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  "title": "Hitchens",
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      "id": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2018/08/12/the-adventure-of-the-speckled-band.html",
      "title": "The Adventure of the Speckled Band",
      "content_text": "On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth.\n\nIt was early in April in the year ‘83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.\n\n“Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,” said he, “but it’s the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.”\n\n“What is it, then—a fire?”\n\n“No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance.”\n\n“My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.”\n\nI had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.\n\n“Good-morning, madam,” said Holmes cheerily. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I observe that you are shivering.”\n\n“It is not cold which makes me shiver,” said the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as requested.\n\n“What, then?”\n\n“It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror.” She raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances.\n\n“You must not fear,” said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her forearm. “We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see.”\n\n“You know me, then?”\n\n“No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station.”\n\nThe lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion.\n\n“There is no mystery, my dear madam,” said he, smiling. “The left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver.”\n\n“Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,” said she. “I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to turn to—none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful.”\n\nHolmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small case-book, which he consulted.\n\n“Farintosh,” said he. “Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time, Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter.”\n\n“Alas!” replied our visitor, “the very horror of my situation lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me.”\n\n“I am all attention, madam.”\n\n“My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of Surrey.”\n\nHolmes nodded his head. “The name is familiar to me,” said he.\n\n“The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north, and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.\n\n“When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner, the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old at the time of my mother’s re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of money—not less than £1000 a year—and this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our return to England my mother died—she was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.\n\n“But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the family, and in my stepfather’s case it had, I believe, been intensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the police-court, until at last he became the terror of the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.\n\n“Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I could gather together that I was able to avert another public exposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gypsies, and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate, and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much as their master.\n\n“You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I had no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten, even as mine has.”\n\n“Your sister is dead, then?”\n\n“She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother’s maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady’s house. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only companion.”\n\nSherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and glanced across at his visitor.\n\n“Pray be precise as to details,” said he.\n\n“It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylott’s, the second my sister’s, and the third my own. There is no communication between them, but they all open out into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?”\n\n“Perfectly so.”\n\n“The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleven o’clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back.\n\n“‘Tell me, Helen,’ said she, ‘have you ever heard anyone whistle in the dead of the night?’\n\n“‘Never,’ said I.\n\n“‘I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your sleep?’\n\n“‘Certainly not. But why?’\n\n“‘Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from—perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you whether you had heard it.’\n\n“‘No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the plantation.’\n\n“‘Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did not hear it also.’\n\n“‘Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.’\n\n“‘Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.’ She smiled back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn in the lock.”\n\n“Indeed,” said Holmes. “Was it your custom always to lock yourselves in at night?”\n\n“Always.”\n\n“And why?”\n\n“I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked.”\n\n“Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement.”\n\n“I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two souls which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew that it was my sister’s voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran down the passage, my sister’s door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had not recognised me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice which I shall never forget, ‘Oh, my God! Helen! It was the band! The speckled band!’ There was something else which she would fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the direction of the doctor’s room, but a fresh convulsion seized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his dressing-gown. When he reached my sister’s side she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for she slowly sank and died without having recovered her consciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister.”\n\n“One moment,” said Holmes, “are you sure about this whistle and metallic sound? Could you swear to it?”\n\n“That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is my strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have been deceived.”\n\n“Was your sister dressed?”\n\n“No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box.”\n\n“Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when the alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did the coroner come to?”\n\n“He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott’s conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable to find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which were secured every night. The walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is wide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is certain, therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end. Besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her.”\n\n“How about poison?”\n\n“The doctors examined her for it, but without success.”\n\n“What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?”\n\n“It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock, though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine.”\n\n“Were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?”\n\n“Yes, there are nearly always some there.”\n\n“Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band—a speckled band?”\n\n“Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of people, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which she used.”\n\nHolmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.\n\n“These are very deep waters,” said he; “pray go on with your narrative.”\n\n“Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until lately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend, whom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage—Percy Armitage—the second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to be married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as I lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which had been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your advice.”\n\n“You have done wisely,” said my friend. “But have you told me all?”\n\n“Yes, all.”\n\n“Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather.”\n\n“Why, what do you mean?”\n\nFor answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor’s knee. Five little livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist.\n\n“You have been cruelly used,” said Holmes.\n\nThe lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. “He is a hard man,” she said, “and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength.”\n\nThere was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.\n\n“This is a very deep business,” he said at last. “There are a thousand details which I should desire to know before I decide upon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?”\n\n“As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some most important business. It is probable that he will be away all day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily get her out of the way.”\n\n“Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?”\n\n“By no means.”\n\n“Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?”\n\n“I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am in town. But I shall return by the twelve o’clock train, so as to be there in time for your coming.”\n\n“And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and breakfast?”\n\n“No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have confided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon.” She dropped her thick black veil over her face and glided from the room.\n\n“And what do you think of it all, Watson?” asked Sherlock Holmes, leaning back in his chair.\n\n“It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business.”\n\n“Dark enough and sinister enough.”\n\n“Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysterious end.”\n\n“What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the very peculiar words of the dying woman?”\n\n“I cannot think.”\n\n“When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of a band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter’s marriage, the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its place, I think that there is good ground to think that the mystery may be cleared along those lines.”\n\n“But what, then, did the gipsies do?”\n\n“I cannot imagine.”\n\n“I see many objections to any such theory.”\n\n“And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going to Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of the devil!”\n\nThe ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey.\n\n“Which of you is Holmes?” asked this apparition.\n\n“My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me,” said my companion quietly.\n\n“I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran.”\n\n“Indeed, Doctor,” said Holmes blandly. “Pray take a seat.”\n\n“I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have traced her. What has she been saying to you?”\n\n“It is a little cold for the time of the year,” said Holmes.\n\n“What has she been saying to you?” screamed the old man furiously.\n\n“But I have heard that the crocuses promise well,” continued my companion imperturbably.\n\n“Ha! You put me off, do you?” said our new visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his hunting-crop. “I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler.”\n\nMy friend smiled.\n\n“Holmes, the busybody!”\n\nHis smile broadened.\n\n“Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!”\n\nHolmes chuckled heartily. “Your conversation is most entertaining,” said he. “When you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught.”\n\n“I will go when I have said my say. Don’t you dare to meddle with my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here.” He stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands.\n\n“See that you keep yourself out of my grip,” he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room.\n\n“He seems a very amiable person,” said Holmes, laughing. “I am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own.” As he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again.\n\n“Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official detective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. And now, Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk down to Doctors’ Commons, where I hope to get some data which may help us in this matter.”\n\nIt was nearly one o’clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his excursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with notes and figures.\n\n“I have seen the will of the deceased wife,” said he. “To determine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The total income, which at the time of the wife’s death was little short of £1100, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices, not more than £750. Each daughter can claim an income of £250, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. My morning’s work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort. And now, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eley’s No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that we need.”\n\nAt Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows.\n\n“Look there!” said he.\n\nA heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion.\n\n“Stoke Moran?” said he.\n\n“Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,” remarked the driver.\n\n“There is some building going on there,” said Holmes; “that is where we are going.”\n\n“There’s the village,” said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left; “but if you want to get to the house, you’ll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is walking.”\n\n“And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner,” observed Holmes, shading his eyes. “Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest.”\n\nWe got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to Leatherhead.\n\n“I thought it as well,” said Holmes as we climbed the stile, “that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as our word.”\n\nOur client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. “I have been waiting so eagerly for you,” she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. “All has turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening.”\n\n“We have had the pleasure of making the doctor’s acquaintance,” said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.\n\n“Good heavens!” she cried, “he has followed me, then.”\n\n“So it appears.”\n\n“He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What will he say when he returns?”\n\n“He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt’s at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine.”