pervaded the whole crumbling building.
There was one very large central room into which Ferguson led us. Here, in a huge old-fashioned fireplace with an iron screen
behind it dated 1670, there blazed and spluttered a splen- did log fire.
The room, as I gazed round, was a most singular mixture of dates and of places. The half-panelled walls may well have
belonged to the original yeoman farmer of the seventeenth cen- tury. They were ornamented, however, on the lower part by a
line of well-chosen modern water-colours; while above, where yellow plaster took the place of oak, there was hung a fine
collection of South American utensils and weapons, which had been brought, no doubt, by the Peruvian lady upstairs. Holmes
rose, with that quick curiosity which sprang from his eager mind, and examined them with some care. He returned with his eyes
full of thought.
"Hullo!" he cried. "Hullo!"
A spaniel had lain in a basket in the corner. It came slowly forward towards its master, walking with difficulty. Its hind legs
moved irregularly and its tail was on the ground. It licked Ferguson's hand.
"What is it, Mr. Holmes?"
"The dog. What's the matter with it?"
"That's what puzzled the vet. A sort of paralysis. Spinal meningitis, he thought. But it is passing. He'll be all right soon -- won't
you, Carlo?"
A shiver of assent passed through the drooping tail. The dog's mournful eyes passed from one of us to the other. He knew that
we were discussing his case.
"Did it come on suddenly?"
"In a single night."
"How long ago?"
"It may have been four months ago."
"Very remarkable. Very suggestive."
"What do you see in it, Mr. Holmes?"
"A confirmation of what I had already thought."
"For God's sake, what do you think, Mr. Holmes? It may be a mere intellectual puzzle to you, but it is life and death to me! My
wife a would-be murderer -- my child in constant danger! Don't play with me, Mr. Holmes. It is too terribly serious."
The big Rugby three-quarter was trembling all over. Holmes put his hand soothingly upon his arm.
"I fear that there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson, whatever the solution may be," said he. "I would spare you all I can. I cannot
say more for the instant, but before I leave this house I hope I may have something definite."
44
"Please God you may! If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will go up to my wife's room and see if there has been any change."
He was away some minutes, during which Holmes resumed his examination of the curiosities upon the wall. When our host
returned it was clear from his downcast face that he had made no progress. He brought with him a tall, slim, brown-faced girl.
"The tea is ready, Dolores," said Ferguson. "See that your mistress has everything she can wish."
"She verra ill," cried the girl, looking with indignant eyes at her master. "She no ask for food. She verra ill. She need doctor. I
frightened stay alone with her without doctor."
Ferguson looked at me with a question in his eyes.
"I should be so glad if I could be of use."
"Would your mistress see Dr. Watson?"
"I take him. I no ask leave. She needs doctor."
"Then I'll come with you at once."
I followed the girl, who was quivering with strong emotion, up the staircase and down an ancient corridor. At the end was an
iron-clamped and massive door. It struck me as I looked at it that if Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife he would find it
no easy matter. The girl drew a key from her pocket, and the heavy oaken planks creaked upon their old hinges. I passed in
and she swiftly followed, fastening the door behind her.
On the bed a woman was lying who was clearly in a high fever. She was only half conscious, but as I entered she raised a pair
of frightened but beautiful eyes and glared at me in appre- hension. Seeing a stranger, she appeared to be relieved and sank
back with a sigh upon the pillow. I stepped up to her with a few reassuring words, and she lay still while I took her pulse and
temperature. Both were high, and yet my impression was that the condition was rather that of mental and nervous excitement
than of any actual seizure.
"She lie like that one day, two day. I 'fraid she die," said the girl.
The woman turned her flushed and handsome face towards me.
"Where is my husband?"
"He is below and would wish to see you."
"I will not see him. I will not see him." Then she seemed to wander off into delirium. "A fiend! A fiend! Oh, what shall I do with
this devil?"
"Can I help you in any way?"
"No. No one can help. It is finished. All is destroyed. Do what I will, all is destroyed."
The woman must have some strange delusion. I could not see honest Bob Ferguson in the character of fiend or devil.
"Madame," I said, "your husband loves you dearly. He is deeply grieved at this happening."
Again she turned on me those glorious eyes.
"He loves me. Yes. But do I not love him? Do I not love him even to sacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart? That is
how I love him. And yet he could think of me -- he could speak of me so."
"He is full of grief, but he cannot understand."
45
"No, he cannot understand. But he should trust."
"Will you not see him?" I suggested.
"No, no, I cannot forget those terrible words nor the look upon his face. I will not see him. Go now. You can do nothing for
me. Tell him only one thing. I want my child. I have a right to my child. That is the only message I can send him." She turned her
face to the wall and would say no more.
I returned to the room downstairs, where Ferguson and Holmes still sat by the fire. Ferguson listened moodily to my account of
the interview.
"How can I send her the child?" he said. "How do I know what strange impulse might come upon her? How can I ever forget
how she rose from beside it with its blood upon her lips?" He shuddered at the recollection. "The child is safe with Mrs.
Mason, and there he must remain."
A smart maid, the only modern thing which we had seen in the house, had brought in some tea. As she was serving it the door
opened and a youth entered the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale-faced and fair-haired, with excitable light blue eyes
which blazed into a sudden flame of emotion and joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed forward and threw his arms
round his neck with the abandon of a loving girl.
"Oh, daddy," he cried, "I did not know that you were due yet. I should have been here to meet you. Oh, I am so glad to see
you!"
Ferguson gently disengaged himself from the embrace with some little show of embarrassment.
"Dear old chap," said he, patting the flaxen head with a very tender hand. "I came early because my friends, Mr. Holmes and
Dr. Watson, have been persuaded to come down and spend an evening with us."
"Is that Mr. Holmes, the detective?"
"Yes."
The youth looked at us with a very penetrating and, as it seemed to me, unfriendly gaze.
"What about your other child, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Holmes. "Might we make the acquaintance of the baby?"
"Ask Mrs. Mason to bring baby down," said Ferguson. The boy went off with a curious, shambling gait which told my surgical
eyes that he was suffering from a weak spine. Presently he returned, and behind him came a tall, gaunt woman bearing in her
arms a very beautiful child, dark-eyed, golden-haired, a wonderful mixture of the Saxon and the Latin. Ferguson was evidently
devoted to it, for he took it into his arms and fondled it most tenderly.
"Fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him," he muttered as he glanced down at the small, angry red pucker upon the cherub
throat.
It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at Holmes and saw a most singular intentness in his expression. His face was as
set as if it had been carved out of old ivory, and his eyes, which had glanced for a moment at father and child, were now fixed
with eager curiosity upon something at the other side of the room. Following his gaze I could only guess that he was looking out
through the window at the melancholy, dripping garden. It is true that a shutter had half closed outside and obstructed the view,
but none the less it was certainly at the window that Holmes was fixing his concentrated attention. Then he smiled, and his eyes
came back to the baby. On its chubby neck there was this small puckered mark. Without speaking, Holmes exam- ined it with
care. Finally he shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in front of him.
"Good-bye, little man. You have made a strange start in life. Nurse, I should wish to have a word with you in private."
He took her aside and spoke earnestly for a few minutes. I only heard the last words, which were: "Your anxiety will soon, I
46
hope, be set at rest." The woman, who seemed to be a sour, silent kind of creature, withdrew with the child.
"What is Mrs. Mason like?" asked Holmes.
"Not very prepossessing externally, as you can see, but a heart of gold, and devoted to the child."
"Do you like her, Jack?" Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy. His expressive mobile face shadowed over, and he shook his
head.
"Jacky has very strong likes and dislikes," said Ferguson, putting his arm round the boy. "Luckily I am one of his likes."
The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his father's breast. Ferguson gently disengaged him.
"Run away, little Jacky," said he, and he watched his son with loving eyes until he disappeared. "Now, Mr. Holmes," he
continued when the boy was gone, "I really feel that I have brought you on a fool's errand, for what can you possibly do save
give me your sympathy? It must be an exceedingly delicate and complex affair from your point of view."
"It is certainly delicate," said my friend with an amused smile, "but I have not been struck up to now with its complex- ity. It has
been a case for intellectual deduction, but when this original intellectual deduction is confirmed point by point by quite a number
of independent incidents, then the subjective becomes objective and we can say confidently that we have reached our goal. I
had, in fact, reached it before we left Baker Street, and the rest has merely been observation and confirmation."
Ferguson put his big hand to his furrowed forehead.
"For heaven's sake, Holmes," he said hoarsely; "if you can see the truth in this matter, do not keep me in suspense. How do I
stand? What shall I do? I care nothing as to how you have found your facts so long as you have really got them."
"Certainly I owe you an explanation, and you shall have it. But you will permit me to handle the matter in my own way? Is the
lady capable of seeing us, Watson?"
"She is ill, but she is quite rational."
"Very good. It is only in her presence that we can clear the matter up. Let us go up to her."
"She will not see me," cried Ferguson.
"Oh, yes, she will," said Holmes. He scribbled a few lines upon a sheet of paper."You at least have the entree, Watson. Will
you have the goodness to give the lady this note?"
I ascended again and handed the note to Dolores, who cau- tiously opened the door. A minute later I heard a cry from within,
a cry in which joy and surprise seemed to be blended. Dolores looked out.
"She will see them. She will leesten," said she.
At my summons Ferguson and Holmes came up. As we entered the room Ferguson took a step or two towards his wife, who
had raised herself in the bed, but she held out her hand to repulse him. He sank into an armchair, while Holmes seated himself
beside him, after bowing to the lady, who looked at him with wide-eyed amazement.
"I think we can dispense with Dolores," said Holmes. "Oh, very well, madame, if you would rather she stayed I can see no
objection. Now, Mr. Ferguson, I am a busy man wlth many calls, and my methods have to be short and direct. The swiftest
surgery is the least painful. Let me first say what will ease your mind. Your wife is a very good, a very loving, and a very
ill-used woman."
Ferguson sat up with a cry of joy.
"Prove that, Mr. Holmes, and I am your debtor forever."
47
"I will do so, but in doing so I must wound you deeply in another direction."
"I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. Everything on earth is insignificant compared to that."
"Let me tell you, then, the train of reasoning which passed through my mind in Baker Street. The idea of a vampire was to me
absurd. Such things do not happen in criminal practice in England. And yet your observation was precise. You had seen the
lady rise from beside the child's cot with the blood upon her lips."
"I did."
"Did it not occur to you that a bleeding wound may be sucked for some other purpose than to draw the blood from it? Was
there not a queen in English history who sucked such a wound to draw poison from it?"
"Poison!"
"A South American household. My instinct felt the presence of those weapons upon the wall before my eyes ever saw them. It
might have been other poison, but that was what occurred to me. When I saw that little empty quiver beside the small birdbow,
it was just what I expected to see. If the child were pricked with one of those arrows dipped in curare or some other
devilish drug, it would mean death if the venom were not sucked out.
"And the dog! If one were to use such a poison, would one not try it first in order to see that it had not lost its power? I did not
foresee the dog, but at least I understand him and he fitted into my reconstruction.
"Now do you understand? Your wife feared such an attack. She saw it made and saved the child's life, and yet she shrank
from telling you all the truth, for she knew how you loved the boy and feared lest it break your heart."
"Jacky!"
"I watched him as you fondled the child just now. His face was clearly reflected in the glass of the window where the shutter
formed a background. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred, as I have seldom seen in a human face."
"My Jacky!"
"You have to face it, Mr. Ferguson. It is the more painful because it is a distorted love, a maniacal exaggerated love for you,
and possibly for his dead mother, which has prompted his action. His very soul is consumed with hatred for this splendid child,
whose health and beauty are a contrast to his own weakness."
"Good God! It is incredible!"
"Have I spoken the truth, madame?"
The lady was sobbing, with her face buried in the pillows. Now she turned to her husband.
"How could I tell you, Bob? I felt the blow it would be to you. It was better that I should wait and that it should come from
some other lips than mine. When this gentleman, who seems to have powers of magic, wrote that he knew all, I was glad."
"I think a year at sea would be my prescription for Master Jacky," said Holmes, rising from his chair. "Only one thing is still
clouded, madame. We can quite understand your attacks upon Master Jacky. There is a limit to a mother's patience. But how
did you dare to leave the child these last two days?"
"I had told Mrs. Mason. She knew."
"Exactly. So I imagined."
Ferguson was standing by the bed, choking, his hands out- stretched and quivering.
48
"This, I fancy, is the time for our exit, Watson," said Holmes in a whisper. "If you will take one elbow of the too faithful
Dolores, I will take the other. There, now," he added as he closed the door behind him, "I think we may leave them to settle
the rest among themselves."
I have only one further note of this case. It is the letter which Holmes wrote in final answer to that with which the narrative
begins. It ran thus:
BAKER STREET,
Nov. 21st.
Re Vampires
SIR:
Referring to your letter of the 19th, I beg to state that I
have looked into the inquiry of your client, Mr. Robert
Ferguson, of Ferguson and Muirhead, tea brokers, of Mincing
Lane, and that the matter has been brought to a satisfactory
conclusion. With thanks for your recommendation, I
am, sir,
Faithfully yours,
SHERLOCK HOLMES.
The Adventure of the Three Garridebs
It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy. It cost one man his reason, it cost me a blood-letting, and it cost
yet another man the penalties of the law. Yet there was certainly an element of comedy. Well, you shall judge for yourselves.
I remember the date very well, for it was in the same month that Holmes refused a knighthood for services which may perhaps
some day be described. I only refer to the matter in passing, for in my position of partner and confidant I am obliged to be
particularly careful to avoid any indiscretion. I repeat, however, that this enables me to fix the date, which was the latter end of
June, 1902, shortly after the conclusion of the South African War. Holmes had spent several days in bed, as was his habit from
time to time, but he emerged that morning with a long foolscap document in his hand and a twinkle of amusement in his austere
gray eyes.
"There is a chance for you to make some money. friend Watson," said he. "Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?"
I admitted that I had not.
"Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Garrideb, there's money in it."
"Why?"
"Ah, that's a long story -- rather a whimsical one, too. I don't think in all our explorations of human complexities we have ever
come upon anything more singular. The fellow will be here presently for cross-examination, so I won't open the matter up till he
comes. But, meanwhile, that's the name we want."
The telephone directory lay on the table beside me, and I turned over the pages in a rather hopeless quest. But to my
amazement there was this strange name in its due place. I gave a cry of triumph.
"Here you are, Holmes! Here it is!"
Holmes took the book from my hand.
" 'Garrideb, N.,' " he read, " '136 Little Ryder Street, W.' Sorry to disappoint you, my dear Watson, but this is the man himself.
That is the address upon his letter. We want another to match him."
Mrs. Hudson had come in with a card upon a tray. I took it up and glanced at it.
49
"Why, here it is!" I cried in amazement. "This is a different initial. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, Moorville, Kansas, U. S.
A. "
Holmes smiled as he looked at the card. "I am afraid you must make yet another effort, Watson," said he. "This gentle- man is
also in the plot already, though I certainly did not expect to see him this morning. However, he is in a position to tell us a good
deal which I want to know."
A moment later he was in the room. Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh,
clean-shaven face characteristic of so many American men of affairs. The general effect was chubby and rather childlike, so
that one received the impression of quite a young man with a broad set smile upon his face. His eyes, however, were arresting.
Seldom in any human head have I seen a pair which be- spoke a more intense inward life, so bright were they, so alert, so
responsive to every change of thought. His accent was Ameri- can, but was not accompanied by any eccentricity of speech.
"Mr. Holmes?" he asked, glancing from one to the other. "Ah, yes! Your pictures are not unlike you, sir, if I may say so. I
believe you have had a letter from my namesake, Mr. Nathan Garrideb, have you not?"
"Pray sit down," said Sherlock Holmes. "We shall, I fancy, have a good deal to discuss." He took up his sheets of foolscap.
"You are, of course, the Mr. John Garrideb mentioned in this document. But surely you have been in England some time?"
"Why do you say that, Mr. Holmes?" I seemed to read sudden suspicion in those expressive eyes.
"Your whole outfit is English."
Mr. Garrideb forced a laugh. "I've read of your tricks, Mr. Holmes, but I never thought I would be the subject of them. Where
do you read that?"
"The shoulder cut of your coat, the toes of your boots -- could anyone doubt it?"
"Well, well, I had no idea I was so obvious a Britisher. But business brought me over here some time ago, and so, as you say,
my outfit is nearly all London. However, I guess your time is of value, and we did not meet to talk about the cut of my socks.
What about getting down to that paper you hold in your hand?"
Holmes had in some way ruffled our visitor, whose chubby face had assumed a far less amiable expression.
"Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb!" said my friend in a soothing voice. "Dr. Watson would tell you that these little digressions
of mine sometimes prove in the end to have some bearing on the matter. But why did Mr. Nathan Garrideb not come with
you?"
"Why did he ever drag you into it at all?" asked our visitor with a sudden outflame of anger. "What in thunder had you to do
with it? Here was a bit of professional business between two gentlemen, and one of them must needs call in a detective! I saw
him this morning, and he told me this fool-trick he had played me, and that's why I am here. But I feel bad about it, all the
same."
"There was no reflection upon you, Mr. Garrideb. It was simply zeal upon his part to gain your end -- an end which is, I
understand, equally vital for both of you. He knew that I had means of getting information, and, therefore, it was very natural
that he should apply to me."
Our visitor's angry face gradually cleared.
"Well, that puts it different," said he. "When I went to see him this morning and he told me he had sent to a detective, I just
asked for your address and came right away. I don't want police butting into a private matter. But if you are content just to help
us find the man, there can be no harm in that."
"Well, that is just how it stands," said Holmes. "And now, sir, since you are here, we had best have a clear account from your
own lips. My friend here knows nothing of the details."
Mr. Garrideb surveyed me with not too friendly a gaze.
"Need he know?" he asked.
"We usually work together."
"Well, there's no reason it should be kept a secret. I'll give you the facts as short as I can make them. If you came from Kansas
I would not need to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Garrideb was. He made his money in real estate, and afterwards
in the wheat pit at Chicago, but he spent it in buying up as much land as would make one of your counties, lying along the
Arkansas River, west of Fort Dodge. It's grazing-land and lumber-land and arable-land and mineralized-land, and just every
sort of land that brings dollars to the man that owns it.
"He had no kith nor kin -- or, if he had, I never heard of it. But he took a kind of pride in the queerness of his name. That was
what brought us together. I was in the law at Topeka, and one day I had a visit from the old man, and he was tickled to death
to meet another man with his own name. It was his pet fad, and he was dead set to find out if there were any more Garridebs in
the world. 'Find me another!' said he. I told him I was a busy man and could not spend my life hiking round the world in search
of Garridebs. 'None the less,' said he, 'that is just what you will do if things pan out as I planned them.' I thought he was joking,
but there was a powerful lot of meaning in the words, as I was soon to discover.
"For he died within a year of saying them, and he left a will behind him. It was the queerest will that has ever been filed in the
State of Kansas. His property was divided into three parts and I was to have one on condition that I found two Garridebs who
would share the remainder. It's five million dollars for each if it is a cent, but we can't lay a finger on it until we all three stand in
a row.
"It was so big a chance that I just let my legal practice slide and I set forth looking for Garridebs. There is not one in the United
States. I went through it, sir, with a fine-toothed comb and never a Garrideb could I catch. Then I tried the old country. Sure
enough there was the name in the London telephone direc- tory. I went after him two days ago and explained the whole matter
to him. But he is a lone man, like myself, with some women relations, but no men. It says three adult men in the will. So you see
we still have a vacancy, and if you can help to fill it we will be very ready to pay your charges."
"Well, Watson," said Holmes with a smile, "l said it was rather whimsical, did I not? I should have thought, sir, that your
obvious way was to advertise in the agony columns of the papers."
"I have done that, Mr. Holmes. No replies."
"Dear me! Well, it is certainly a most curious little problem. I may take a glance at it in my leisure. By the way, it is curious that
you should have come from Topeka. I used to have a correspondent -- he is dead now -- old Dr. Lysander Starr, who was
mayor in 1890."
"Good old Dr. Starr!" said our visitor. "His name is still honoured. Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose all we can do is to report to
you and let you know how we progress. I reckon you will hear within a day or two." With this assurance our Ameri- can
bowed and departed.
Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some time with a curious smile upon his face.
"Well?" I asked at last.
"I am wondering, Watson -- just wondering!"
"At what?"
Holmes took his pipe from his lips.
51
"I was wondering, Watson, what on earth could be the object of this man in telling us such a rigmarole of lies. I nearly asked
him so -- for there are times when a brutal frontal attack is the best policy -- but I judged it better to let him think he had fooled
us. Here is a man with an English coat frayed at the elbow and trousers bagged at the knee with a year's wear, and yet by this
document and by his own account he is a provincial American lately landed in London. There have been no advertisements in
the agony columns. You know that I miss nothing there. They are my favourite covert for putting up a bird, and I would never
have overlooked such a cock pheasant as that. I never knew a Dr. Lysander Starr, of Topeka. Touch him where you would he
was false. I think the fellow is really an American, but he has worn his accent smooth with years of London. What is his game,
then, and what motive lies behind this preposterous search for Garridebs? It's worth our attention, for, granting that the man is a
rascal, he is certainly a complex and ingenious one. We must now find out if our other correspondent is a fraud also. Just ring
him up, Watson."
I did so, and heard a thin, quavering voice at the other end of the line.
"Yes, yes, I am Mr. Nathan Garrideb. Is Mr. Holmes there? I should very much like to have a word with Mr. Holmes."
My friend took the instrument and I heard the usual synco- pated dialogue.
"Yes, he has been here. I understand that you don't know him.... How long? ... Only two days! ... Yes, yes, of course, it is a
most captivating prospect. Will you be at home this evening? I suppose your namesake will not be there? . . . Very good, we
will come then, for I would rather have a chat without him.... Dr. Watson will come with me.... I under- stand from your note
that you did not go out often.... Well, we shall be round about six. You need not mention it to the American lawyer.... Very
good. Good-bye!"
It was twilight of a lovely spring evening, and even Little Ryder Street, one of the smaller offshoots from the Edgware Road,
within a stone-cast of old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, looked golden and wonderful in the slanting rays of the setting sun. The
particular house to which we were directed was a large, old-fashioned, Early Georgian edifice, with a flat brick face broken
only by two deep bay windows on the ground floor. It was on this ground floor that our client lived, and, indeed, the low
windows proved to be the front of the huge room in which he spent his waking hours. Holmes pointed as we passed to the
small brass plate which bore the curious name.
"Up some years, Watson," he remarked, indicating its discoloured surface. "It's his real name, anyhow, and that is something to
note."
The house had a common stair, and there were a number of names painted in the hall, some indicating offices and some private
chambers. It was not a collection of residential flats, but rather the abode of Bohemian bachelors. Our client opened the door
for us himself and apologized by saying that the woman in charge left at four o'clock. Mr. Nathan Garrideb proved to be a very
tall, loosejointed, round-backed person, gaunt and bald, some sixty-odd years of age. He had a cadaverous face, with the dull
dead skin of a man to whom exercise was unknown. Large round spectacles and a small projecting goat's beard combined
with his stooping attitude to give him an expression of peering curiosity. The general effect, however, was amiable, though
eccentric.
The room was as curious as its occupant. It looked like a small museum. It was both broad and deep, with cupboards and
cabi- nets all round, crowded with specimens, geological and anatomi- cal. Cases of butterflies and moths flanked each side of
the entrance. A large table in the centre was littered with all sorts of debris, while the tall brass tube of a powerful microscope
bris- tled up among them. As I glanced round I was surprised at the universality of the man's interests. Here was a case of
ancient coins. There was a cabinet of flint instruments. Behind his central table was a large cupboard of fossil bones. Above
was a line of plaster skulls with such names as "Neanderthal," "Hei- delberg," "Cro-Magnon" printed beneath them. It was
clear that he was a student of many subjects. As he stood in front of us now, he held a piece of chamois leather in his right hand
with which he was polishing a coin.
"Syracusan -- of the best period," he explained, holding it up. "They degenerated greatly towards the end. At their best I hold
them supreme, though some prefer the Alexandrian school. You will find a chair here, Mr. Holmes. Pray allow me to clear
52
these bones. And you, sir -- ah, yes, Dr. Watson -- if you would have the goodness to put the Japanese vase to one side. You
see round me my little interests in life. My doctor lectures me about never going out, but why should I go out when I have so
much to hold me here? I can assure you that the adequate cataloguing of one of those cabinets would take me three good
months."
Holmes looked round him with curiosity.
"But do you tell me that you never go out?" he said.
"Now and again I drive down to Sotheby's or Christie's. Otherwise I very seldom leave my room. I am not too strong, and my
researches are very absorbing. But you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, what a terrific shock -- pleasant but terrific -- it was for me
when I heard of this unparalleled good fortune. It only needs one more Garrideb to complete the matter, and surely we can find
one. I had a brother, but he is dead, and female relatives are disqualified. But there must surely be others in the world. I had
heard that you handled strange cases, and that was why I sent to you. Of course, this American gentleman is quite right, and I
should have taken his advice first, but I acted for the best."
"I think you acted very wisely indeed," said Holmes. "But are you really anxious to acquire an estate in America?"
"Certainly not, sir. Nothing would induce me to leave my collection. But this gentleman has assured me that he will buy me out
as soon as we have established our claim. Five million dollars was the sum named. There are a dozen specimens in the market
at the present moment which fill gaps in my collection, and which I am unable to purchase for want of a few hundred pounds.
Just think what I could do with five million dollars. Why, I have the nucleus of a national collection. I shall be the Hans Sloane
of my age."