\n\nThe building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided. Some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows.\n\n“This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister’s, and the one next to the main building to Dr. Roylott’s chamber?”\n\n“Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one.”\n\n“Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall.”\n\n“There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room.”\n\n“Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There are windows in it, of course?”\n\n“Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass through.”\n\n“As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your shutters?”\n\nMiss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the shutter open, but without success. There was no slit through which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. “Hum!” said he, scratching his chin in some perplexity, “my theory certainly presents some difficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter.”\n\nA small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and the panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it may have dated from the original building of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down, taking in every detail of the apartment.\n\n“Where does that bell communicate with?” he asked at last pointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying upon the pillow.\n\n“It goes to the housekeeper’s room.”\n\n“It looks newer than the other things?”\n\n“Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago.”\n\n“Your sister asked for it, I suppose?”\n\n“No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we wanted for ourselves.”\n\n“Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor.” He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same with the wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. Finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.\n\n“Why, it’s a dummy,” said he.\n\n“Won’t it ring?”\n\n“No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the ventilator is.”\n\n“How very absurd! I never noticed that before.”\n\n“Very strange!” muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. “There are one or two very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!”\n\n“That is also quite modern,” said the lady.\n\n“Done about the same time as the bell-rope?” remarked Holmes.\n\n“Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time.”\n\n“They seem to have been of a most interesting character—dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment.”\n\nDr. Grimesby Roylott’s chamber was larger than that of his step-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest.\n\n“What’s in here?” he asked, tapping the safe.\n\n“My stepfather’s business papers.”\n\n“Oh! you have seen inside, then?”\n\n“Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers.”\n\n“There isn’t a cat in it, for example?”\n\n“No. What a strange idea!”\n\n“Well, look at this!” He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of it.\n\n“No; we don’t keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon.”\n\n“Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine.” He squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention.\n\n“Thank you. That is quite settled,” said he, rising and putting his lens in his pocket. “Hullo! Here is something interesting!”\n\nThe object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.\n\n“What do you make of that, Watson?”\n\n“It’s a common enough lash. But I don’t know why it should be tied.”\n\n“That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it’s a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn.”\n\nI had never seen my friend’s face so grim or his brow so dark as it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie.\n\n“It is very essential, Miss Stoner,” said he, “that you should absolutely follow my advice in every respect.”\n\n“I shall most certainly do so.”\n\n“The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend upon your compliance.”\n\n“I assure you that I am in your hands.”\n\n“In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in your room.”\n\nBoth Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.\n\n“Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the village inn over there?”\n\n“Yes, that is the Crown.”\n\n“Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?”\n\n“Certainly.”\n\n“You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want into the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night.”\n\n“Oh, yes, easily.”\n\n“The rest you will leave in our hands.”\n\n“But what will you do?”\n\n“We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you.”\n\n“I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind,” said Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion’s sleeve.\n\n“Perhaps I have.”\n\n“Then, for pity’s sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister’s death.”\n\n“I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak.”\n\n“You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she died from some sudden fright.”\n\n“No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more tangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if Dr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain. Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you, you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you.”\n\nSherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and sitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside the little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor’s voice and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.\n\n“Do you know, Watson,” said Holmes as we sat together in the gathering darkness, “I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is a distinct element of danger.”\n\n“Can I be of assistance?”\n\n“Your presence might be invaluable.”\n\n“Then I shall certainly come.”\n\n“It is very kind of you.”\n\n“You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms than was visible to me.”\n\n“No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine that you saw all that I did.”\n\n“I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could answer I confess is more than I can imagine.”\n\n“You saw the ventilator, too?”\n\n“Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardly pass through.”\n\n“I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to Stoke Moran.”\n\n“My dear Holmes!”\n\n“Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her sister could smell Dr. Roylott’s cigar. Now, of course that suggested at once that there must be a communication between the two rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coroner’s inquiry. I deduced a ventilator.”\n\n“But what harm can there be in that?”\n\n“Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does not that strike you?”\n\n“I cannot as yet see any connection.”\n\n“Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened like that before?”\n\n“I cannot say that I have.”\n\n“The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same relative position to the ventilator and to the rope—or so we may call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull.”\n\n“Holmes,” I cried, “I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. We are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime.”\n\n“Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession. This man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness’ sake let us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more cheerful.”\n\nAbout nine o’clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.\n\n“That is our signal,” said Holmes, springing to his feet; “it comes from the middle window.”\n\nAs we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. A moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.\n\nThere was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.\n\n“My God!” I whispered; “did you see it?”\n\nHolmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and put his lips to my ear.\n\n“It is a nice household,” he murmured. “That is the baboon.”\n\nI had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when, after following Holmes’ example and slipping off my shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do to distinguish the words:\n\n“The least sound would be fatal to our plans.”\n\nI nodded to show that I had heard.\n\n“We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator.”\n\nI nodded again.\n\n“Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair.”\n\nI took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.\n\nHolmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.\n\nHow shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.\n\nFrom outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall.\n\nSuddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became audible—a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the bell-pull.\n\n“You see it, Watson?” he yelled. “You see it?”\n\nBut I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it rose.\n\n“What can it mean?” I gasped.\n\n“It means that it is all over,” Holmes answered. “And perhaps, after all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr. Roylott’s room.”\n\nWith a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.\n\nIt was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.\n\n“The band! the speckled band!” whispered Holmes.\n\nI took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.\n\n“It is a swamp adder!” cried Holmes; “the deadliest snake in India. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and let the county police know what has happened.”\n\nAs he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man’s lap, and throwing the noose round the reptile’s neck he drew it from its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm’s length, threw it into the iron safe, which he closed upon it.\n\nSuch are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day.\n\n“I had,” said he, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of the word ‘band,’ which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantly reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not come either from the window or the door. My attention was speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for something passing through the hole and coming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from India, I felt that I was probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of poison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity with which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where the poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the whistle. Of course he must recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the victim. He had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned. He would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but sooner or later she must fall a victim.\n\n“I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his room. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary in order that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to finally dispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant. Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss as I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the light and attacked it.”\n\n“With the result of driving it through the ventilator.”\n\n“And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and roused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr. Grimesby Roylott’s death, and I cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience.”\n\nText taken from here\n",
      "content_html": "<p>On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth.</p>\n\n<p>It was early in April in the year ‘83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.</p>\n\n<p>“Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,” said he, “but it’s the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.”</p>\n\n<p>“What is it, then—a fire?”</p>\n\n<p>“No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance.”</p>\n\n<p>“My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.”</p>\n\n<p>I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.</p>\n\n<p>“Good-morning, madam,” said Holmes cheerily. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I observe that you are shivering.”</p>\n\n<p>“It is not cold which makes me shiver,” said the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as requested.</p>\n\n<p>“What, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror.” She raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances.</p>\n\n<p>“You must not fear,” said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her forearm. “We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see.”</p>\n\n<p>“You know me, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station.”</p>\n\n<p>The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion.</p>\n\n<p>“There is no mystery, my dear madam,” said he, smiling. “The left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver.”</p>\n\n<p>“Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,” said she. “I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to turn to—none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small case-book, which he consulted.</p>\n\n<p>“Farintosh,” said he. “Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time, Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter.”</p>\n\n<p>“Alas!” replied our visitor, “the very horror of my situation lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me.”</p>\n\n<p>“I am all attention, madam.”</p>\n\n<p>“My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of Surrey.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes nodded his head. “The name is familiar to me,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north, and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man.</p>\n\n<p>“When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner, the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old at the time of my mother’s re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of money—not less than £1000 a year—and this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our return to England my mother died—she was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness.</p>\n\n<p>“But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the family, and in my stepfather’s case it had, I believe, been intensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the police-court, until at last he became the terror of the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger.</p>\n\n<p>“Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I could gather together that I was able to avert another public exposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gypsies, and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate, and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much as their master.</p>\n\n<p>“You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I had no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten, even as mine has.”</p>\n\n<p>“Your sister is dead, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother’s maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady’s house. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only companion.”</p>\n\n<p>Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and glanced across at his visitor.</p>\n\n<p>“Pray be precise as to details,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylott’s, the second my sister’s, and the third my own. There is no communication between them, but they all open out into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?”</p>\n\n<p>“Perfectly so.”</p>\n\n<p>“The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleven o’clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Tell me, Helen,’ said she, ‘have you ever heard anyone whistle in the dead of the night?’</p>\n\n<p>“‘Never,’ said I.</p>\n\n<p>“‘I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your sleep?’</p>\n\n<p>“‘Certainly not. But why?’</p>\n\n<p>“‘Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from—perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you whether you had heard it.’</p>\n\n<p>“‘No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the plantation.’</p>\n\n<p>“‘Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did not hear it also.’</p>\n\n<p>“‘Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.’</p>\n\n<p>“‘Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.’ She smiled back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn in the lock.”</p>\n\n<p>“Indeed,” said Holmes. “Was it your custom always to lock yourselves in at night?”</p>\n\n<p>“Always.”</p>\n\n<p>“And why?”</p>\n\n<p>“I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked.”</p>\n\n<p>“Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement.”</p>\n\n<p>“I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two souls which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew that it was my sister’s voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran down the passage, my sister’s door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had not recognised me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice which I shall never forget, ‘Oh, my God! Helen! It was the band! The speckled band!’ There was something else which she would fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the direction of the doctor’s room, but a fresh convulsion seized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his dressing-gown. When he reached my sister’s side she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for she slowly sank and died without having recovered her consciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister.”</p>\n\n<p>“One moment,” said Holmes, “are you sure about this whistle and metallic sound? Could you swear to it?”</p>\n\n<p>“That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is my strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have been deceived.”</p>\n\n<p>“Was your sister dressed?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box.”</p>\n\n<p>“Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when the alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did the coroner come to?”</p>\n\n<p>“He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott’s conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable to find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which were secured every night. The walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is wide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is certain, therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end. Besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her.”</p>\n\n<p>“How about poison?”</p>\n\n<p>“The doctors examined her for it, but without success.”</p>\n\n<p>“What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock, though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine.”</p>\n\n<p>“Were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, there are nearly always some there.”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band—a speckled band?”</p>\n\n<p>“Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of people, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which she used.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied.</p>\n\n<p>“These are very deep waters,” said he; “pray go on with your narrative.”</p>\n\n<p>“Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until lately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend, whom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage—Percy Armitage—the second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to be married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as I lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which had been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your advice.”</p>\n\n<p>“You have done wisely,” said my friend. “But have you told me all?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, all.”</p>\n\n<p>“Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather.”</p>\n\n<p>“Why, what do you mean?”</p>\n\n<p>For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor’s knee. Five little livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist.</p>\n\n<p>“You have been cruelly used,” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>The lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. “He is a hard man,” she said, “and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength.”</p>\n\n<p>There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.</p>\n\n<p>“This is a very deep business,” he said at last. “There are a thousand details which I should desire to know before I decide upon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?”</p>\n\n<p>“As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some most important business. It is probable that he will be away all day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily get her out of the way.”</p>\n\n<p>“Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?”</p>\n\n<p>“By no means.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am in town. But I shall return by the twelve o’clock train, so as to be there in time for your coming.”</p>\n\n<p>“And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and breakfast?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have confided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon.” She dropped her thick black veil over her face and glided from the room.</p>\n\n<p>“And what do you think of it all, Watson?” asked Sherlock Holmes, leaning back in his chair.</p>\n\n<p>“It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business.”</p>\n\n<p>“Dark enough and sinister enough.”</p>\n\n<p>“Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysterious end.”</p>\n\n<p>“What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the very peculiar words of the dying woman?”</p>\n\n<p>“I cannot think.”</p>\n\n<p>“When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of a band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter’s marriage, the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its place, I think that there is good ground to think that the mystery may be cleared along those lines.”</p>\n\n<p>“But what, then, did the gipsies do?”</p>\n\n<p>“I cannot imagine.”</p>\n\n<p>“I see many objections to any such theory.”</p>\n\n<p>“And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going to Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of the devil!”</p>\n\n<p>The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey.</p>\n\n<p>“Which of you is Holmes?” asked this apparition.</p>\n\n<p>“My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me,” said my companion quietly.</p>\n\n<p>“I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran.”</p>\n\n<p>“Indeed, Doctor,” said Holmes blandly. “Pray take a seat.”</p>\n\n<p>“I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have traced her. What has she been saying to you?”</p>\n\n<p>“It is a little cold for the time of the year,” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“What has she been saying to you?” screamed the old man furiously.</p>\n\n<p>“But I have heard that the crocuses promise well,” continued my companion imperturbably.</p>\n\n<p>“Ha! You put me off, do you?” said our new visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his hunting-crop. “I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler.”</p>\n\n<p>My friend smiled.</p>\n\n<p>“Holmes, the busybody!”</p>\n\n<p>His smile broadened.</p>\n\n<p>“Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes chuckled heartily. “Your conversation is most entertaining,” said he. “When you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught.”</p>\n\n<p>“I will go when I have said my say. Don’t you dare to meddle with my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here.” He stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands.</p>\n\n<p>“See that you keep yourself out of my grip,” he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room.</p>\n\n<p>“He seems a very amiable person,” said Holmes, laughing. “I am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own.” As he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again.</p>\n\n<p>“Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official detective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. And now, Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk down to Doctors’ Commons, where I hope to get some data which may help us in this matter.”</p>\n\n<p>It was nearly one o’clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his excursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with notes and figures.</p>\n\n<p>“I have seen the will of the deceased wife,” said he. “To determine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The total income, which at the time of the wife’s death was little short of £1100, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices, not more than £750. Each daughter can claim an income of £250, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. My morning’s work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort. And now, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eley’s No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that we need.”</p>\n\n<p>At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows.</p>\n\n<p>“Look there!” said he.</p>\n\n<p>A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion.</p>\n\n<p>“Stoke Moran?” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott,” remarked the driver.</p>\n\n<p>“There is some building going on there,” said Holmes; “that is where we are going.”</p>\n\n<p>“There’s the village,” said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left; “but if you want to get to the house, you’ll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is walking.”</p>\n\n<p>“And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner,” observed Holmes, shading his eyes. “Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest.”</p>\n\n<p>We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to Leatherhead.</p>\n\n<p>“I thought it as well,” said Holmes as we climbed the stile, “that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as our word.”</p>\n\n<p>Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. “I have been waiting so eagerly for you,” she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. “All has turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening.”</p>\n\n<p>“We have had the pleasure of making the doctor’s acquaintance,” said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened.</p>\n\n<p>“Good heavens!” she cried, “he has followed me, then.”</p>\n\n<p>“So it appears.”</p>\n\n<p>“He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What will he say when he returns?”</p>\n\n<p>“He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt’s at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine.”</p>\n\n<p>The building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided. Some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows.</p>\n\n<p>“This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister’s, and the one next to the main building to Dr. Roylott’s chamber?”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one.”</p>\n\n<p>“Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall.”</p>\n\n<p>“There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room.”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There are windows in it, of course?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass through.”</p>\n\n<p>“As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your shutters?”</p>\n\n<p>Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the shutter open, but without success. There was no slit through which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. “Hum!” said he, scratching his chin in some perplexity, “my theory certainly presents some difficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter.”</p>\n\n<p>A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and the panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it may have dated from the original building of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down, taking in every detail of the apartment.</p>\n\n<p>“Where does that bell communicate with?” he asked at last pointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying upon the pillow.</p>\n\n<p>“It goes to the housekeeper’s room.”</p>\n\n<p>“It looks newer than the other things?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago.”</p>\n\n<p>“Your sister asked for it, I suppose?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we wanted for ourselves.”</p>\n\n<p>“Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor.” He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same with the wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. Finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug.</p>\n\n<p>“Why, it’s a dummy,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“Won’t it ring?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the ventilator is.”</p>\n\n<p>“How very absurd! I never noticed that before.”</p>\n\n<p>“Very strange!” muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. “There are one or two very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!”</p>\n\n<p>“That is also quite modern,” said the lady.</p>\n\n<p>“Done about the same time as the bell-rope?” remarked Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time.”</p>\n\n<p>“They seem to have been of a most interesting character—dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment.”</p>\n\n<p>Dr. Grimesby Roylott’s chamber was larger than that of his step-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest.</p>\n\n<p>“What’s in here?” he asked, tapping the safe.</p>\n\n<p>“My stepfather’s business papers.”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh! you have seen inside, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers.”</p>\n\n<p>“There isn’t a cat in it, for example?”