His eyes gleamed behind his great spectacles. It was very clear that no pains would be spared by Mr. Nathan Garrideb in
finding a namesake.
"I merely called to make your acquaintance, and there is no reason why I should interrupt your studies," said Holmes. "I prefer
to establish personal touch with those with whom I do business. There are few questions I need ask, for I have your very clear
narrative in my pocket, and I filled up the blanks when this American gentleman called. I understand that up to this week you
were unaware of his existence."
"That is so. He called last Tuesday."
"Did he tell you of our interview to-day?"
"Yes, he came straight back to me. He had been very angry."
"Why should he be angry?"
"He seemed to think it was some reflection on his honour. But he was quite cheerful again when he returned."
"Did he suggest any course of action?"
"No, sir, he did not."
"Has he had, or asked for, any money from you?"
"No, sir, never!"
"You see no possible object he has in view?"
"None, except what he states."
"Did you tell him of our telephone appointment?"
53
"Yes, sir, I did."
Holmes was lost in thought. I could see that he was puzzled.
"Have you any articles of great value in your collection?"
"No, sir. I am not a rich man. It is a good collection, but not a very valuable one."
"You have no fear of burglars?"
"Not the least."
"How long have you been in these rooms?"
"Nearly five years."
Holmes's cross-examination was interrupted by an imperative knocking at the door. No sooner had our client unlatched it than
the American lawyer burst excitedly into the room.
"Here you are!" he cried, waving a paper over his head. "I thought I should be in time to get you. Mr. Nathan Garrideb, my
congratulations! You are a rich man, sir. Our business is happily finished and all is well. As to you, Mr. Holmes, we can only
say we are sorry if we have given you any useless trouble."
He handed over the paper to our client, who stood staring at a marked advertisement. Holmes and I leaned forward and read
it over his shoulder. This is how it ran:
HOWARD GARRIDEB
CONSTRUCTOR OF ACRICULTURAL MACHINERY
Binders, reapers, steam and hand plows, drills, harTows,
farmer's carts, buckboards, and all other appliances.
Estimates for Artesian Wells
Apply Grosvenor Buildings, Aston
"Glorious!" gasped our host. "That makes our third man."
"I had opened up inquiries in Birmingham," said the Ameri- cn, "and my agent there has sent me this advertisement from a local
paper. We must hustle and put the thing through. I have written to this man and told him that you will see him in his office
to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock."
"You want me to see him?"
"What do you say, Mr. Holmes? Don't you think it would be wiser? Here am I, a wandering American with a wonderful tale.
Why should he believe what I tell him? But you are a Britisher wth solid references, and he is bound to take notice of what you
say. I would go with you if you wished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow, and I could always follow you if you are in any
trouble."
"Well, I have not made such a journey for years."
"It is nothing, Mr. Garrideb. I have figured out our connec- tions. You leave at twelve and should be there soon after two.
Then you can be back the same night. All you have to do is to see this man, explain the matter, and get an affidavit of his
existence. By the Lord!" he added hotly, "considering I've come all the way from the centre of America, it is surely little enough
if you go a hundred miles in order to put this matter through."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think what this gentleman says is very true."
Mr. Nathan Garrideb shrugged his shoulders with a disconso- late air. "Well, if you insist I shall go," said he. "It is certainly
54
hard for me to refuse you anything, considering the glory of hope that you have brought into my life."
"Then that is agreed," said Holmes, "and no doubt you will let me have a report as soon as you can."
"I'll see to that," said the American. "Well," he added looking at his watch, "I'll have to get on. I'll call to-morrow, Mr. Nathan,
and see you off to Birmingham. Coming my way, Mr. Holmes? Well, then, good-bye, and we may have good news for you
to-morrow night."
I noticed that my friend's face cleared when the American left the room, and the look of thoughtful perplexity had vanished.
"I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb," said he. "In my profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful,
and this room of yours is a storehouse of it."
Our client shone with pleasure and his eyes gleamed from behind his big glasses.
"I had always heard, sir, that you were a very intelligent man," said he. "I could take you round now if you have the time."
"Unfortunately, I have not. But these specimens are so well labelled and classified that they hardly need your personal explanation.
If I should be able to look in to-morrow, I presume that there would be no objection to my glancing over them?"
"None at all. You are most welcome. The place will, of course, be shut up, but Mrs. Saunders is in the basement up to four
o'clock and would let you in with her key."
"Well, I happen to be clear to-morrow afternoon. If you would say a word to Mrs. Saunders it would be quite in order. By the
way, who is your house-agent?"
Our client was amazed at the sudden question.
"Holloway and Steele, in the Edgware Road. But why?"
"I am a bit of an archaeologist myself when it comes to houses," said Holmes, laughing. "I was wondering if this was Queen
Anne or Georgian."
"Georgian, beyond doubt."
"Really. I should have thought a little earlier. However, it is easily ascertained. Well, good-bye, Mr. Garrideb, and may you
have every success in your Birmingham journey."
The house-agent's was close by, but we found that it was closed for the day, so we made our way back to Baker Street. It
was not till after dinner that Holmes reverted to the subject.
"Our little problem draws to a close," said he. "No doubt you have outlined the solution in your own mind."
"I can make neither head nor tail of it."
"The head is surely clear enough and the tail we should see to-morrow. Did you notice nothing curious about that advertisement?"
"I saw that the word 'plough' was misspelt."
"Oh, you did notice that, did you? Come, Watson, you improve all the time. Yes, it was bad English but good Ameri- can. The
printer had set it up as received. Then the buckboards. That is American also. And artesian wells are commoner with them than
with us. It was a typical American advertisement, but purporting to be from an English firm. What do you make of that?"
"I can only suppose that this American lawyer put it in himself. What his object was I fail to understand."
55
"Well, there are alternative explanations. Anyhow, he wanted to get this good old fossil up to Birmingham. That is very clear. I
might have told him that he was clearly going on a wild-goose chase, but, on second thoughts, it seemed better to clear the
stage by letting him go. To-morrow, Watson -- well, to-morrow will speak for itself."
Holmes was up and out early. When he returned at lunchtime I noticed that his face was very grave.
"This is a more serious matter than I had expected, Watson," said he. "It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an
additional reason to you for running your head into danger. I should know my Watson by now. But there is danger, and you
should know it."
"Well, it is not the first we have shared, Holmes. I hope it may not be the last. What is the particular danger this time?"
"We are up against a very hard case. I have identified Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law. He is none other than 'Killer'
Evans, of sinister and murderous reputation."
"I fear I am none the wiser."
"Ah, it is not part of your profession to carry about a portable Newgate Calendar in your memory. I have been down to see
friend Lestrade at the Yard. There may be an occasional want of imaginative intuition down there, but they lead the world for
thoroughness and method. I had an idea that we might get on the track of our American friend in their records. Sure enough, I
found his chubby face smiling up at me from the rogues' portrait gallery. 'James Winter, alias Morecroft, alias Killer Evans,' was
the inscription below." Holmes drew an envelope from his pocket. "I scribbled down a few points from his dossier: Aged
forty-four. Native of Chicago. Known to have shot three men in the States. Escaped from penitentiary through political influence.
Came to London in 1893. Shot a man over cards in a night-club in the Waterloo Road in January, 1895. Man died, but
he was shown to have been the aggressor in the row. Dead man was identified as Rodger Prescott, famous as forger and
coiner in Chicago. Killer Evans released in 1901. Has been under police supervision since, but so far as known has led an
honest life. Very dangerous man, usually carries arms and is prepared to use them. That is our bird, Watson -- a sporting bird,
as you must admit."
"But what is his game?"
"Well, it begins to define itself. I have been to the house- agent's. Our client, as he told us, has been there five years. It was
unlet for a year before then. The previous tenant was a gentleman at large named Waldron. Waldron's appearance was well
remembered at the office. He had suddenly vanished and nothing more been heard of him. He was a tall, bearded man with
very dark features. Now, Prescott, the man whom Killer Evans had shot, was, according to Scotland Yard, a tall, dark man
with a beard. As a working hypothesis, I think we may take it that Prescott, the American criminal, used to live in the very
room which our innocent friend now devotes to his museum. So at last we get a link, you see."
"And the next link?"
"Well, we must go now and look for that."
He took a revolver from the drawer and handed it to me.
"I have my old favourite with me. If our Wild West friend tries to live up to his nickname, we must be ready for him. I'll give
you an hour for a siesta, Watson, and then I think it will be time for our Ryder Street adventure."
It was just four o'clock when we reached the curious apart- ment of Nathan Garrideb. Mrs. Saunders, the caretaker, was
about to leave, but she had no hesitation in admitting us, for the door shut with a spring lock, and Holmes promised to see that
all was safe before we left. Shortly afterwards the outer door closed, her bonnet passed the bow window, and we knew that
we were alone in the lower floor of the house. Holmes made a rapid examina- tion of the premises. There was one cupboard in
a dark corner which stood out a little from the wall. It was behind this that we eventually crouched while Holmes in a whisper
outlined his intentions.
56
"He wanted to get our amiable friend out of his room -- that is very clear, and, as the collector never went out, it took some
planning to do it. The whole of this Garrideb invention was apparently for no other end. I must say, Watson, that there is a
certain devilish ingenuity about it, even if the queer name of the tenant did give him an opening which he could hardly have
expected. He wove his plot with remarkable cunning.''
"But what did he want?"
"Well, that is what we are here to find out. It has nothing whatever to do with our client, so far as I can read the situation. It is
something connected with the man he murdered -- the man who may have been his confederate in crime. There is some guilty
secret in the room. That is how I read it. At first I thought our friend might have something in his collection more valuable than
he knew -- something worth the attention of a big criminal. But the fact that Rodger Prescott of evil memory inhabited these
rooms points to some deeper reason. Well, Watson, we can but possess our souls in patience and see what the hour may
bring."
That hour was not long in striking. We crouched closer in the shadow as we heard the outer door open and shut. Then came
the sharp, metallic snap of a key, and the American was in the room. He closed the door softly behind him, took a sharp glance
around him to see that all was safe, threw off his overcoat, and walked up to the central table with the brisk manner of one who
knows exactly what he has to do and how to do it. He pushed the table to one side, tore up the square of carpet on which it
rested, rolled it completely back, and then, drawing a jemmy from his inside pocket, he knelt down and worked vigorously
upon the floor. Presently we heard the sound of sliding boards, and an instant later a square had opened in the planks. Killer
Evans struck a match, lit a stump of candle, and vanished from our view.
Clearly our moment had come. Holmes touched my wrist as a signal, and together we stole across to the open trap-door.
Gently as we moved, however, the old floor must have creaked under our feet, for the head of our American, peering anxiously
round, emerged suddenly from the open space. His face turned upon us with a glare of baffled rage, which gradually softened
into a rather shamefaced grin as he realized that two pistols were pointed at his head.
"Well, well!" said he coolly as he scrambled to the surface. "I guess you have been one too many for me, Mr. Holmes. Saw
through my game, I suppose, and played me for a sucker from the first. Well, sir, I hand it to you; you have me beat and --"
In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron
had been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes's pistol came down on the man's head. I had a vision of him
sprawling upon the floor with blood running down his face while Holmes rummaged him for weapons. Then my friend's wiry
arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair.
"You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!"
It was worth a wound -- it was worth many wounds -- to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask.
The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse
of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of
revelation.
"It's nothing, Holmes. It's a mere scratch."
He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife.
"You are right," he cried with an immense sigh of relief. "It is quite superficial." His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner,
who was sitting up with a dazed face. "By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out
of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?"
He had nothing to say for himself. He only sat and scowled. I leaned on Holmes's arm, and together we looked down into the
small cellar which had been disclosed by the secret flap. It was still illuminated by the candle which Evans had taken down with
him. Our eyes fell upon a mass of rusted machinery, great rolls of paper, a litter of bottles, and, neatly arranged upon a small
57
table, a number of neat little bundles.
"A printing press -- a counterfeiter's outfit," said Holmes.
"Yes, sir," said our prisoner, staggering slowly to his feet and then sinking into the chair. "The greatest counterfeiter London
ever saw. That's Prescott's machine, and those bundles on the table are two thousand of Prescott's notes worth a hundred each
and fit to pass anywhere. Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal and let me beat it."
Holmes laughed.
"We don't do things like that, Mr. Evans. There is no bolt- hole for you in this country. You shot this man Prescott, did you
not?"
"Yes, sir, and got five years for it, though it was he who pulled on me. Five years -- when I should have had a medal the size of
a soup plate. No living man could tell a Prescott from a Bank of England, and if I hadn't put him out he would have flooded
London with them. I was the only one in the world who knew where he made them. Can you wonder that I wanted to get to
the place? And can you wonder that when I found this crazy boob of a bug-hunter with the queer name squatting right on the
top of it, and never quitting his room, I had to do the best I could to shift him? Maybe I would have been wiser if I had put him
away. It would have been easy enough, but I'm a soft-hearted guy that can't begin shooting unless the other man has a gun also.