</p>\n\n<p>“No. What a strange idea!”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, look at this!” He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of it.</p>\n\n<p>“No; we don’t keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon.”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine.” He squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention.</p>\n\n<p>“Thank you. That is quite settled,” said he, rising and putting his lens in his pocket. “Hullo! Here is something interesting!”</p>\n\n<p>The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord.</p>\n\n<p>“What do you make of that, Watson?”</p>\n\n<p>“It’s a common enough lash. But I don’t know why it should be tied.”</p>\n\n<p>“That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it’s a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn.”</p>\n\n<p>I had never seen my friend’s face so grim or his brow so dark as it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie.</p>\n\n<p>“It is very essential, Miss Stoner,” said he, “that you should absolutely follow my advice in every respect.”</p>\n\n<p>“I shall most certainly do so.”</p>\n\n<p>“The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend upon your compliance.”</p>\n\n<p>“I assure you that I am in your hands.”</p>\n\n<p>“In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in your room.”</p>\n\n<p>Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment.</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the village inn over there?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, that is the Crown.”</p>\n\n<p>“Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?”</p>\n\n<p>“Certainly.”</p>\n\n<p>“You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want into the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night.”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, yes, easily.”</p>\n\n<p>“The rest you will leave in our hands.”</p>\n\n<p>“But what will you do?”</p>\n\n<p>“We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you.”</p>\n\n<p>“I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind,” said Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion’s sleeve.</p>\n\n<p>“Perhaps I have.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then, for pity’s sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister’s death.”</p>\n\n<p>“I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak.”</p>\n\n<p>“You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she died from some sudden fright.”</p>\n\n<p>“No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more tangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if Dr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain. Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you, you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you.”</p>\n\n<p>Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and sitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside the little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor’s voice and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms.</p>\n\n<p>“Do you know, Watson,” said Holmes as we sat together in the gathering darkness, “I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is a distinct element of danger.”</p>\n\n<p>“Can I be of assistance?”</p>\n\n<p>“Your presence might be invaluable.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then I shall certainly come.”</p>\n\n<p>“It is very kind of you.”</p>\n\n<p>“You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms than was visible to me.”</p>\n\n<p>“No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine that you saw all that I did.”</p>\n\n<p>“I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could answer I confess is more than I can imagine.”</p>\n\n<p>“You saw the ventilator, too?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardly pass through.”</p>\n\n<p>“I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to Stoke Moran.”</p>\n\n<p>“My dear Holmes!”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her sister could smell Dr. Roylott’s cigar. Now, of course that suggested at once that there must be a communication between the two rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coroner’s inquiry. I deduced a ventilator.”</p>\n\n<p>“But what harm can there be in that?”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does not that strike you?”</p>\n\n<p>“I cannot as yet see any connection.”</p>\n\n<p>“Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?”</p>\n\n<p>“No.”</p>\n\n<p>“It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened like that before?”</p>\n\n<p>“I cannot say that I have.”</p>\n\n<p>“The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same relative position to the ventilator and to the rope—or so we may call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull.”</p>\n\n<p>“Holmes,” I cried, “I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. We are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime.”</p>\n\n<p>“Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession. This man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness’ sake let us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more cheerful.”</p>\n\n<p>About nine o’clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us.</p>\n\n<p>“That is our signal,” said Holmes, springing to his feet; “it comes from the middle window.”</p>\n\n<p>As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. A moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand.</p>\n\n<p>There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness.</p>\n\n<p>“My God!” I whispered; “did you see it?”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and put his lips to my ear.</p>\n\n<p>“It is a nice household,” he murmured. “That is the baboon.”</p>\n\n<p>I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when, after following Holmes’ example and slipping off my shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do to distinguish the words:</p>\n\n<p>“The least sound would be fatal to our plans.”</p>\n\n<p>I nodded to show that I had heard.</p>\n\n<p>“We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator.”</p>\n\n<p>I nodded again.</p>\n\n<p>“Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair.”</p>\n\n<p>I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.</p>\n\n<p>Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness.</p>\n\n<p>How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness.</p>\n\n<p>From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall.</p>\n\n<p>Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became audible—a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the bell-pull.</p>\n\n<p>“You see it, Watson?” he yelled. “You see it?”</p>\n\n<p>But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it rose.</p>\n\n<p>“What can it mean?” I gasped.</p>\n\n<p>“It means that it is all over,” Holmes answered. “And perhaps, after all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr. Roylott’s room.”</p>\n\n<p>With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand.</p>\n\n<p>It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.</p>\n\n<p>“The band! the speckled band!” whispered Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.</p>\n\n<p>“It is a swamp adder!” cried Holmes; “the deadliest snake in India. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and let the county police know what has happened.”</p>\n\n<p>As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man’s lap, and throwing the noose round the reptile’s neck he drew it from its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm’s length, threw it into the iron safe, which he closed upon it.</p>\n\n<p>Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day.</p>\n\n<p>“I had,” said he, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of the word ‘band,’ which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantly reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not come either from the window or the door. My attention was speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for something passing through the hole and coming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from India, I felt that I was probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of poison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity with which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where the poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the whistle. Of course he must recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the victim. He had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned. He would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but sooner or later she must fall a victim.</p>\n\n<p>“I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his room. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary in order that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to finally dispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant. Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss as I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the light and attacked it.”</p>\n\n<p>“With the result of driving it through the ventilator.”</p>\n\n<p>“And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and roused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr. Grimesby Roylott’s death, and I cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience.”</p>\n\n<p><a href=\"https://sherlock-holm.es/stories/html/spec.html\">Text taken from here</a></p>\n",
      "url": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2018/08/12/the-adventure-of-the-speckled-band.html",
      "date_published": "2018-08-12T00:00:00+00:00",
      "date_modified": "2018-08-12T00:00:00+00:00",
      "author": {
        "name": "Arthur Conan Doyle"
      }
    },
    {
      "id": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2018/08/12/the-adventure-of-the-priory-school.html",
      "title": "The Adventure of the Priory School",
      "content_text": "We have had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our small stage at Baker Street, but I cannot recollect anything more sudden and startling than the first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D., etc. His card, which seemed too small to carry the weight of his academic distinctions, preceded him by a few seconds, and then he entered himself—so large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was the very embodiment of self-possession and solidity. And yet his first action when the door had closed behind him was to stagger against the table, whence he slipped down upon the floor, and there was that majestic figure prostrate and insensible upon our bearskin hearthrug.\n\nWe had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments we stared in silent amazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told of some sudden and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurried with a cushion for his head and I with brandy for his lips. The heavy white face was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches under the closed eyes were leaden in colour, the loose mouth drooped dolorously at the corners, the rolling chins were unshaven. Collar and shirt bore the grime of a long journey, and the hair bristled unkempt from the well-shaped head. It was a sorely-stricken man who lay before us.\n\n“What is it, Watson?” asked Holmes.\n\n“Absolute exhaustion—possibly mere hunger and fatigue,” said I, with my finger on the thready pulse, where the stream of life trickled thin and small.\n\n“Return ticket from Mackleton, in the North of England,” said Holmes, drawing it from the watch-pocket. “It is not twelve o’clock yet. He has certainly been an early starter.”\n\nThe puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and now a pair of vacant, grey eyes looked up at us. An instant later the man had scrambled on to his feet, his face crimson with shame.\n\n“Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes; I have been a little overwrought. Thank you, if I might have a glass of milk and a biscuit I have no doubt that I should be better. I came personally, Mr. Holmes, in order to ensure that you would return with me. I feared that no telegram would convince you of the absolute urgency of the case.”\n\n“When you are quite restored—\n\n“I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how I came to be so weak. I wish you, Mr. Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by the next train.”\n\nMy friend shook his head.\n\n“My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you that we are very busy at present. I am retained in this case of the Ferrers Documents, and the Abergavenny murder is coming up for trial. Only a very important issue could call me from London at present.”\n\n“Important!” Our visitor threw up his hands. “Have you heard nothing of the abduction of the only son of the Duke of Holdernesse?”\n\n“What! the late Cabinet Minister?”\n\n“Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the papers, but there was some rumour in the Globe last night. I thought it might have reached your ears.”\n\nHolmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked out Volume “H” in his encyclopaedia of reference.\n\n“‘Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.’—half the alphabet! ‘Baron Beverley, Earl of Carston’—dear me, what a list! ‘Lord Lieutenant of Hallamshire since 1900. Married Edith, daughter of Sir Charles Appledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord Saltire. Owns about two hundred and fifty thousand acres. Minerals in Lancashire and Wales. Address: Carlton House Terrace; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; Carston Castle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of the Admiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of State for—’ Well, well, this man is certainly one of the greatest subjects of the Crown!”\n\n“The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I am aware, Mr. Holmes, that you take a very high line in professional matters, and that you are prepared to work for the work’s sake. I may tell you, however, that his Grace has already intimated that a cheque for five thousand pounds will be handed over to the person who can tell him where his son is, and another thousand to him who can name the man, or men, who have taken him.”\n\n“It is a princely offer,” said Holmes. “Watson, I think that we shall accompany Dr. Huxtable back to the North of England. And now, Dr. Huxtable, when you have consumed that milk you will kindly tell me what has happened, when it happened, how it happened, and, finally, what Dr. Thorneycroft Huxtable, of the Priory School, near Mackleton, has to do with the matter, and why he comes three days after an event—the state of your chin gives the date—to ask for my humble services.”\n\nOur visitor had consumed his milk and biscuits. The light had come back to his eyes and the colour to his cheeks as he set himself with great vigour and lucidity to explain the situation.\n\n“I must inform you, gentlemen, that the Priory is a preparatory school, of which I am the founder and principal. ‘Huxtable’s Sidelights on Horace’ may possibly recall my name to your memories. The Priory is, without exception, the best and most select preparatory school in England. Lord Leverstoke, the Earl of Blackwater, Sir Cathcart Soames—they all have entrusted their sons to me. But I felt that my school had reached its zenith when, three weeks ago, the Duke of Holdernesse sent Mr. James Wilder, his secretary, with the intimation that young Lord Saltire, ten years old, his only son and heir, was about to be committed to my charge. Little did I think that this would be the prelude to the most crushing misfortune of my life.\n\n“On May 1st the boy arrived, that being the beginning of the summer term. He was a charming youth, and he soon fell into our ways. I may tell you—I trust that I am not indiscreet, but half-confidences are absurd in such a case—that he was not entirely happy at home. It is an open secret that the Duke’s married life had not been a peaceful one, and the matter had ended in a separation by mutual consent, the Duchess taking up her residence in the South of France. This had occurred very shortly before, and the boy’s sympathies are known to have been strongly with his mother. He moped after her departure from Holdernesse Hall, and it was for this reason that the Duke desired to send him to my establishment. In a fortnight the boy was quite at home with us, and was apparently absolutely happy.\n\n“He was last seen on the night of May 13th—that is, the night of last Monday. His room was on the second floor, and was approached through another larger room in which two boys were sleeping. These boys saw and heard nothing, so that it is certain that young Saltire did not pass out that way. His window was open, and there is a stout ivy plant leading to the ground. We could trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this is the only possible exit.\n\n“His absence was discovered at seven o’clock on Tuesday morning. His bed had been slept in. He had dressed himself fully before going off in his usual school suit of black Eton jacket and dark grey trousers. There were no signs that anyone had entered the room, and it is quite certain that anything in the nature of cries, or a struggle, would have been heard, since Caunter, the elder boy in the inner room, is a very light sleeper.\n\n“When Lord Saltire’s disappearance was discovered I at once called a roll of the whole establishment, boys, masters, and servants. It was then that we ascertained that Lord Saltire had not been alone in his flight. Heidegger, the German master, was missing. His room was on the second floor, at the farther end of the building, facing the same way as Lord Saltire’s. His bed had also been slept in; but he had apparently gone away partly dressed, since his shirt and socks were lying on the floor. He had undoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for we could see the marks of his feet where he had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was kept in a small shed beside this lawn, and it also was gone.\n\n“He had been with me for two years, and came with the best references; but he was a silent, morose man, not very popular either with masters or boys. No trace could be found of the fugitives, and now on Thursday morning we are as ignorant as we were on Tuesday. Inquiry was, of course, made at once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few miles away, and we imagined that in some sudden attack of home-sickness he had gone back to his father; but nothing had been heard of him. The Duke is greatly agitated—and as to me, you have seen yourselves the state of nervous prostration to which the suspense and the responsibility have reduced me. Mr. Holmes, if ever you put forward your full powers, I implore you to do so now, for never in your life could you have a case which is more worthy of them.”\n\nSherlock Holmes had listened with the utmost intentness to the statement of the unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows and the deep furrow between them showed that he needed no exhortation to concentrate all his attention upon a problem which, apart from the tremendous interests involved, must appeal so directly to his love of the complex and the unusual. He now drew out his note-book and jotted down one or two memoranda.\n\n“You have been very remiss in not coming to me sooner,” said he, severely. “You start me on my investigation with a very serious handicap. It is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and this lawn would have yielded nothing to an expert observer.”\n\n“I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace was extremely desirous to avoid all public scandal. He was afraid of his family unhappiness being dragged before the world. He has a deep horror of anything of the kind.”\n\n“But there has been some official investigation?”\n\n“Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. An apparent clue was at once obtained, since a boy and a young man were reported to have been seen leaving a neighbouring station by an early train. Only last night we had news that the couple had been hunted down in Liverpool, and they prove to have no connection whatever with the matter in hand. Then it was that in my despair and disappointment, after a sleepless night, I came straight to you by the early train.”\n\n“I suppose the local investigation was relaxed while this false clue was being followed up?”\n\n“It was entirely dropped.”\n\n“So that three days have been wasted. The affair has been most deplorably handled.”\n\n“I feel it, and admit it.”\n\n“And yet the problem should be capable of ultimate solution. I shall be very happy to look into it. Have you been able to trace any connection between the missing boy and this German master?”\n\n“None at all.”\n\n“Was he in the master’s class?”\n\n“No; he never exchanged a word with him so far as I know.”\n\n“That is certainly very singular. Had the boy a bicycle?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“Was any other bicycle missing?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“Is that certain?”\n\n“Quite.”\n\n“Well, now, you do not mean to seriously suggest that this German rode off upon a bicycle in the dead of the night bearing the boy in his arms?”\n\n“Certainly not.”\n\n“Then what is the theory in your mind?”\n\n“The bicycle may have been a blind. It may have been hidden somewhere and the pair gone off on foot.”\n\n“Quite so; but it seems rather an absurd blind, does it not? Were there other bicycles in this shed?”\n\n“Several.”\n\n“Would he not have hidden a couple he desired to give the idea that they had gone off upon them?”\n\n“I suppose he would.”\n\n“Of course he would. The blind theory won’t do. But the incident is an admirable starting-point for an investigation. After all, a bicycle is not an easy thing to conceal or to destroy. One other question. Did anyone call to see the boy on the day before he disappeared?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“Did he get any letters?”\n\n“Yes; one letter.”\n\n“From whom?”\n\n“From his father.”\n\n“Do you open the boys’ letters?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“How do you know it was from the father?”\n\n“The coat of arms was on the envelope, and it was addressed in the Duke’s peculiar stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembers having written.”\n\n“When had he a letter before that?”\n\n“Not for several days.”\n\n“Had he ever one from France?”\n\n“No; never.”\n\n“You see the point of my questions, of course. Either the boy was carried off by force or he went of his own free will. In the latter case you would expect that some prompting from outside would be needed to make so young a lad do such a thing. If he has had no visitors, that prompting must have come in letters. Hence I try to find out who were his correspondents.”\n\n“I fear I cannot help you much. His only correspondent, so far as I know, was his own father.”\n\n“Who wrote to him on the very day of his disappearance. Were the relations between father and son very friendly?”\n\n“His Grace is never very friendly with anyone. He is completely immersed in large public questions, and is rather inaccessible to all ordinary emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his own way.”\n\n“But the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“Did he say so?”\n\n“No.”\n\n“The Duke, then?”\n\n“Good heavens, no!”\n\n“Then how could you know?”\n\n“I have had some confidential talks with Mr. James Wilder, his Grace’s secretary. It was he who gave me the information about Lord Saltire’s feelings.”\n\n“I see. By the way, that last letter of the Duke’s—was it found in the boy’s room after he was gone?”\n\n“No; he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. Holmes, it is time that we were leaving for Euston.”\n\n“I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an hour we shall be at your service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it would be well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine that the inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else that red herring led your pack. In the meantime I will do a little quiet work at your own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but that two old hounds like Watson and myself may get a sniff of it.”\n\nThat evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of the Peak country, in which Dr. Huxtable’s famous school is situated. It was already dark when we reached it. A card was lying on the hall table, and the butler whispered something to his master, who turned to us with agitation in every heavy feature.\n\n“The Duke is here,” said he. “The Duke and Mr. Wilder are in the study. Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce you.”\n\nI was, of course, familiar with the pictures of the famous statesman, but the man himself was very different from his representation. He was a tall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin face, and a nose which was grotesquely curved and long. His complexion was of a dead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long, dwindling beard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat, with his watch-chain gleaming through its fringe. Such was the stately presence who looked stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Huxtable’s hearthrug. Beside him stood a very young man, whom I understood to be Wilder, the private secretary. He was small, nervous, alert, with intelligent, light-blue eyes and mobile features. It was he who at once, in an incisive and positive tone, opened the conversation.\n\n“I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late to prevent you from starting for London. I learned that your object was to invite Mr. Sherlock Holmes to undertake the conduct of this case. His Grace is surprised, Dr. Huxtable, that you should have taken such a step without consulting him.”\n\n“When I learned that the police had failed—”\n\n“His Grace is by no means convinced that the police have failed.”\n\n“But surely, Mr. Wilder—”\n\n“You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that his Grace is particularly anxious to avoid all public scandal. He prefers to take as few people as possible into his confidence.”\n\n“The matter can be easily remedied,” said the brow-beaten doctor; “Mr. Sherlock Holmes can return to London by the morning train.”\n\n“Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that,” said Holmes, in his blandest voice. “This northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so I propose to spend a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my mind as best I may. Whether I have the shelter of your roof or of the village inn is, of course, for you to decide.”\n\nI could see that the unfortunate doctor was in the last stage of indecision, from which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of the red-bearded Duke, which boomed out like a dinner-gong.\n\n“I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable, that you would have done wisely to consult me. But since Mr. Holmes has already been taken into your confidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should not avail ourselves of his services. Far from going to the inn, Mr. Holmes, I should be pleased if you would come and stay with me at Holdernesse Hall.”\n\n“I thank your Grace. For the purposes of my investigation I think that it would be wiser for me to remain at the scene of the mystery.”\n\n“Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any information which Mr. Wilder or I can give you is, of course, at your disposal.”\n\n“It will probably be necessary for me to see you at the Hall,” said Holmes. “I would only ask you now, sir, whether you have formed any explanation in your own mind as to the mysterious disappearance of your son?”\n\n“No, sir, I have not.”\n\n“Excuse me if I allude to that which is painful to you, but I have no alternative. Do you think that the Duchess had anything to do with the matter?”\n\nThe great Minister showed perceptible hesitation.\n\n“I do not think so,” he said, at last.\n\n“The other most obvious explanation is that the child has been kidnapped for the purpose of levying ransom. You have not had any demand of the sort?”\n\n“No, sir.”\n\n“One more question, your Grace. I understand that you wrote to your son upon the day when this incident occurred.”\n\n“No; I wrote upon the day before.”\n\n“Exactly. But he received it on that day?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“Was there anything in your letter which might have unbalanced him or induced him to take such a step?”\n\n“No, sir, certainly not.”\n\n“Did you post that letter yourself?”\n\nThe nobleman’s reply was interrupted by his secretary, who broke in with some heat.\n\n“His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters himself,” said he. “This letter was laid with others upon the study table, and I myself put them in the post-bag.”\n\n“You are sure this one was among them?”\n\n“Yes; I observed it.”\n\n“How many letters did your Grace write that day?”\n\n“Twenty or thirty. I have a large correspondence. But surely this is somewhat irrelevant?”\n\n“Not entirely,” said Holmes.\n\n“For my own part,” the Duke continued, “I have advised the police to turn their attention to the South of France. I have already said that I do not believe that the Duchess would encourage so monstrous an action, but the lad had the most wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible that he may have fled to her, aided and abetted by this German. I think, Dr. Huxtable, that we will now return to the Hall.”\n\nI could see that there were other questions which Holmes would have wished to put; but the nobleman’s abrupt manner showed that the interview was at an end. It was evident that to his intensely aristocratic nature this discussion of his intimate family affairs with a stranger was most abhorrent, and that he feared lest every fresh question would throw a fiercer light into the discreetly shadowed corners of his ducal history.\n\nWhen the nobleman and his secretary had left, my friend flung himself at once with characteristic eagerness into the investigation.