But say, Mr. Holmes, what have I done wrong, anyhow? I've not used this plant. I've not hurt this old stiff. Where do you get
me?"
"Only attempted murder, so far as I can see," said Holmes. "But that's not our job. They take that at the next stage. What we
wanted at present was just your sweet self. Please give the Yard a call, Watson. It won't be entirely unexpected."
So those were the facts about Killer Evans and his remarkable invention of the three Garridebs. We heard later that our poor
old friend never got over the shock of his dissipated dreams. When his castle in the air fell down, it buried him beneath the
ruins. He was last heard of at a nursing-home in Brixton. It was a glad day at the Yard when the Prescott outfit was
discovered, for, though they knew that it existed, they had never been able, after the death of the man, to find out where it was.
Evans had indeed done great service and caused several worthy C. I. D. men to sleep the sounder, for the counterfeiter stands
in a class by himself as a public danger. They would willingly have sub- scribed to that soup-plate medal of which the criminal
had spoken, but an unappreciative bench took a less favourable view, and the Killer returned to those shades from which he
had just emerged.
The Adventure of the Illustrious Client
"It can't hurt now," was Mr. Sherlock Holmes's comment when, for the tenth time in as many years, I asked his leave to reveal
the following narrative. So it was that at last I obtained permission to put on record what was, in some ways, the supreme
moment of my friend's career.
Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It was over a smoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying-room that
I have found him less reticent and more human than anywhere else. On the upper floor of the Northumberland Avenue
establishment there is an isolated corner where two couches lie side by side, and it was on these that we lay upon September
3, 1902, the day when my narrative begins. I had asked him whether anything was stirring, and for answer he had shot his long,
thin, nervous arm out of the sheets which enveloped him and had drawn an envelope from the inside pocket of the coat which
hung beside him.
"It may be some fussy, self-important fool; it may be a matter of life or death," said he as he handed me the note. "I know no
more than this message tells me."
It was from the Carlton Club and dated the evening before. This is what I read:
Sir James Damery presents his compliments to Mr. Sherlock Holmes and will
call upon him at 4:30 to-morrow. Sir James begs to say that the matter upon
which he desires to consult Mr. Holmes is very delicate and also very
58
important. He trusts, therefore, that Mr. Holmes will make every effort to
grant this interview, and that he will confirm it over the telephone to the
Carlton Club.
"I need not say that I have confirmed it, Watson," said Holmes as I returned the paper. "Do you know anything of this man
Damery?"
"Only that this name is a household word in society."
"Well, I can tell you a little more than that. He has rather a reputation for arranging delicate matters which are to be kept out of
the papers. You may remember his negotiations with Sir George Lewis over the Hammerford Will case. He is a man of the
world with a natural turn for diplomacy. I am bound, therefore, to hope that it is not a false scent and that he has some real
need for our assistance."
"Our?"
"Well, if you will be so good, Watson."
"I shall be honoured."
"Then you have the hour -- 4:30. Until then we can put the matter out of our heads."
I was living in my own rooms in Queen Anne Street at the time, but I was round at Baker Street before the time named. Sharp
to the half-hour, Colonel Sir James Damery was announced. It is hardly necessary to describe him, for many will remember
that large, bluff, honest personality, that broad, cleanshaven face, and, above all, that pleasant, mellow voice. Frankness shone
from his gray Irish eyes, and good humour played round his mobile, smiling lips. His lucent top-hat, his dark frock-coat,
indeed, every detail, from the pearl pin in the black satin cravat to the lavender spats over the varnished shoes, spoke of the
meticulous care in dress for which he was famous. The big, masterful aristocrat dominated the little room.
"Of course, I was prepared to find Dr. Watson," he remarked with a courteous bow. "His collaboration may be very
necessary, for we are dealing on this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whom violence is familiar and who will, literally,
stick at nothing. I should say that there is no more dangerous man in Europe."
"I have had several opponents to whom that flattering term has been applied," said Holmes with a smile. "Don't you smoke?
Then you will excuse me if I light my pipe. If your man is more dangerous than the late Professor Moriarty, or than the living
Colonel Sebastian Moran, then he is indeed worth meeting. May I ask his name?"
"Have you ever heard of Baron Gruner?"
"You mean the Austrian murderer?"
Colonel Damery threw up his kid-gloved hands with a laugh. "There is no getting past you, Mr. Holmes! Wonderful! So you
have already sized him up as a murderer?"
"It is my business to follow the details of Continental crime. Who could possibly have read what happened at Prague and have
any doubts as to the man's guilt! It was a purely technical legal point and the suspicious death of a witness that saved him! I am
as sure that he killed his wife when the so- called 'accident' happened in the Splugen Pass as if I had seen him do it. I knew,
also, that he had come to England and had a presentiment that sooner or later he would find me some work to do. Well, what
has Baron Gruner been up to? I presume it is not this old tragedy which has come up again?"
"No, it is more serious than that. To revenge crime is important, but to prevent it is more so. It is a terrible thing, Mr. Holmes,
to see a dreadful event, an atrocious situation, preparing itself before your eyes, to clearly understand whither it will lead and
yet to be utterly unable to avert it. Can a human being be placed in a more trying position?"
"Perhaps not."
59
"Then you will sympathize with the client in whose interests I am acting."
"I did not understand that you were merely an intermediary. Who is the principal?"
"Mr. Holmes, I must beg you not to press that question. It is important that I should be able to assure him that his honoured
name has been in no way dragged into the matter. His motives are, to the last degree, honourable and chivalrous, but he prefers
to remain unknown. I need not say that your fees will be assured and that you will be given a perfectly free hand. Surely the
actual name of your client is immaterial?"
"I am sorry," said Holmes. "I am accustomed to have mystery at one end of my cases, but to have it at both ends is too
confusing. I fear, Sir James, that I must decline to act."
Our visitor was greatly disturbed. His large, sensitive face was darkened with emotion and disappointment.
"You hardly realize the effect of your own action, Mr. Holmes," said he. "You place me in a most serious dilemma for I am
perfectly certain that you would be proud to take over the case if I could give you the facts, and yet a promise forbids me from
revealing them all. May I, at least, lay all that I can before you?"
"By all means, so long as it is understood that I commit myself to nothing."
"That is understood. In the first place, you have no doubt heard of General de Merville?"
"De Merville of Khyber fame? Yes, I have heard of him."
"He has a daughter, Violet de Merville, young, rich, beautiful, accomplished, a wonder-woman in every way. It is this daughter,
this lovely, innocent girl, whom we are endeavouring to save from the clutches of a fiend."
"Baron Gruner has some hold over her, then?"
"The strongest of all holds where a woman is concerned -- the hold of love. The fellow is, as you may have heard,
extraordinarily handsome, with a most fascinating manner. a gentle voice and that air of romance and mystery which means so
much to a woman. He is said to have the whole sex at his mercy and to have made ample use of the fact."
"But how came such a man to meet a lady of the standing of Miss Violet de Merville?"
"It was on a Mediterranean yachting voyage. The company, though select, paid their own passages. No doubt the promoters
hardly realized the Baron's true character until it was too late. The villain attached himself to the lady, and with such effect that
he has completely and absolutely won her heart. To say that she loves him hardly expresses it. She dotes upon him, she is
obsessed by him. Outside of him there is nothing on earth. She will not hear one word against him. Everything has been done to
cure her of her madness, but in vain. To sum up, she proposes to marry him next month. As she is of age and has a will of iron,
it is hard to know how to prevent her."
"Does she know about the Austrian episode?"
"The cunning devil has told her every unsavoury public scandal of his past life, but always in such a way as to make himself out
to be an innocent martyr. She absolutely accepts his version and will listen to no other."
"Dear me! But surely you have inadvertently let out the name of your client? It is no doubt General de Merville."
Our visitor fidgeted in his chair.
"I could deceive you by saying so, Mr. Holmes, but it would not be true. De Merville is a broken man. The strong soldier has
been utterly demoralized by this incident. He has lost the nerve which never failed him on the battlefield and has become a
weak, doddering old man, utterly incapable of contending with a brilliant, forceful rascal like this Austrian. My client however is
an old friend, one who has known the General intimately for many years and taken a paternal interest in this young girl since she
60
wore short frocks. He cannot see this tragedy consummated without some attempt to stop it. There is nothing in which
Scotland Yard can act. It was his own suggestion that you should be called in, but it was, as I have said, on the express
stipulation that he should not be personally involved in the matter. I have no doubt, Mr. Holmes, with your great powers you
could easily trace my client back through me, but I must ask you, as a point of honour, to refrain from doing so, and not to
break in upon his incognito."
Holmes gave a whimsical smile.
"I think I may safely promise that," said he. "I may add that your problem interests me, and that I shall be prepared to look into
it. How shall I keep in touch with you?"
"The Carlton Club will find me. But in case of emergency, there is a private telephone call, 'XX.31.' "
Holmes noted it down and sat, still smiling, with the open memorandum-book upon his knee.
"The Baron's present address, please?"
"Vernon Lodge, near Kingston. It is a large house. He has been fortunate in some rather shady speculations and is a rich man,
which naturally makes him a more dangerous antagonist."
"Is he at home at present?"
"Yes."
"Apart from what you have told me, can you give me any further information about the man?"
"He has expensive tastes. He is a horse fancier. For a short time he played polo at Hurlingham, but then this Prague affair got
noised about and he had to leave. He collects books and pictures. He is a man with a considerable artistic side to his nature.
He is, I believe, a recognized authority upon Chinese pottery and has written a book upon the subject."
"A complex mind," said Holmes. "All great criminals have that. My old friend Charlie Peace was a violin virtuoso. Wainwright
was no mean artist. I could quote many more. Well, Sir James, you will inform your client that I am turning my mind upon
Baron Gruner. I can say no more. I have some sources of information of my own, and I dare say we may find some means of
opening the matter up."
When our visitor had left us Holmes sat so long in deep thought that it seemed to me that he had forgotten my presence. At
last, however, he came briskly back to earth.
"Well, Watson, any views?" he asked.
"I should think you had better see the young lady herself."
"My dear Watson, if her poor old broken father cannot move her, how shall I, a stranger, prevail? And yet there is something
in the suggestion if all else fails. But I think we must begin from a different angle. I rather fancy that Shinwell Johnson might be a
help."
I have not had occasion to mention Shinwell Johnson in these memoirs because I have seldom drawn my cases from the latter
phases of my friend's career . During the first years of the century he became a valuable assistant. Johnson, I grieve to say,
made his name first as a very dangerous villain and served two terms at Parkhurst. Finally he repented and allied himself to
Holmes, acting as his agent in the huge criminal underworld of London and obtaining information which often proved to be of
vital importance. Had Johnson been a "nark" of the police he would soon have been exposed, but as he dealt with cases which
never came directly into the courts, his activities were never realized by his companions. With the glamour of his two
convictions upon him, he had the entree of every night-club, doss house, and gambling- den in the town, and his quick
observation and active brain made him an ideal agent for gaining information. It was to him that Sherlock Holmes now
61
proposed to turn.
It was not possible for me to follow the immediate steps taken by my friend, for I had some pressing professional business of
my own, but I met him by appointment that evening at Simpson's, where, sitting at a small table in the front window and looking
down at the rushing stream of life in the Strand, he told me something of what had passed.
"Johnson is on the prowl," said he. "He may pick up some garbage in the darker recesses of the underworld, for it is down
there, amid the black roots of crime, that we must hunt for this man's secrets."
"But if the lady will not accept what is already known, why should any fresh discovery of yours turn her from her purpose?"
"Who knows, Watson? Woman's heart and mind are insoluble puzzles to the male. Murder might be condoned or explained,
and yet some smaller offence might rankle. Baron Gruner remarked to me --"
"He remarked to you!"
"Oh, to be sure, I had not told you of my plans. Well, Watson, I love to come to close grips with my man. I like to meet him
eye to eye and read for myself the stuff that he is made of. When I had given Johnson his instructions I took a cab out to
Kingston and found the Baron in a most affable mood."
"Did he recognize you?"
"There was no difficulty about that, for I simply sent in my card. He is an excellent antagonist, cool as ice, silky voiced and
soothing as one of your fashionable consultants, and poisonous as a cobra. He has breeding in him -- a real aristocrat of crime
with a superficial suggestion of afternoon tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it. Yes, I am glad to have had my attention
called to Baron Adelbert Gruner."
"You say he was affable?"
"A purring cat who thinks he sees prospective mice. Some people's affability is more deadly than the violence of coarser souls.
His greeting was characteristic. 'I rather thought I should see you sooner or later, Mr. Holmes,' said he. 'You have been
engaged, no doubt by General de Merville, to endeavour to stop my marriage with his daughter, Violet. That is so, is it not?'
"I acquiesced.
" 'My dear man,' said he. 'you will only ruin your own well-deserved reputation. It is not a case in which you can possibly
succeed. You will have barren work, to say nothing of incurring some danger. Let me very strongly advise you to draw off at
once.'