\n\nThe boy’s chamber was carefully examined, and yielded nothing save the absolute conviction that it was only through the window that he could have escaped. The German master’s room and effects gave no further clue. In his case a trailer of ivy had given way under his weight, and we saw by the light of a lantern the mark on the lawn where his heels had come down. That one dint in the short green grass was the only material witness left of this inexplicable nocturnal flight.\n\nSherlock Holmes left the house alone, and only returned after eleven. He had obtained a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood, and this he brought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed, and, having balanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke over it, and occasionally to point out objects of interest with the reeking amber of his pipe.\n\n“This case grows upon me, Watson,” said he. “There are decidedly some points of interest in connection with it. In this early stage I want you to realize those geographical features which may have a good deal to do with our investigation.\n\n“Look at this map. This dark square is the Priory School. I’ll put a pin in it. Now, this line is the main road. You see that it runs east and west past the school, and you see also that there is no side road for a mile either way. If these two folk passed away by road it was this road.”\n\n\n\n“Exactly.”\n\n“By a singular and happy chance we are able to some extent to check what passed along this road during the night in question. At this point, where my pipe is now resting, a country constable was on duty from twelve to six. It is, as you perceive, the first cross road on the east side. This man declares that he was not absent from his post for an instant, and he is positive that neither boy nor man could have gone that way unseen. I have spoken with this policeman to-night, and he appears to me to be a perfectly reliable person. That blocks this end. We have now to deal with the other. There is an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady of which was ill. She had sent to Mackleton for a doctor, but he did not arrive until morning, being absent at another case. The people at the inn were alert all night, awaiting his coming, and one or other of them seems to have continually had an eye upon the road. They declare that no one passed. If their evidence is good, then we are fortunate enough to be able to block the west, and also to be able to say that the fugitives did not use the road at all.”\n\n“But the bicycle?” I objected.\n\n“Quite so. We will come to the bicycle presently. To continue our reasoning: if these people did not go by the road, they must have traversed the country to the north of the house or to the south of the house. That is certain. Let us weigh the one against the other. On the south of the house is, as you perceive, a large district of arable land, cut up into small fields, with stone walls between them. There, I admit that a bicycle is impossible. We can dismiss the idea. We turn to the country on the north. Here there lies a grove of trees, marked as the ‘Ragged Shaw,’ and on the farther side stretches a great rolling moor, Lower Gill Moor, extending for ten miles and sloping gradually upwards. Here, at one side of this wilderness, is Holdernesse Hall, ten miles by road, but only six across the moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A few moor farmers have small holdings, where they rear sheep and cattle. Except these, the plover and the curlew are the only inhabitants until you come to the Chesterfield high road. There is a church there, you see, a few cottages, and an inn. Beyond that the hills become precipitous. Surely it is here to the north that our quest must lie.”\n\n“But the bicycle?” I persisted.\n\n“Well, well!” said Holmes, impatiently. “A good cyclist does not need a high road. The moor is intersected with paths and the moon was at the full. Halloa! what is this?”\n\nThere was an agitated knock at the door, and an instant afterwards Dr. Huxtable was in the room. In his hand he held a blue cricket-cap, with a white chevron on the peak.\n\n“At last we have a clue!” he cried. “Thank Heaven! at last we are on the dear boy’s track! It is his cap.”\n\n“Where was it found?”\n\n“In the van of the gipsies who camped on the moor. They left on Tuesday. To-day the police traced them down and examined their caravan. This was found.”\n\n“How do they account for it?”\n\n“They shuffled and lied—said that they found it on the moor on Tuesday morning. They know where he is, the rascals! Thank goodness, they are all safe under lock and key. Either the fear of the law or the Duke’s purse will certainly get out of them all that they know.”\n\n“So far, so good,” said Holmes, when the doctor had at last left the room. “It at least bears out the theory that it is on the side of the Lower Gill Moor that we must hope for results. The police have really done nothing locally, save the arrest of these gipsies. Look here, Watson! There is a watercourse across the moor. You see it marked here in the map. In some parts it widens into a morass. This is particularly so in the region between Holdernesse Hall and the school. It is vain to look elsewhere for tracks in this dry weather; but at that point there is certainly a chance of some record being left. I will call you early to-morrow morning, and you and I will try if we can throw some little light upon the mystery.”\n\nThe day was just breaking when I woke to find the long, thin form of Holmes by my bedside. He was fully dressed, and had apparently already been out.\n\n“I have done the lawn and the bicycle shed,” said he. “I have also had a ramble through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there is cocoa ready in the next room. I must beg you to hurry, for we have a great day before us.”\n\nHis eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of the master workman who sees his work lie ready before him. A very different Holmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and pallid dreamer of Baker Street. I felt, as I looked upon that supple figure, alive with nervous energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day that awaited us.\n\nAnd yet it opened in the blackest disappointment. With high hopes we struck across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with a thousand sheep paths, until we came to the broad, light-green belt which marked the morass between us and Holdernesse. Certainly, if the lad had gone homewards, he must have passed this, and he could not pass it without leaving his traces. But no sign of him or the German could be seen. With a darkening face my friend strode along the margin, eagerly observant of every muddy stain upon the mossy surface. Sheep-marks there were in profusion, and at one place, some miles down, cows had left their tracks. Nothing more.\n\n“Check number one,” said Holmes, looking gloomily over the rolling expanse of the moor. “There is another morass down yonder and a narrow neck between. Halloa! halloa! halloa! what have we here?”\n\nWe had come on a small black ribbon of pathway. In the middle of it, clearly marked on the sodden soil, was the track of a bicycle.\n\n“Hurrah!” I cried. “We have it.”\n\nBut Holmes was shaking his head, and his face was puzzled and expectant rather than joyous.\n\n“A bicycle, certainly, but not the bicycle,” said he. “I am familiar with forty-two different impressions left by tyres. This, as you perceive, is a Dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. Heidegger’s tyres were Palmer’s, leaving longitudinal stripes. Aveling, the mathematical master, was sure upon the point. Therefore, it is not Heidegger’s track.”\n\n“The boy’s, then?”\n\n“Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have been in his possession. But this we have utterly failed to do. This track, as you perceive, was made by a rider who was going from the direction of the school.”\n\n“Or towards it?”\n\n“No, no, my dear Watson. The more deeply sunk impression is, of course, the hind wheel, upon which the weight rests. You perceive several places where it has passed across and obliterated the more shallow mark of the front one. It was undoubtedly heading away from the school. It may or may not be connected with our inquiry, but we will follow it backwards before we go any farther.”\n\nWe did so, and at the end of a few hundred yards lost the tracks as we emerged from the boggy portion of the moor. Following the path backwards, we picked out another spot, where a spring trickled across it. Here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, though nearly obliterated by the hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign, but the path ran right on into Ragged Shaw, the wood which backed on to the school. From this wood the cycle must have emerged. Holmes sat down on a boulder and rested his chin in his hands. I had smoked two cigarettes before he moved.\n\n“Well, well,” said he, at last. “It is, of course, possible that a cunning man might change the tyre of his bicycle in order to leave unfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was capable of such a thought is a man whom I should be proud to do business with. We will leave this question undecided and hark back to our morass again, for we have left a good deal unexplored.”\n\nWe continued our systematic survey of the edge of the sodden portion of the moor, and soon our perseverance was gloriously rewarded. Right across the lower part of the bog lay a miry path. Holmes gave a cry of delight as he approached it. An impression like a fine bundle of telegraph wires ran down the centre of it. It was the Palmer tyre.\n\n“Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!” cried Holmes, exultantly. “My reasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson.”\n\n“I congratulate you.”\n\n“But we have a long way still to go. Kindly walk clear of the path. Now let us follow the trail. I fear that it will not lead very far.”\n\nWe found, however, as we advanced that this portion of the moor is intersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently lost sight of the track, we always succeeded in picking it up once more.\n\n“Do you observe,” said Holmes, “that the rider is now undoubtedly forcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it. Look at this impression, where you get both tyres clear. The one is as deep as the other. That can only mean that the rider is throwing his weight on to the handle-bar, as a man does when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a fall.”\n\nThere was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of the track. Then there were a few footmarks, and the tyre reappeared once more.\n\n“A side-slip,” I suggested.\n\nHolmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse. To my horror I perceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled with crimson. On the path, too, and among the heather were dark stains of clotted blood.\n\n“Bad!” said Holmes. “Bad! Stand clear, Watson! Not an unnecessary footstep! What do I read here? He fell wounded, he stood up, he remounted, he proceeded. But there is no other track. Cattle on this side path. He was surely not gored by a bull? Impossible! But I see no traces of anyone else. We must push on, Watson. Surely with stains as well as the track to guide us he cannot escape us now.”\n\nOur search was not a very long one. The tracks of the tyre began to curve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly, as I looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the thick gorse bushes. Out of them we dragged a bicycle, Palmer-tyred, one pedal bent, and the whole front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with blood. On the other side of the bushes a shoe was projecting. We ran round, and there lay the unfortunate rider. He was a tall man, full bearded, with spectacles, one glass of which had been knocked out. The cause of his death was a frightful blow upon the head, which had crushed in part of his skull. That he could have gone on after receiving such an injury said much for the vitality and courage of the man. He wore shoes, but no socks, and his open coat disclosed a night-shirt beneath it. It was undoubtedly the German master.\n\nHolmes turned the body over reverently, and examined it with great attention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and I could see by his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in his opinion, advanced us much in our inquiry.\n\n“It is a little difficult to know what to do, Watson,” said he, at last. “My own inclinations are to push this inquiry on, for we have already lost so much time that we cannot afford to waste another hour. On the other hand, we are bound to inform the police of the discovery, and to see that this poor fellow’s body is looked after.”\n\n“I could take a note back.”\n\n“But I need your company and assistance. Wait a bit! There is a fellow cutting peat up yonder. Bring him over here, and he will guide the police.”\n\nI brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched the frightened man with a note to Dr. Huxtable.\n\n“Now, Watson,” said he, “we have picked up two clues this morning. One is the bicycle with the Palmer tyre, and we see what that has led to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we start to investigate that, let us try to realize what we do know so as to make the most of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental.”\n\n“First of all I wish to impress upon you that the boy certainly left of his own free will. He got down from his window and he went off, either alone or with someone. That is sure.”\n\nI assented.\n\n“Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. The boy was fully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what he would do. But the German went without his socks. He certainly acted on very short notice.”\n\n“Undoubtedly.”\n\n“Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw the flight of the boy. Because he wished to overtake him and bring him back. He seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met his death.”\n\n“So it would seem.”\n\n“Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The natural action of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him. He would know that he could overtake him. But the German does not do so. He turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was an excellent cyclist. He would not do this if he did not see that the boy had some swift means of escape.”\n\n“The other bicycle.”\n\n“Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death five miles from the school—not by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad might conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm. The lad, then, had a companion in his flight. And the flight was a swift one, since it took five miles before an expert cyclist could overtake them. Yet we survey the ground round the scene of the tragedy. What do we find? A few cattle tracks, nothing more. I took a wide sweep round, and there is no path within fifty yards. Another cyclist could have had nothing to do with the actual murder. Nor were there any human footmarks.”\n\n“Holmes,” I cried, “this is impossible.”\n\n“Admirable!” he said. “A most illuminating remark. It is impossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated it wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?”\n\n“He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?”\n\n“In a morass, Watson?”\n\n“I am at my wit’s end.”\n\n“Tut, tut; we have solved some worse problems. At least we have plenty of material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and, having exhausted the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the patched cover has to offer us.”\n\nWe picked up the track and followed it onwards for some distance; but soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we left the watercourse behind us. No further help from tracks could be hoped for. At the spot where we saw the last of the Dunlop tyre it might equally have led to Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of which rose some miles to our left, or to a low, grey village which lay in front of us, and marked the position of the Chesterfield high road.\n\nAs we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the sign of a game-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan and clutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had had one of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. With difficulty he limped up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man was smoking a black clay pipe.\n\n“How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?” said Holmes.\n\n“Who are you, and how do you get my name so pat?” the countryman answered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes.\n\n“Well, it’s printed on the board above your head. It’s easy to see a man who is master of his own house. I suppose you haven’t such a thing as a carriage in your stables?”\n\n“No; I have not.”\n\n“I can hardly put my foot to the ground.”\n\n“Don’t put it to the ground.”\n\n“But I can’t walk.”\n\n“Well, then, hop.”\n\nMr. Reuben Hayes’s manner was far from gracious, but Holmes took it with admirable good-humour.\n\n“Look here, my man,” said he. “This is really rather an awkward fix for me. I don’t mind how I get on.”\n\n“Neither do I,” said the morose landlord.\n\n“The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign for the use of a bicycle.”\n\nThe landlord pricked up his ears.\n\n“Where do you want to go?”\n\n“To Holdernesse Hall.”\n\n“Pals of the Dook, I suppose?” said the landlord, surveying our mud-stained garments with ironical eyes.\n\nHolmes laughed good-naturedly.\n\n“He’ll be glad to see us, anyhow.”\n\n“Why?”\n\n“Because we bring him news of his lost son.”\n\nThe landlord gave a very visible start.\n\n“What, you’re on his track?”\n\n“He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect to get him every hour.”\n\nAgain a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. His manner was suddenly genial.\n\n“I’ve less reason to wish the Dook well than most men,” said he, “for I was his head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. It was him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lying corn-chandler. But I’m glad to hear that the young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and I’ll help you to take the news to the Hall.”\n\n“Thank you,” said Holmes. “We’ll have some food first. Then you can bring round the bicycle.”\n\n“I haven’t got a bicycle.”\n\nHolmes held up a sovereign.\n\n“I tell you, man, that I haven’t got one. I’ll let you have two horses as far as the Hall.”\n\n“Well, well,” said Holmes, “we’ll talk about it when we’ve had something to eat.”\n\nWhen we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen it was astonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It was nearly nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning, so that we spent some time over our meal. Holmes was lost in thought, and once or twice he walked over to the window and stared earnestly out. It opened on to a squalid courtyard. In the far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at work. On the other side were the stables. Holmes had sat down again after one of these excursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with a loud exclamation.\n\n“By Heaven, Watson, I believe that I’ve got it!” he cried. “Yes, yes, it must be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracks to-day?”\n\n“Yes, several.”\n\n“Where?”\n\n“Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, and again on the path, and again near where poor Heidegger met his death.”\n\n“Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on the moor?”\n\n“I don’t remember seeing any.”\n\n“Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line, but never a cow on the whole moor; very strange, Watson, eh?”\n\n“Yes, it is strange.”\n\n“Now, Watson, make an effort; throw your mind back! Can you see those tracks upon the path?”\n\n“Yes, I can.”\n\n“Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that, Watson”—he arranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion—: : : : :—“and sometimes like this”—: ˙ : ˙ : ˙ : ˙—“and occasionally like this”—. ˙ . ˙ . ˙ . “Can you remember that?”\n\n“No, I cannot.”\n\n“But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at our leisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been not to draw my conclusion!”\n\n“And what is your conclusion?”\n\n“Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and gallops. By George, Watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought out such a blind as that! The coast seems to be clear, save for that lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and see what we can see.”\n\nThere were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-down stable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed aloud.\n\n“Old shoes, but newly shod—old shoes, but new nails. This case deserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy.”\n\nThe lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes’s eye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which was scattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his savage eyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion that I was right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket.\n\n“You infernal spies!” the man cried. “What are you doing there?”\n\n“Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes,” said Holmes, coolly, “one might think that you were afraid of our finding something out.”\n\nThe man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouth loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than his frown.\n\n“You’re welcome to all you can find out in my smithy,” said he. “But look here, mister, I don’t care for folk poking about my place without my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of this the better I shall be pleased.”\n\n“All right, Mr. Hayes—no harm meant,” said Holmes. “We have been having a look at your horses, but I think I’ll walk after all. It’s not far, I believe.”\n\n“Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. That’s the road to the left.” He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his premises.\n\nWe did not go very far along the road, for Holmes stopped the instant that the curve hid us from the landlord’s view.\n\n“We were warm, as the children say, at that inn,” said he. “I seem to grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no; I can’t possibly leave it.”\n\n“I am convinced,” said I, “that this Reuben Hayes knows all about it. A more self-evident villain I never saw.”\n\n“Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses, there is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this Fighting Cock. I think we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way.”\n\nA long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey limestone boulders, stretched behind us. We had turned off the road, and were making our way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I saw a cyclist coming swiftly along.\n\n“Get down, Watson!” cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon my shoulder. We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us on the road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust I caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated face—a face with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, the eyes staring wildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of the dapper James Wilder whom we had seen the night before.\n\n“The Duke’s secretary!” cried Holmes. “Come, Watson, let us see what he does.”\n\nWe scrambled from rock to rock until in a few moments we had made our way to a point from which we could see the front door of the inn. Wilder’s bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. No one was moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at the windows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the high towers of Holdernesse Hall. Then in the gloom we saw the two side-lamps of a trap light up in the stable yard of the inn, and shortly afterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road and tore off at a furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield.\n\n“What do you make of that, Watson?” Holmes whispered.\n\n“It looks like a flight.”\n\n“A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door.”\n\nA red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he was expecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, a second figure was visible for an instant against the light, the door shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor.\n\n“It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the Fighting Cock,” said Holmes.\n\n“The bar is on the other side.”\n\n“Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now, what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this hour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely.”\n\nTogether we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above us was the lighted window.\n\n“I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back and support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage.”\n\nAn instant later his feet were on my shoulders. But he was hardly up before he was down again.\n\n“Come, my friend,” said he, “our day’s work has been quite long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It’s a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better.”\n\nHe hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his master’s death, and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning. “All goes well, my friend,” said he. “I promise that before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery.”\n\nAt eleven o’clock next morning my friend and I were walking up the famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered through the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace’s study. There we found Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but with some trace of that wild terror of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and in his twitching features.\n\n“You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry; but the fact is that the Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the tragic news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon, which told us of your discovery.”\n\n“I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder.”\n\n“But he is in his room.”\n\n“Then I must go to his room.”\n\n“I believe he is in his bed.”\n\n“I will see him there.”\n\nHolmes’s cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary that it was useless to argue with him.\n\n“Very good, Mr. Holmes; I will tell him that you are here.”\n\nAfter half an hour’s delay the great nobleman appeared. His face was more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed to me to be an altogether older man than he had been the morning before. He greeted us with a stately courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his red beard streaming down on to the table.\n\n“Well, Mr. Holmes?” said he.\n\nBut my friend’s eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood by his master’s chair.\n\n“I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr. Wilder’s absence.”\n\nThe man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance at Holmes.\n\n“If your Grace wishes—”\n\n“Yes, yes; you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you to say?”\n\nMy friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreating secretary.\n\n“The fact is, your Grace,” said he, “that my colleague, Dr. Watson, and myself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a reward had been offered in this case. I should like to have this confirmed from your own lips.”\n\n“Certainly, Mr. Holmes.”\n\n“It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousand pounds to anyone who will tell you where your son is?”\n\n“Exactly.”\n\n“And another thousand to the man who will name the person or persons who keep him in custody?”\n\n“Exactly.”\n\n“Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only those who may have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keep him in his present position?”\n\n“Yes, yes,” cried the Duke, impatiently. “If you do your work well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain of niggardly treatment.”\n\nMy friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of avidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.\n\n“I fancy that I see your Grace’s cheque-book upon the table,” said he. “I should be glad if you would make me out a cheque for six thousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch, are my agents.”\n\nHis Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair, and looked stonily at my friend.\n\n“Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for pleasantry.”\n\n“Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life.”\n\n“What do you mean, then?”\n\n“I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is, and I know some, at least, of those who are holding him.”\n\nThe Duke’s beard had turned more aggressively red than ever against his ghastly white face.\n\n“Where is he?” he gasped.\n\n“He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two miles from your park gate.”\n\nThe Duke fell back in his chair.\n\n“And whom do you accuse?”\n\nSherlock Holmes’s answer was an astounding one. He stepped swiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.\n\n“I accuse you,” said he. “And now, your Grace, I’ll trouble you for that cheque.”\n\nNever shall I forget the Duke’s appearance as he sprang up and clawed with his hands like one who is sinking into an abyss. Then, with an extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down and sank his face in his hands. It was some minutes before he spoke.\n\n“How much do you know?” he asked at last, without raising his head.\n\n“I saw you together last night.”\n\n“Does anyone else besides your friend know?”\n\n“I have spoken to no one.”\n\nThe Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened his cheque-book.