" 'It is curious,' I answered, 'but that was the very advice which I had intended to give you. I have a respect for your brains,
Baron, and the little which I have seen of your personality has not lessened it. Let me put it to you as man to man. No one
wants to rake up your past and make you unduly uncomfortable. It is over, and you are now in smooth waters, but if you
persist in this marriage you will raise up a swarm of powerful enemies who will never leave you alone until they have made
England too hot to hold you. Is the game worth it? Surely you would be wiser if you left the lady alone. It would not be
pleasant for you if these facts of your past were brought to her notice.'
"The Baron has little waxed tips of hair under his nose, like the short antennae of an insect. These quivered with amusement as
he listened, and he finally broke into a gentle chuckle.
" 'Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes,' said he, 'but it is really funny to see you trying to play a hand with no cards in it. I don't
think anyone could do it better, but it is rather pathetic all the same. Not a colour card there, Mr. Holmes, nothing but the
smallest of the small.'
" 'So you think.'
62
" 'So I know. Iet me make the thing clear to you, for my own hand is so strong that I can afford to show it. I have been
fortunate enough to win the entire affection of this lady. This was given to me in spite of the fact that I told her very clearly of all
the unhappy incidents in my past life. I also told her that certain wicked and designing persons -- I hope you recognize yourself
-- would come to her and tell her these things. and I warned her how to treat them. You have heard of post-hypnotic
suggestion. Mr. Holmes ' Well you will see how it works for a man of personality can use hypnotism without any vulgar passes
or tomfoolery. So she is ready for you and, I have no doubt, would give you an appointment, for she is quite amenable to her
father's will -- save only in the one little matter.'
"Well, Watson, there seemed to be no more to say, so I took my leave with as much cold dignity as I could summon, but, as I
had my hand on the door-handle, he stopped me.
" 'By the way, Mr. Holmes,' said he, 'did you know Le Brun, the French agent?'
" 'Yes,' said I.
" 'Do you know what befell him?'
"'I heard that he was beaten by some Apaches in the Montmartre district and crippled for life.'
" 'Quite true, Mr. Holmes. By a curious coincidence he had been inquiring into my affairs only a week before. Don't do it, Mr.
Holmes; it's not a lucky thing to do. Several have found that out. My last word to you is, go your own way and let me go mine.
Good-bye!'
"So there you are, Watson. You are up to date now."
"The fellow seems dangerous."
"Mighty dangerous. I disregard the blusterer, but this is the sort of man who says rather less than he means."
"Must you interfere? Does it really matter if he marries the girl?"
"Considering that he undoubtedly murdered his last wife, I should say it mattered very much. Besides, the client! Well, well, we
need not discuss that. When you have finished your coffee you had best come home with me, for the blithe Shinwell will be
there with his report."
We found him sure enough, a huge, coarse, red-faced, scorbutic man, with a pair of vivid black eyes which were the only
external sign of the very cunning mind within. It seems that he had dived down into what was peculiarly his kingdom, and
beside him on the settee was a brand which he had brought up in the shape of a slim, flame-like young woman with a pale,
intense face, youthful, and yet so worn with sin and sorrow that one read the terrible years which had left their leprous mark
upon her.
"This is Miss Kitty Winter," said Shinwell Johnson, waving his fat hand as an introduction. "What she don't know -- well, there,
she'll speak for herself. Put my hand right on her, Mr. Holmes, within an hour of your message."
"I'm easy to find," said the young woman. "Hell, London, gets me every time. Same address for Porky Shinwell. We're old
mates, Porky, you and I. But, by cripes! there is another who ought to be down in a lower hell than we if there was any justice
in the world! That is the man you are after, Mr. Holmes."
Holmes smiled. "I gather we have your good wishes, Miss Winter."
"If I can help to put him where he belongs, I'm yours to the rattle," said our visitor with fierce energy. There was an intensity of
hatred in her white, set face and her blazing eyes such as woman seldom and man never can attain.
"You needn't go into my past, Mr. Holmes. That's neither here nor there. But what I am Adelbert Gruner made me. If I could
pull him down!" She clutched frantically with her hands into the air. "Oh, if I could only pull him into the pit where he has
63
pushed so many!"
"You know how the matter stands?"
"Porky Shinwell has been telling me. He's after some other poor fool and wants to marry her this time. You want to stop it.
Well, you surely know enough about this devil to prevent any decent girl in her senses wanting to be in the same parish with
him."
"She is not in her senses. She is madly in love. She has been told all about him. She cares nothing."
"Told about the murder?"
"Yes."
"My Lord, she must have a nerve!"
"She puts them all down as slanders."
"Couldn't you lay proofs before her silly eyes?"
"Well, can you help us do so?"
"Ain't I a proof myself? If I stood before her and told her how he used me --"
"Would you do this?"
"Would I? Would I not!"
"Well, it might be worth trying. But he has told her most of his sins and had pardon from her, and I understand she will not
reopen the question."
"I'll lay he didn't tell her all," said Miss Winter. "I caught a glimpse of one or two murders besides the one that made such a
fuss. He would speak of someone in his velvet way and then look at me with a steady eye and say: 'He died within a month.' It
wasn't hot air, either. But I took little notice -- you see, I loved him myself at that time. Whatever he did went with me, same as
with this poor fool! There was just one thing that shook me. Yes, by cripes! if it had not been for his poisonous, lying tongue
that explains and soothes. I'd have left him that very night. It's a book he has -- a brown leather book with a lock, and his arms
in gold on the outside. I think he was a bit drunk that night, or he would not have shown it to me."
"What was it, then?"
"I tell you. Mr. Holmes. this man collects women, and takes a pride in his collection. as some men collect moths or butterflies.
He had it all in that book. Snapshot photographs. names, details, everything about them. It was a beastly book -- a book no
man, even if he had come from the gutter, could have put together. But it was Adelbert Gruner's book all the same. 'Souls I
have ruined.' He could have put that on the outside if he had been so minded. However, that's neither here nor there, for the
book would not serve you, and, if it would, you can't get it."
"Where is it?"
"How can I tell you where it is now? It's more than a year since I left him. I know where he kept it then. He's a precise, tidy cat
of a man in many of his ways, so maybe it is still in the pigeon-hole of the old bureau in the inner study. Do you know his
house?"
"I've been in the study," said Holmes.
"Have you. though? You haven't been slow on the job if you only started this morning. Maybe dear Adelbert has met his match
this time. The outer study is the one with the Chinese crockery in it -- big glass cupboard between the windows. Then behind
64
his desk is the door that leads to the inner study -- a small room where he keeps papers and things."
"Is he not afraid of burglars?"
"Adelbert is no coward. His worst enemy couldn't say that of him. He can look after himself. There's a burglar alarm at night.
Besides, what is there for a burglar -- unless they got away with all this fancy crockery?"
"No good," said Shinwell Johnson with the decided voice of the expert. "No fence wants stuff of that sort that you can neither
melt nor sell."
"Quite so," said Holmes. "Well, now, Miss Winter. if you would call here to- morrow evening at five. I would consider in the
meanwhile whether your suggestion of seeing this lady personally may not be arranged. I am exceedingly obliged to you lor
vour cooperation. I need not say that my clients will consider liberally --"
"None of that, Mr. Holmes," cried the young woman. "I am not out for money. Let me see this man in the mud, and I've got all
I've worked for -- in the mud with my foot on his cursed face. That's my price. I'm with you to- morrow or any other day so
long as you are on his track. Porky here can tell you always where to find me."
I did not see Holmes again until the following evening when we dined once more at our Strand restaurant. He shrugged his
shoulders when I asked him what luck he had had in his interview. Then he told the story, which I would repeat in this way. His
hard, dry statement needs some little editing to soften it into the terms of real life.
"There was no difficulty at all about the appointment," said Holmes, "for the girl glories in showing abject filial obedience in all
secondary things in an attempt to atone for her flagrant breach of it in her engagement. The General phoned that all was ready,
and the fiery Miss W. turned up according to schedule, so that at half-past five a cab deposited us outside 104 Berkeley
Square, where the old soldier resides -- one of those awful gray London castles which would make a church seem frivolous. A
footman showed us into a great yellow-curtained drawing-room, and there was the lady awaiting us, demure, pale,
self-contained, as inflexible and remote as a snow image on a mountain.
"I don't quite know how to make her clear to you, Watson. Perhaps you may meet her before we are through, and you can use
your own gift of words. She is beautiful, but with the ethereal other-world beauty of some fanatic whose thoughts are set on
high. I have seen such faces in the pictures of the old masters of the Middle Ages. How a beastman could have laid his vile
paws upon such a being of the beyond I cannot imagine. You may have noticed how extremes call to each other, the spiritual
to the animal, the cave-man to the angel. You never saw a worse case than this.
"She knew what we had come for, of course -- that villain had lost no time in poisoning her mind against us. Miss Winter's
advent rather amazed her, I think, but she waved us into our respective chairs like a reverend abbess receiving two rather
leprous mendicants. If your head is inclined to swell. my dear Watson, take a course of Miss Violet de Merville.
" 'Well, sir,' said she in a voice like the wind from an iceberg, 'your name is familiar to me. You have called. as I understand, to
malign my fiance, Baron Gruner. It is only by my father's request that I see you at all, and I warn you in advance that anything
you can say could not possibly have the slightest effect upon my mind.'
"I was sorry for her, Watson. I thought of her for the moment as I would have thought of a daughter of my own. I am not often
eloquent. I use my head, not my heart. But I really did plead with her with all the warmth of words that I could find in my
nature. I pictured to her the awful position of the woman who only wakes to a man's character after she is his wife -- a woman
who has to submit to be caressed by bloody hands and lecherous lips. I spared her nothing -- the shame, the fear, the agony,
the hopelessness of it all. All my hot words could not bring one tinge of colour to those ivory cheeks or one gleam of emotion
to those abstracted eyes. I thought of what the rascal had said about a post-hypnotic influence. One could really believe that
she was living above the earth in some ecstatic dream. Yet there was nothing indefinite in her replies.
" 'I have listened to you with patience, Mr. Holmes,' said she. 'The effect upon my mind is exactly as predicted. I am aware that
Adelbert, that my fiance, has had a stormy life in which he has incurred bitter hatreds and most unjust aspersions. You are only
65
the last of a series who have brought their slanders before me. Possibly you mean well, though I learn that you are a paid agent
who would have been equally willing to act for the Baron as against him. But in any case I wish you to understand once for all
that I love him and that he loves me, and that the opinion of all the world is no more to me than the twitter of those birds
outside the window. If his noble nature has ever for an instant fallen, it may be that I have been specially sent to raise it to its
true and lofty level. I am not clear' -- here she turned eyes upon my companion -- 'who this young lady may be.'
"I was about to answer when the girl broke in like a whirlwind. If ever you saw flame and ice face to face, it was those two
women.
" 'I'll tell you who I am,' she cried, springing out of her chair, her mouth all twisted with passion -- 'I am his last mistress. I am
one of a hundred that he has tempted and used and ruined and thrown into the refuse heap, as he will you also. Your refuse
heap is more likely to be a grave, and maybe that's the best. I tell you, you foolish woman, if you marry this man he'll be the
death of you. It may be a broken heart or it may be a broken neck, but he'll have you one way or the other. It's not out of love
for you I'm speaking. I don't care a tinker's curse whether you live or die. It's out of hate for him and to spite him and to get
back on him for what he did to me. But it's all the same, and you needn't look at me like that, my fine lady, for you may be
lower than I am before you are through with it.'
" 'I should prefer not to discuss such matters,' said Miss de Merville coldly. 'Let me say once for all that I am aware of three
passages in my fiance's life in which he became entangled with designing women, and that I am assured of his hearty repentance
for any evil that he may have done.'
" 'Three passages!' screamed my companion. 'You fool! You unutterable fool!'
" 'Mr. Holmes, I beg that you will bring this interview to an end,' said the icy voice. 'I have obeyed my father's wish in seeing
you, but I am not compelled to listen to the ravings of this person.'
"With an oath Miss Winter darted forward, and if I had not caught her wrist she would have clutched this maddening woman
by the hair. I dragged her towards the door and was lucky to get her back into the cab without a public scene, for she was
beside herself with rage. In a cold way I felt pretty furious myself, Watson, for there was something indescribably annoying in
the calm aloofness and supreme self-complaisance of the woman whom we were trying to save. So now once again you know
exactly how we stand, and it is clear that I must plan some fresh opening move, for this gambit won't work. I'll keep in touch
with you, Watson, for it is more than likely that you will have your part to play, though it is just possible that the next move may
lie with them rather than with us."
And it did. Their blow fell -- or his blow rather, for never could I believe that the lady was privy to it. I think I could show you
the very paving-stone upon which I stood when my eyes fell upon the placard, and a pang of horror passed through my very
soul. It was between the Grand Hotel and Charing Cross Station, where a one-legged news-vender displayed his evening
papers. The date was just two days after the last conversation. There, black upon yellow, was the terrible news-sheet:
MURDEROUS ATTACK UPON
SHERLOCK HOLMES
I think I stood stunned for some moments. Then I have a confused recollection of snatching at a paper. of the remonstrance of
the man, whom I had not paid, and, finally, of standing in the doorway of a chemist's shop while I turned up the fateful
paragraph. This was how it ran:
We learn with regret that Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-known private
detective, was the victim this morning of a murderous assault which has
left him in a precarious position. There are no exact details to hand,
but the event seems to have occurred about twelve o'clock in Regent
Street, outside the Cafe Royal. The attack was made by two men armed with
sticks, and Mr. Holmes was beaten about the head and body, receiving
injuries which the doctors describe as most serious. He was carried to
Charing Cross Hospital and afterwards insisted upon being taken to his
rooms in Baker Street. The miscreants who attacked him appear to have
66
been respectably dressed men, who escaped from the bystanders by
passing through the Cafe Royal and out into Glasshouse Street behind it.
No doubt they belonged to that criminal fraternity which has so often had
occasion to bewail the activity and ingenuity of the injured man.
I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced over the paragraph before I had sprung into a hansom and was on my way to
Baker Street. I found Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon, in the hall and his brougham waiting at the curb.
"No immediate danger," was his report. "Two lacerated scalp wounds and some considerable bruises. Several stitches have
been necessary. Morphine has been injected and quiet is essential, but an interview of a few minutes would not be absolutely
forbidden."
With this permission I stole into the darkened room. The sufferer was wide awake, and I heard my name in a hoarse whisper.
The blind was three-quarters down, but one ray of sunlight slanted through and struck the bandaged head of the injured man. A
crimson patch had soaked through the white linen compress. I sat beside him and bent my head.
"All right, Watson. Don't look so scared," he muttered in a very weak voice. "It's not as bad as it seems."
"Thank God for that!"
"I'm a bit of a single-stick expert. as you know. I took most of them on my guard. It was the second man that was too much
for me."
"What can I do, Holmes? Of course, it was that damned fellow who set them on. I'll go and thrash the hide off him if you give
the word."
"Good old Watson! No, we can do nothing there unless the police lay their hands on the men. But their get-away had been
well prepared. We may be sure of that. Wait a little. I have my plans. The first thing is to exaggerate my injuries. They'll come
to you for news. Put it on thick, Watson. Lucky if I live the week out concussion delirium -- what you like! You can't overdo
it."
"But Sir Leslie Oakshott?"
"Oh, he's all right. He shall see the worst side of me. I'll look after that."
"Anything else?"
"Yes. Tell Shinwell Johnson to get that girl out of the way. Those beauties will be after her now. They know, of course, that she
was with me in the case. If they dared to do me in it is not likely they will neglect her. That is urgent. Do it to-night."
"I'll go now. Anything more?"
"Put my pipe on the table -- and the tobacco-slipper. Right! Come in each morning and we will plan our campaign."
I arranged with Johnson that evening to take Miss Winter to a quiet suburb and see that she lay low until the danger was past.
For six days the public were under the impression that Holmes was at the door of death. The bulletins were very grave and
there were sinister paragraphs in the papers. My continual visits assured me that it was not so bad as that. His wiry constitution
and his determined will were working wonders. He was recovering fast, and I had suspicions at times that he was really finding
himself faster than he pretended even to me. There was a curious secretive streak in the man which led to many dramatic
effects, but left even his closest friend guessing as to what his exact plans might be. He pushed to an extreme the axiom that the
only safe plotter was he who plotted alone. I was nearer him than anyone else, and yet I was always conscious of the gap
between.
On the seventh day the stitches were taken out, in spite of which there was a report of erysipelas in the evening papers. The
same evening papers had an announcement which I was bound, sick or well, to carry to my friend. It was simply that among
67
the passengers on the Cunard boat Ruritania, starting from Liverpool on Friday, was the Baron Adelbert Gruner, who had
some important financial business to settle in the States before his impending wedding to Miss Violet de Merville, only daughter
of, etc., etc. Holmes listened to the news with a cold, concentrated look upon his pale face, which told me that it hit him hard.
"Friday!" he cried. "Only three clear days. I believe the rascal wants to put himself out of danger's way. But he won't, Watson!
By the Lord Harry, he won't! Now, Watson, I want you to do something for me."
"I am here to be used, Holmes."
"Well, then, spend the next twenty-four hours in an intensive study of Chinese pottery."
He gave no explanations and I asked for none. By long experience I had learned the wisdom of obedience. But when I had left
his room I walked down Baker Street, revolving in my head how on earth I was to carry out so strange an order. Finally I
drove to the London Library in St. James's Square, put the matter to my friend Lomax, the sublibrarian, and departed to my
rooms with a goodly volume under my arm.
It is said that the barrister who crams up a case with such care that he can examine an expert witness upon the Monday has
forgotten all his forced knowledge before the Saturday. Certainly I should not like now to pose as an authority upon ceramics.
And yet all that evening, and all that night with a short interval for rest, and all next morning, I was sucking in knowledge and
committing names to memory. There I learned of the hall-marks of the great artist-decorators, of the mystery of cyclical dates,
the marks of the Hung-wu and the beauties of the Yung-lo, the writings of Tang-ying, and the glories of the primitive period of
the Sung and the Yuan. I was charged with all this information when I called upon Holmes next evening. He was out of bed
now, though you would not have guessed it from the published reports, and he sat with his much-bandaged head resting upon
his hand in the depth of his favourite armchair.
"Why, Holmes," I said, "if one believed the papers, you are dying. "
"That," said he, "is the very impression which I intended to convey. And now, Watson, have you learned your lessons?"
"At least I have tried to."
"Good. You could keep up an intelligent conversation on the subject?"
"I believe I could."
"Then hand me that little box from the mantelpiece."
He opened the lid and took out a small object most carefully wrapped in some fine Eastern silk. This he unfolded, and
disclosed a delicate little saucer of the most beautiful deep-blue colour.
"It needs careful handling, Watson. This is the real egg-shell pottery of the Ming dynasty. No finer piece ever passed through
Christie's. A complete set of this would be worth a king's ransom -- in fact, it is doubtful if there is a complete set outside the
imperial palace of Peking. The sight of this would drive a real connoisseur wild."
"What am I to do with it?"
Holmes handed me a card upon which was printed: "Dr. Hill Barton, 369 Half Moon Street."
"That is your name for the evening, Watson. You will call upon Baron Gruner. I know something of his habits, and at half-past
eight he would probably be disengaged. A note will tell him in advance that you are about to call, and you will say that you are
bringing him a specimen of an absolutely unique set of Ming china. You may as well be a medical man, since that is a part
which you can play without duplicity. You are a collector this set has come your way, you have heard of the Baron's interest in
the subject, and you are not averse to selling at a price."
"What price?"
68
"Well asked, Watson. You would certainly fall down badly if you did not know the value of your own wares. This saucer was
got for me by Sir James, and comes, I understand, from the collection of his client. You will not exaggerate if you say that it
could hardly be matched in the world."
"I could perhaps suggest that the set should be valued by an expert."
"Excellent, Watson! You scintillate to-day. Suggest Christie or Sotheby. Your delicacy prevents your putting a price for
yourself."
"But if he won't see me?"
"Oh, yes, he will see you. He has the collection mania in its most acute form -- and especially on this subject, on which he is an
acknowledged authority. Sit down, Watson, and I will dictate the letter. No answer needed. You will merely say that you are
coming, and why."
It was an admirable document, short, courteous, and stimulating to the curiosity of the connoisseur. A district messenger was
duly dispatched with it. On the same evening, with the precious saucer in my hand and the card of Dr. Hill Barton in my
pocket, I set off on my own adventure.
The beautiful house and grounds indicated that Baron Gruner was, as Sir James had said, a man of considerable wealth. A long
winding drive, with banks of rare shrubs on either side, opened out into a great gravelled square adorned with statues. The
place had been built by a South African gold king in the days of the great boom, and the long, low house with the turrets at the
corners, though an architectural nightmare, was imposing in its size and solidity. A butler, who would have adorned a bench of
bishops, showed me in and handed me over to a plush-clad footman, who ushered me into the Baron's presence.
He was standing at the open front of a great case which stood between the windows and which contained part of his Chinese
collection. He turned as I entered with a small brown vase in his hand.
"Pray sit down, Doctor," said he. "I was looking over my own treasures and wondering whether I could really afford to add to
them. This little Tang specimen, which dates from the seventh century, would probably interest you. I am sure you never saw
finer workmanship or a richer glaze. Have you the Ming saucer with you of which you spoke?"
I carefully unpacked it and handed it to him. He seated himself at his desk, pulled over the lamp, for it was growing dark, and
set himself to examine it. As he did so the yellow light beat upon his own features, and I was able to study them at my ease.
He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. His European reputation for beauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not
more than of middle size, but was built upon graceful and active lines. His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark,
languorous eyes which might easily hold an irresistible fascination for women. His hair and moustache were raven black, the
latter short, pointed, and carefully waxed. His features were regular and pleasing, save only his straight, thin-lipped mouth. If
ever I saw a murderer's mouth it was there -- a cruel, hard gash in the face, compressed, inexorable, and terrible. He was
ill-advised to train his moustache away from it, for it was Nature's danger-signal, set as a warning to his victims. His voice was
engaging and his manners perfect. In age I should have put him at little over thirty, though his record afterwards showed that he
was forty-two.
"Very fine -- very fine indeed!" he said at last. "And you say you have a set of six to correspond. What puzzles me is that I
should not have heard of such magnificent specimens. I only know of one in England to match this, and it is certainly not likely
to be in the market. Would it be indiscreet if I were to ask you, Dr. Hill Barton, how you obtained this?"
"Does it really matter?" I asked with as careless an air as I could muster.
"You can see that the piece is genuine, and, as to the value, I am content to take an expert's valuation."
"Very mysterious," said he with a quick, suspicious flash of his dark eyes. "In dealing with objects of such value, one naturally
wishes to know all about the transaction. That the piece is genuine is certain. I have no doubts at all about that. But suppose --
69
I am bound to take every possibility into account -- that it should prove afterwards that you had no right to sell?"
"I would guarantee you against any claim of the son."
"That, of course, would open up the question as to what your guarantee was worth."
"My bankers would answer that."
"Quite so. And yet the whole transaction strikes me as rather unusual."
"You can do business or not," said I with indifference. "I have given you the first offer as I understood that you were a
connoisseur, but I shall have no difficulty in other quaerers."
"Who told you I was a connoisseur?"
"I was aware that you had written a book upon the subject."
"Have you read the book?"
"No."
"Dear me, this becomes more and more difficult for me to understand! You are a connoisseur and collector with a very
valuable piece in your collection, and yet you have never troubled to consult the one book which would have told you of the
real meaning and value of what you held. How do you explain that?"
"I am a very busy man. I am a doctor in practice."
"That is no answer. If a man has a hobby he follows it up, whatever his other pursuits may be. You said in your note that you
were a connoisseur."
"So I am."
"Might I ask you a few questions to test you? I am obliged to tell you, Doctor -- if you are indeed a doctor -- that the incident
becomes more and more suspicious. I would ask you what do you know of the Emperor Shomu and how do you associate
him with the Shoso-in near Nara? Dear me, does that puzzle you? Tell me a little about the Nonhern Wei dynasty and its place
in the history of ceramics."
I sprang from my chair in simulated anger.
"This is intolerable, sir," said I. "I came here to do you a favour, and not to be examined as if I were a schoolboy. My
knowledge on these subjects may be second only to your own, but I certainly shall not answer questions which have been put
in so offensive a way."
He looked at me steadily. The languor had gone from his eyes. They suddenly glared. There was a gleam of teeth from
between those cruel lips.
"What is the game? You are here as a spy. You are an emissary of Holmes. This is a trick that you are playing upon me. The
fellow is dying I hear, so he sends his tools to keep watch upon me. You've made your way in here without leave, and, by
God! you may find it harder to get out than to get in."
He had sprung to his feet, and I stepped back, bracing myself for an attack, for the man was beside himself with rage. He may
have suspected me from the first; certainly this cross-examination had shown him the truth; but it was clear that I could not
hope to deceive him. He dived his hand into a side-drawer and rummaged furiously. Then something struck upon his ear, for he
stood listening intently.
"Ah!" he cried. "Ah!" and dashed into the room behind him.
70
Two steps took me to the open door, and my mind will ever carry a clear picture of the scene within. The window leading out
to the garden was wide open. Beside it, looking like some terrible ghost, his head gin with bloody bandages, his face drawn
and white, stood Sherlock Holmes. The next instant he was through the gap, and I heard the crash of his body among the laurel
bushes outside. With a howl of rage the master of the house rushed after him to the open window.
And then! It was done in an instant, and yet I clearly saw it. An arm -- a woman's arm -- shot out from among the leaves. At
the same instant the Baron uttered a horrible cry -- a yell which will always ring in my memory. He clapped his two hands to his
face and rushed round the room, beating his head horribly against the walls. Then he fell upon the carpet, rolling and writhing,
while scream after scream resounded through the house.
"Water! For God's sake, water!" was his cry.
I seized a carafe from a side-table and rushed to his aid. At the same moment the butler and several footmen ran in from the
hall. I remember that one of them fainted as I knelt by the injured man and turned that awful face to the light of the lamp. The
vitriol was eating into it everywhere and dripping from the ears and the chin. One eye was already white and glazed. The other
was red and inflamed. The features which I had admired a few minutes before were now like some beautiful painting over
which the artist has passed a wet and foul sponge. They were blurred, discoloured, inhuman, terrible.
In a few words I explained exactly what had occurred, so far as the vitriol attack was concerned. Some had climbed through
the window and others had rushed out on to the lawn, but it was dark and it had begun to rain. Between his screams the victim
raged and raved against the avenger. "It was that hell-cat, Kitty Winter!" he cried. "Oh, the she-devil! She shall pay for it! She
shall pay! Oh, God in heaven, this pain is more than I can bear!"
I bathed his face in oil, put cotton wadding on the raw surfaces, and administered a hypodermic of morphia. All suspicion of
me had passed from his mind in the presence of this shock, and he clung to my hands as if I might have the power even yet to
clear those dead-fish eyes which glazed up at me. I could have wept over the ruin had l not remembered very clearly the vile
life which had led up to so hideous a change. It was loathsome to feel the pawing of his burning hands, and I was relieved when
his family surgeon, closely followed by a specialist, came to relieve me of my charge. An inspector of police had also arrived,
and to him I handed my real card. It would have been useless as well as foolish to do otherwise, for I was nearly as well
known by sight at the Yard as Holmes himself. Then I left that house of gloom and terror. Within an hour I was at Baker
Street.
Holmes was seated in his familiar chair, looking very pale and exhausted. Apart from his injuries, even his iron nerves had been
shocked by the events of the evening, and he listened with horror to my account of the Baron's transformation.
"The wages of sin, Watson -- the wages of sin!" said he. "Sooner or later it will always come. God knows, there was sin
enough," he added, taking up a brown volume from the table. "Here is the book the woman talked of. If this will not break off
the marriage, nothing ever could. But it will, Watson. It must. No self-respecting woman could stand it."
"It is his love diary?"
"Or his lust diary. Call it what you will. The moment the woman told us of it I realized what a tremendous weapon was there if
we could but lay our hands on it. I said nothing at the time to indicate my thoughts, for this woman might have given it away.
But I brooded over it. Then this assault upon me gave me the chance of letting the Baron think that no precautions need be
taken against me. That was all to the good. I would have waited a little longer, but his visit to America forced my hand. He
would never have left so compromising a document behind him. Therefore we had to act at once. Burglary at night is
impossible. He takes precautions. But there was a chance in the evening if I could only be sure that his attention was engaged.
That was where you and your blue saucer came in. But I had to be sure of the position of the book, and I knew I had only a
few minutes in which to act, for my time was limited by your knowledge of Chinese pottery. Therefore I gathered the girl up at
the last moment. How could I guess what the little packet was that she carried so carefully under her cloak? I thought she had
come altogether on my business, but it seems she had some of her own."
"He guessed I came from you."
71
"I feared he would. But you held him in play just long enough for me to get the book, though not long enough for an
unobserved escape. Ah, Sir James, I am very glad you have come!"
Our courtly friend had appeared in answer to a previous summons. He listened with the deepest attention to Holmes's account
of what had occurred.
"You have done wonders -- wonders!" he cried when he had heard the narrative. "But if these injuries are as terrible as Dr.
Watson describes, then surely our purpose of thwarting the marriage is sufficiently gained without the use of this horrible book."
Holmes shook his head.
"Women of the De Merville type do not act like that. She would love him the more as a disfigured martyr. No, no. It is his
moral side, not his physical, which we have to destroy. That book will bring her back to earth -- and I know nothing else that
could. It is in his own writing. She cannot get past it."
Sir James carried away both it and the precious saucer. As I was myself overdue, I went down with him into the street. A
brougham was waiting for him. He sprang in, gave a hurried order to the cockaded coachman, and drove swiftly away. He
flung his overcoat half out of the window to cover the armorial bearings upon the panel, but I had seen them in the glare of our
fanlight none the less. I gasped with surprise. Then I turned back and ascended the stair to Holmes's room.
"I have found out who our client is," I cried, bursting with my great news. "Why, Holmes, it is --"
"It is a loyal friend and a chivalrous gentleman," said Holmes, holding up a restraining hand. "Let that now and forever be
enough for us."
I do not know how the incriminating book was used. Sir James may have managed it. Or it is more probable that so delicate a
task was entrusted to the young lady's father. The effect, at any rate, was all that could be desired.
Three days later appeared a paragraph in the Morning Post to say that the marriage between Baron Adelbert Gruner and Miss
Violet de Merville would not take place. The same paper had the first police-court hearing of the proceedings against Miss
Kitty Winter on the grave charge of vitriol-throwing. Such extenuating circumstances came out in the trial that the sentence, as
will be remembered was the lowest that was possible for such an offence. Sherlock Holmes was threatened with a prosecution
for burglary, but when an object is good and a client is sufficiently illustrious, even the rigid British law becomes human and
elastic. My friend has not yet stood in the dock.
The Adventure of the Three Gables
I don't think that any of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes opened quite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that which I
associate with The Three Gables. I had not seen Holmes for some days and had no idea of the new channel into which his
activities had been directed. He was in a chatty mood that morning, however, and had just settled me into the well-worn low
armchair on one side of the fire, while he had curled down with his pipe in his mouth upon the opposite chair, when our visitor
arrived. If I had said that a mad bull had arrived it would give a clearer impression of what occurred.
The door had flown open and a huge negro had burst into the room. He would have been a comic figure if he had not been
terrific, for he was dressed in a very loud gray check suit with a flowing salmon-coloured tie. His broad face and flattened nose
were thrust forward, as his sullen dark eyes, with a smouldering gleam of malice in them, turned from one of us to the other.
"Which of you gen'l'men is Masser Holmes?" he asked.
Holmes raised his pipe with a languid smile.
"Oh! it's you, is it?" said our visitor, coming with an un- pleasant, stealthy step round the angle of the table. "See here, Masser
Holmes, you keep your hands out of other folks' busi- ness. Leave folks to manage their own affairs. Got that, Masser
Holmes?"
72
"Keep on talking," said Holmes. "It's fine."
"Oh! it's fine, is it?" growled the savage. "It won't be so damn fine if I have to trim you up a bit. I've handled your kind before
now, and they didn't look fine when I was through with them. Look at that, Masser Holmes!"
He swung a huge knotted lump of a fist under my friend's nose. Holmes examined it closely with an air of great interest.
"Were you born so?" he asked. "Or did it come by degrees?"
It may have been the icy coolness of my friend, or it may have been the slight clatter which I made as I picked up the poker. In
any case, our visitor's manner became less flamboyant.
"Well, I've given you fair warnin'," said he. "I've a friend that's interested out Harrow way -- you know what I'm meaning --
and he don't intend to have no buttin' in by you. Got that? You ain't the law, and I ain't the law either, and if you come in I'll be
on hand also. Don't you forget it."
"I've wanted to meet you for some time," said Holmes. "I won't ask you to sit down, for I don't like the smell of you, but aren't
you Steve Dixie, the bruiser?"
"That's my name, Masser Holmes, and you'll get put through it for sure if you give me any lip."
"It is certainly the last thing you need," said Holmes, staring at our visitor's hideous mouth. "But it was the killing of young
Perkins outside the Holborn -- Bar What! you're not going?"
The negro had sprung back, and his face was leaden. "I won't listen to no such talk," said he. "What have I to do with this 'ere
Perkins, Masser Holmes? I was trainin' at the Bull Ring in Birmingham when this boy done gone get into trouble."
"Yes, you'll tell the magistrate about it, Steve," said Holmes. "I've been watching you and Barney Stockdale --"
"So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes --"
"That's enough. Get out of it. I'll pick you up when I want you."
"Good-mornin', Masser Holmes. I hope there ain't no hard feelin's about this 'ere visit?"
"There will be unless you tell me who sent you."
"Why, there ain't no secret about that, Masser Holmes. It was that same gen'l'man that you have just done gone mention."
"And who set him on to it?"
"S'elp me. I don't know, Masser Holmes. He just say, 'Steve, you go see Mr. Holmes, and tell him his life ain't safe if he go
down Harrow way.' That's the whole truth." Without waiting for any further questioning, our visitor bolted out of the room
almost as precipitately as he had entered. Holmes knocked out the ashes of his pipe with a quiet chuckle.
"I am glad you were not forced to break his woolly head, Watson. I observed your manoeuvres with the poker. But he is really
rather a harmless fellow, a great muscular, foolish, blus- tering baby, and easily cowed, as you have seen. He is one of the
Spencer John gang and has taken part in some dirty work of late which I may clear up when I have time. His immediate
principal, Barney, is a more astute person. They specialize in assaults, intimidation, and the like. What I want to know is, who is
at the back of them on this panicular occasion?"
"But why do they want to intimidate you?"
"It is this Harrow Weald case. It decides me to look into the matter, for if it is worth anyone's while to take so much trouble,
there must be something in it."
73
"But what is it?"
"I was going to tell you when we had this comic interlude. Here is Mrs. Maberley's note. If you care to come with me we will
wire her and go out at once."
DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES [I read]:
I have had a succession of strange incidents occur to me
in connection with this house, and I should much value your
advice. You would find me at home any time to-morrow.
The house is within a short walk of the Weald Station. I
believe that my late husband, Mortimer Maberley, was one
of your early clients.
Yours faithfully,
MARY MABERLEY.
The address was "The Three Gables, Harrow Weald."
"So that's that!" said Holmes. "And now, if you can spare the time, Watson, we will get upon our way."
A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, brought us to the house, a brick and timber villa, standing in its own acre of
undeveloped grassland. Three small projections above. the upper windows made a feeble attempt to justify its name. Behind
was a grove of melancholy, half-grown pines, and the whole aspect of the place was poor and depressing. None the less, we
found the house to be well furnished, and the lady who received us was a most engaging elderly person, who bore every mark
of refine- ment and culture.
"I remember your husband well, madam," said Holmes, "though it is some years since he used my services in some trifling
matter."
"Probably you would be more familiar with the name of my son Douglas."
Holmes looked at her with great interest.
"Dear me! Are you the mother of Douglas Maberley? I knew him slightly. But of course all London knew him. What a
magnificent creature he was! Where is he now?"
"Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was attache at Rome, and he died there of pneumonia last month."
"I am sorry. One could not connect death with such a man. I have never known anyone so vitally alive. He lived intensely --
every fibre of him!"
"Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin of him. You remember him as he was -- debonair and splendid. You did not see
the moody, morose, brooding creature into which he devel- oped. His heart was broken. In a single month I seemed to see my
gallant boy turn into a worn-out cynical man."
"A love affair -- a woman?"
"Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor lad that I asked you to come, Mr. Holmes."
"Dr. Watson and I are at your service."
"There have been some very strange happenings. I have been in this house more than a year now, and as I wished to lead a
retired life I have seen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had a call from a man who said that he was a house agent. He
said that this house would exactly suit a client of his, and that if I would part with it money would be no object. It seemed to me
very strange as there are several empty houses on the market which appear to be equally eligible, but naturally I was interested
in what he said. I therefore named a price which was five hundred pounds more than I gave. He at once closed with the offer,
74
but added that his client desired to buy the furniture as well and would I put a price upon it. Some of this furniture is from my
old home, and it is, as you see, very good, so that I named a good round sum. To this also he at once agreed. I had always
wanted to travel, and the bargain was so good a one that it really seemed that I should be my own mistress for the rest of my
life.
"Yesterday the man arrived with the agreement all drawn out. Luckily I showed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer, who lives in
Harrow. He said to me, 'This is a very strange document. Are you aware that if you sign it you could not legally take anything
out of the house -- not even your own private possessions?' When the man came again in the evening I pointed this out, and I
said that I meant only to sell the furniture.
" 'No, no, everything,' said he.
" 'But my clothes? My jewels?'
" 'Well, well, some concession might be made for your per- sonal effects. But nothing shall go out of the house unchecked. My
client is a very liberal man, but he has his fads and his own way of doing things. It is everything or nothing with him.'
" 'Then it must be nothing,' said I. And there the matter was left, but the whole thing seemed to me to be so unusual that I
thought --"
Here we had a very extraordinary interruption.
Holmes raised his hand for silence. Then he strode across the room, flung open the door, and dragged in a great gaunt woman
whom he had seized by the shoulder. She entered with ungainly struggle like some huge awkward chicken, torn, squawking,
out of its coop.
"Leave me alone! What are you a-doin' of?" she screeched.
"Why, Susan, what is this?"
"Well, ma'am, I was comin' in to ask if the visitors was stayin' for lunch when this man jumped out at me."
"I have been listening to her for the last five minutes, but did not wish to interrupt your most interesting narrative. Just a little
wheezy, Susan, are you not? You breathe too heavily for that kind of work."
Susan turned a sulky but amazed face upon her captor. "Who be you, anyhow, and what right have you a-pullin' me about like
this?"
"It was merely that I wished to ask a question in your presence. Did you, Mrs. Maberley, mention to anyone that you were
going to write to me and consult me?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, I did not."
"Who posted your letter?"
"Susan did."
"Exactly. Now, Susan, to whom was it that you wrote or sent a message to say that your mistress was asking advice from me?"
"It's a lie. I sent no message."
"Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, you know. It's a wicked thing to tell fibs. Whom did you tell?"
"Susan!" cried her mistress, "I believe you are a bad, treach- erous woman. I remember now that I saw you speaking to
someone over the hedge."
75
"That was my own business," said the woman sullenly.
"Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stockdale to whom you spoke?" said Holmes.
"Well, if you know, what do you want to ask for?"
"I was not sure, but I know now. Well now, Susan, it will be worth ten pounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of
Barney."
"Someone that could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten you have in the world."
"So, a rich man? No; you smiled -- a rich woman. Now we have got so far, you may as well give the name and earn the
tenner."
"I'll see you in hell first."
"Oh, Susan! Language!"
"I am clearing out of here. I've had enough of you all. I'll send for my box to-morrow." She flounced for the door.
"Good-bye, Susan. Paregoric is the stuff.... Now," he continued, turning suddenly from lively to severe when the door had
closed behind the flushed and angry woman, "this gang means business. Look how close they play the game. Your letter to me
had the 10 P.M. postmark. And yet Susan passes the word to Barney. Barney has time to go to his employer and get
instructions; he or she -- I incline to the latter from Susan's grin when she thought I had blundered -- forms a plan. Black Steve
is called in, and I am warned off by eleven o'clock next morning. That's quick work, you know."
"But what do they want?"
"Yes, that's the question. Who had the house before you?"
"A retired sea captain called Ferguson."
"Anything remarkable about him?"
"Not that ever I heard of."
"I was wondering whether he could have buried something. Of course, when people bury treasure nowadays they do it in the
Post-Office bank. But there are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull world without them. At first I thought of some
buried valuable. But why, in that case, should they want your furniture? You don't happen to have a Raphael or a first folio
Shakespeare without knowing it?"
"No, I don't think I have anything rarer than a Crown Derby tea-set."
"That would hardly justify all this mystery. Besides, why should they not openly state what they want? If they covet your
tea-set, they can surely offer a price for it without buying you out, lock, stock, and barrel. No, as I read it, there is something
which you do not know that you have, and which you would not give up if you did know."
"That is how I read it," said I.
"Dr. Watson agrees, so that settles it."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, what can it be?"
"Let us see whether by this purely mental analysis we can get it to a finer point. You have been in this house a year."
"Nearly two."
76
"All the better. During this long period no one wants anything from you. Now suddenly within three or four days you have
urgent demands. What would you gather from that?"
"It can only mean," said I, "that the object, whatever it may be, has only just come into the house."
"Settled once again," said Holmes. "Now, Mrs. Maberley has any object just arrived?"
"No, I have bought nothing new this year."
"Indeed! That is very remarkable. Well, I think we had best let matters develop a little further until we have clearer data. Is that
lawyer of yours a capable man?"
"Mr. Sutro is most capable."
"Have you another maid, or was the fair Susan, who has just banged your front door alone?"
"I have a young girl."
"Try and get Sutro to spend a night or two in the house. You might possibly want protection."
"Against whom?"
"Who knows? The matter is certainly obscure. If I can't find what they are after, I must approach the matter from the other end
and try to get at the principal. Did this house-agent man give any address?"
"Simply his card and occupation. Haines-Johnson, Auctioneer and Valuer."
"I don't think we shall find him in the directory. Honest business men don't conceal their place of business. Well, you will let me
know any fresh development. I have taken up your case, and you may rely upon it that I shall see it through."
As we passed through the hall Holmes's eyes, which missed nothing, lighted upon several trunks and cases which were piled in
a corner. The labels shone out upon them.
" 'Milano.' 'Lucerne.' These are from Italy."
"They are poor Douglas's things."
"You have not unpacked them? How long have you had them?"
"They arrived last week."
"But you said -- why, surely this might be the missing link. How do we know that there is not something of value there?"
"There could not possibly be, Mr. Holmes. Poor Douglas had only his pay and a small annuity. What could he have of value?"
Holmes was lost in thought.
"Delay no longer, Mrs. Maberley," he said at last. "Have these things taken upstairs to your bedroom. Examine them as soon
as possible and see what they cohtain. I will come to- morrow and hear your report."
It was quite evident that The Three Gables was under very close surveillance, for as we came round the high hedge at the end
of the lane there was the negro prize-fighter standing in the shadow. We came on him quite suddenly, and a grim and menacing
figure he looked in that lonely place. Holmes clapped his hand to his pocket.
"Lookin' for your gun, Masser Holmes?"
"No, for my scent-bottle, Steve."
77
"You are funny, Masser Holmes, ain't you?"
"It won't be funny for you, Steve, if I get after you. I gave you fair warning this morning."
"Well, Masser Holmes, I done gone think over what you said, and I don't want no more talk about that affair of Masser
Perkins. S'pose I can help you, Masser Holmes, I will."
"Well, then, tell me who is behind you on this job."
"So help me the Lord! Masser Holmes, I told you the truth before. I don't know. My boss Barney gives me orders and that's
all."
"Well, just bear in mind, Steve, that the lady in that house, and everything under that roof, is under my protection. Don't forget
it."
"All right, Masser Holmes. I'll remember."
"I've got him thoroughly frightened for his own skin, Wat- son," Holmes remarked as we walked on. "I think he would
double-cross his employer if he knew who he was. It was lucky I had some knowledge of the Spencer John crowd, and that
Steve was one of them. Now, Watson, this is a case for Langdale Pike, and I am going to see him now. When I get back I
may be clearer in the matter."
I saw no more of Holmes during the day, but I could well imagine how he spent it, for Langdale Pike was his human book of
reference upon all matters of social scandal. This strange, languid creature spent his waking hours in the bow window of a St.
James's Street club and was the receiving- station as well as the transmitter for all the gossip of the metropolis. He made, it was
said, a four-figure income by the paragraphs which he contributed every week to the gar- bage papers which cater to an
inquisitive public. If ever, far down in the turbid depths of London life, there was some strange swirl or eddy, it was marked
with automatic exact- ness by this human dial upon the surface. Holmes discreetly helped Langdale to knowledge, and on
occasion was helped in turn.
When I met my friend in his room early next morning, I was conscious from his bearing that all was well, but none the less a
most unpleasant surprise was awaiting us. It took the shape of the following telegram.
Please come out at once. Client's house burgled in the
night. Police in possession.
SUTRO.
Holmes whistled. "The drama has come to a crisis, and quicker than I had expected. There is a great driving-power at the back
of this business, Watson, which does not surprise me after what I have heard. This Sutro, of course, is her lawyer. I made a
mistake, I fear, in not asking you to spend the night on guard. This fellow has clearly proved a broken reed. Well, there is
nothing for it but another journey to Harrow Weald."
We found The Three Gables a very different establishment to the orderly household of the previous day. A small group of
idlers had assembled at the garden gate, while a couple of constables were examining the windows and the geranium beds.
Within we met a gray old gentleman, who introduced himself as the lawyer together with a bustling, rubicund inspector, who
greeted Hoimes as an old friend.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, no chance for you in this case, I'm afraid. Just a common, ordinary burglary, and well within the capacity of
the poor old police. No experts need apply."
"I am sure the case is in very good hands," said Holmes. "Merely a common burglary, you say?"
"Quite so. We know pretty well who the men are and where to find them. It is that gang of Barney Stockdale, with the big
78
nigger in it -- they've been seen about here."
"Excellent! What did they get?"
"Well, they don't seem to have got much. Mrs. Maberley was chloroformed and the house was -- Ah! here is the lady herself."
Our friend of yesterday, looking very pale and ill, had entered the room, leaning upon a little maidservant.
"You gave me good advice, Mr. Holmes," said she, smiling ruefully. "Alas, I did not take it! I did not wish to trouble Mr. Sutro,
and so I was unprotected."
"I only heard of it this morning," the lawyer explained.
"Mr. Holmes advised me to have some friend in the house. I neglected his advice, and I have paid for it."
"You look wretchedly ill," said Holmes. "Perhaps you are hardly equal to telling me what occurred."
"It is all here," said the inspector, tapping a bulky notebook.
"Still, if the lady is not too exhausted --"
"There is really so little to tell. I have no doubt that wicked Susan had planned an entrance for them. They must have known the
house to an inch. I was conscious for a moment of the chloroform rag which was thrust over my mouth, but I have no notion
how long I may have been senseless. When I woke, one man was at the bedside and another was rising with a bundle in his
hand from among my son's baggage, which was partially opened and littered over the floor. Before he could get away I sprang
up and seized him."
"You took a big risk," said the inspector.
"I clung to him, but he shook me off, and the other may have struck me, for I can remember no more. Mary the maid heard the
noise and began screaming out of the window. That brought the police, but the rascals had got away."
"What did they take?"
"Well, I don't think there is anything of value missing. I am sure there was nothing in my son's trunks."
"Did the men leave no clue?"
"There was one sheet of paper which I may have torn from the man that I grasped. It was lying all crumpled on the floor. It is in
my son's handwriting."
"Which means that it is not of much use," said the inspector. "Now if it had been in the burglar's --"
"Exactly," said Holmes. "What rugged common sense! None the less, I should be curious to see it."
The inspector drew a folded sheet of foolscap from his pocketbook.
"I never pass anything, however trifling," said he with some pomposity. "That is my advice to you, Mr. Holmes. In twenty- five
years' experience I have learned my lesson. There is always the chance of finger-marks or something."
Holmes inspected the sheet of paper.
"What do you make of it, Inspector?"
"Seems to be the end of some queer novel, so far as I can see."
"It may certainly prove to be the end of a queer tale," said Holmes. "You have noticed the number on the top of the page. It is
79
two hundred and forty-five. Where are the odd two hundred and forty-four pages?"
"Well, I suppose the burglars got those. Much good may it do them!"
"It seems a queer thing to break into a house in order to steal such papers as that. Does it suggest anything to you, Inspector?"
"Yes, sir, it suggests that in their hurry the rascals just grabbed at what came first to hand. I wish them joy of what they got."
"Why should they go to my son's things?" asked Mrs. Maberley.
"Well, they found nothing valuable downstairs, so they tried their luck upstairs. That is how I read it. What do you make of it,
Mr. Holmes?"
"I must think it over, Inspector. Come to the window, Wat- son." Then, as we stood together, he read over the fragment of
paper. It began in the middle of a sentence and ran like this:
". . . face bled considerably from the cuts and blows,
but it was nothing to the bleeding of his heart as he saw that
lovely face, the face for which he had been prepared to
sacrifice his very life, looking out at his agony and humiliation.
She smiled -- yes, by Heaven! she smiled, like the
heartless fiend she was, as he looked up at her. It was at
that moment that love died and hate was born. Man must
live for something. If it is not for your embrace, my lady,
then it shall surely be for your undoing and my complete
revenge."
"Queer grammar!" said Holmes with a smile as he handed the paper back to the inspector. "Did you notice how the 'he'
suddenly changed to 'my'? The writer was so carried away by his own story that he imagined himself at the supreme moment to
be the hero."
"It seemed mighty poor stuff," said the inspector as he re- placed it in his book. "What! are you off, Mr. Holmes?"
"I don't think there is anything more for me to do now that the case is in such capable hands. By the way, Mrs. Maberley, did
you say you wished to travel?"
"It has always been my dream, Mr. Holmes."
"Where would you like to go -- Cairo, Madeira, the Riviera?"
"Oh if I had the money I would go round the world."
"Quite so. Round the world. Well, good-morning. I may drop you a line in the evening." As we passed the window I caught a
glimpse of the inspector's smile and shake of the head. "These clever fellows have always a touch of madness." That was what
I read in the inspector's smile.
"Now, Watson, we are at the last lap of our little journey," said Holmes when we were back in the roar of central London once
more. "I think we had best clear the matter up at once, and it would be well that you should come with me, for it is safer to
have a witness when you are dealing with such a lady as Isadora Klein."
We had taken a cab and were speeding to some address in Grosvenor Square. Holmes had been sunk in thought, but he
roused himself suddenly.
"By the way, Watson, I suppose you see it all clearly?"
"No, I can't say that I do. I only gather that we are going to see the lady who is behind all this mischief."
to be cantinue next THE CASE BOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMSE PART 2 POST.