\n\n“I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to write your cheque, however unwelcome the information which you have gained may be to me. When the offer was first made I little thought the turn which events might take. But you and your friend are men of discretion, Mr. Holmes?”\n\n“I hardly understand your Grace.”\n\n“I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you two know of this incident, there is no reason why it should go any farther. I think twelve thousand pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it not?”\n\nBut Holmes smiled and shook his head.\n\n“I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so easily. There is the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted for.”\n\n“But James knew nothing of that. You cannot hold him responsible for that. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had the misfortune to employ.”\n\n“I must take the view, your Grace, that when a man embarks upon a crime he is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring from it.”\n\n“Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. But surely not in the eyes of the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder at which he was not present, and which he loathes and abhors as much as you do. The instant that he heard of it he made a complete confession to me, so filled was he with horror and remorse. He lost not an hour in breaking entirely with the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must save him—you must save him! I tell you that you must save him!” The Duke had dropped the last attempt at self-command, and was pacing the room with a convulsed face and with his clenched hands raving in the air. At last he mastered himself and sat down once more at his desk. “I appreciate your conduct in coming here before you spoke to anyone else,” said he. “At least, we may take counsel how far we can minimize this hideous scandal.”\n\n“Exactly,” said Holmes. “I think, your Grace, that this can only be done by absolute and complete frankness between us. I am disposed to help your Grace to the best of my ability; but in order to do so I must understand to the last detail how the matter stands. I realize that your words applied to Mr. James Wilder, and that he is not the murderer.”\n\n“No; the murderer has escaped.”\n\nSherlock Holmes smiled demurely.\n\n“Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which I possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape me. Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield on my information at eleven o’clock last night. I had a telegram from the head of the local police before I left the school this morning.”\n\nThe Duke leaned back in his chair and stared with amazement at my friend.\n\n“You seem to have powers that are hardly human,” said he. “So Reuben Hayes is taken? I am right glad to hear it, if it will not react upon the fate of James.”\n\n“Your secretary?”\n\n“No, sir; my son.”\n\nIt was Holmes’s turn to look astonished.\n\n“I confess that this is entirely new to me, your Grace. I must beg you to be more explicit.”\n\n“I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with you that complete frankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy in this desperate situation to which James’s folly and jealousy have reduced us. When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved with such a love as comes only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady marriage, but she refused it on the grounds that such a match might mar my career. Had she lived I would certainly never have married anyone else. She died, and left this one child, whom for her sake I have cherished and cared for. I could not acknowledge the paternity to the world; but I gave him the best of educations, and since he came to manhood I have kept him near my person. He surprised my secret, and has presumed ever since upon the claim which he has upon me and upon his power of provoking a scandal, which would be abhorrent to me. His presence had something to do with the unhappy issue of my marriage. Above all, he hated my young legitimate heir from the first with a persistent hatred. You may well ask me why, under these circumstances, I still kept James under my roof. I answer that it was because I could see his mother’s face in his, and that for her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering. All her pretty ways, too—there was not one of them which he could not suggest and bring back to my memory. I could not send him away. But I feared so much lest he should do Arthur—that is, Lord Saltire—a mischief that I dispatched him for safety to Dr. Huxtable’s school.\n\n“James came into contact with this fellow Hayes because the man was a tenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow was a rascal from the beginning; but in some extraordinary way James became intimate with him. He had always a taste for low company. When James determined to kidnap Lord Saltire it was of this man’s service that he availed himself. You remember that I wrote to Arthur upon that last day. Well, James opened the letter and inserted a note asking Arthur to meet him in a little wood called the Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school. He used the Duchess’s name, and in that way got the boy to come. That evening James bicycled over—I am telling you what he has himself confessed to me—and he told Arthur, whom he met in the wood, that his mother longed to see him, that she was awaiting him on the moor, and that if he would come back into the wood at midnight he would find a man with a horse, who would take him to her. Poor Arthur fell into the trap. He came to the appointment and found this fellow Hayes with a led pony. Arthur mounted, and they set off together. It appears—though this James only heard yesterday—that they were pursued, that Hayes struck the pursuer with his stick, and that the man died of his injuries. Hayes brought Arthur to his public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he was confined in an upper room, under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly woman, but entirely under the control of her brutal husband.\n\n“Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs when I first saw you two days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you. You will ask me what was James’s motive in doing such a deed. I answer that there was a great deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in the hatred which he bore my heir. In his view he should himself have been heir of all my estates, and he deeply resented those social laws which made it impossible. At the same time he had a definite motive also. He was eager that I should break the entail, and he was of opinion that it lay in my power to do so. He intended to make a bargain with me—to restore Arthur if I would break the entail, and so make it possible for the estate to be left to him by will. He knew well that I should never willingly invoke the aid of the police against him. I say that he would have proposed such a bargain to me, but he did not actually do so, for events moved too quickly for him, and he had not time to put his plans into practice.\n\n“What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck was your discovery of this man Heidegger’s dead body. James was seized with horror at the news. It came to us yesterday as we sat together in this study. Dr. Huxtable had sent a telegram. James was so overwhelmed with grief and agitation that my suspicions, which had never been entirely absent, rose instantly to a certainty, and I taxed him with the deed. He made a complete voluntary confession. Then he implored me to keep his secret for three days longer, so as to give his wretched accomplice a chance of saving his guilty life. I yielded—as I have always yielded—to his prayers, and instantly James hurried off to the Fighting Cock to warn Hayes and give him the means of flight. I could not go there by daylight without provoking comment, but as soon as night fell I hurried off to see my dear Arthur. I found him safe and well, but horrified beyond expression by the dreadful deed he had witnessed. In deference to my promise, and much against my will, I consented to leave him there for three days under the charge of Mrs. Hayes, since it was evident that it was impossible to inform the police where he was without telling them also who was the murderer, and I could not see how that murderer could be punished without ruin to my unfortunate James. You asked for frankness, Mr. Holmes, and I have taken you at your word, for I have now told you everything without an attempt at circumlocution or concealment. Do you in turn be as frank with me.”\n\n“I will,” said Holmes. “In the first place, your Grace, I am bound to tell you that you have placed yourself in a most serious position in the eyes of the law. You have condoned a felony and you have aided the escape of a murderer; for I cannot doubt that any money which was taken by James Wilder to aid his accomplice in his flight came from your Grace’s purse.”\n\nThe Duke bowed his assent.\n\n“This is indeed a most serious matter. Even more culpable in my opinion, your Grace, is your attitude towards your younger son. You leave him in this den for three days.”\n\n“Under solemn promises—”\n\n“What are promises to such people as these? You have no guarantee that he will not be spirited away again. To humour your guilty elder son you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent and unnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifiable action.”\n\nThe proud lord of Holdernesse was not accustomed to be so rated in his own ducal hall. The blood flushed into his high forehead, but his conscience held him dumb.\n\n“I will help you, but on one condition only. It is that you ring for the footman and let me give such orders as I like.”\n\nWithout a word the Duke pressed the electric bell. A servant entered.\n\n“You will be glad to hear,” said Holmes, “that your young master is found. It is the Duke’s desire that the carriage shall go at once to the Fighting Cock Inn to bring Lord Saltire home.\n\n“Now,” said Holmes, when the rejoicing lackey had disappeared, “having secured the future, we can afford to be more lenient with the past. I am not in an official position, and there is no reason, so long as the ends of justice are served, why I should disclose all that I know. As to Hayes I say nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I would do nothing to save him from it. What he will divulge I cannot tell, but I have no doubt that your Grace could make him understand that it is to his interest to be silent. From the police point of view he will have kidnapped the boy for the purpose of ransom. If they do not themselves find it out I see no reason why I should prompt them to take a broader point of view. I would warn your Grace, however, that the continued presence of Mr. James Wilder in your household can only lead to misfortune.”\n\n“I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is already settled that he shall leave me for ever and go to seek his fortune in Australia.”\n\n“In that case, your Grace, since you have yourself stated that any unhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence, I would suggest that you make such amends as you can to the Duchess, and that you try to resume those relations which have been so unhappily interrupted.”\n\n“That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I wrote to the Duchess this morning.”\n\n“In that case,” said Holmes, rising, “I think that my friend and I can congratulate ourselves upon several most happy results from our little visit to the North. There is one other small point upon which I desire some light. This fellow Hayes had shod his horses with shoes which counterfeited the tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder that he learned so extraordinary a device?”\n\nThe Duke stood in thought for a moment, with a look of intense surprise on his face. Then he opened a door and showed us into a large room furnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass case in a corner, and pointed to the inscription.\n\n“These shoes,” it ran, “were dug up in the moat of Holdernesse Hall. They are for the use of horses; but they are shaped below with a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track. They are supposed to have belonged to some of the marauding Barons of Holdernesse in the Middle Ages.“\n\nHolmes opened the case, and moistening his finger he passed it along the shoe. A thin film of recent mud was left upon his skin.\n\n“Thank you,” said he, as he replaced the glass. “It is the second most interesting object that I have seen in the North.”\n\n“And the first?”\n\nHolmes folded up his cheque and placed it carefully in his note-book. “I am a poor man,” said he, as he patted it affectionately and thrust it into the depths of his inner pocket.\n\nText taken from here\n",
      "content_html": "<p>We have had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our small stage at Baker Street, but I cannot recollect anything more sudden and startling than the first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D., etc. His card, which seemed too small to carry the weight of his academic distinctions, preceded him by a few seconds, and then he entered himself—so large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was the very embodiment of self-possession and solidity. And yet his first action when the door had closed behind him was to stagger against the table, whence he slipped down upon the floor, and there was that majestic figure prostrate and insensible upon our bearskin hearthrug.</p>\n\n<p>We had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments we stared in silent amazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told of some sudden and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurried with a cushion for his head and I with brandy for his lips. The heavy white face was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches under the closed eyes were leaden in colour, the loose mouth drooped dolorously at the corners, the rolling chins were unshaven. Collar and shirt bore the grime of a long journey, and the hair bristled unkempt from the well-shaped head. It was a sorely-stricken man who lay before us.</p>\n\n<p>“What is it, Watson?” asked Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“Absolute exhaustion—possibly mere hunger and fatigue,” said I, with my finger on the thready pulse, where the stream of life trickled thin and small.</p>\n\n<p>“Return ticket from Mackleton, in the North of England,” said Holmes, drawing it from the watch-pocket. “It is not twelve o’clock yet. He has certainly been an early starter.”</p>\n\n<p>The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and now a pair of vacant, grey eyes looked up at us. An instant later the man had scrambled on to his feet, his face crimson with shame.</p>\n\n<p>“Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes; I have been a little overwrought. Thank you, if I might have a glass of milk and a biscuit I have no doubt that I should be better. I came personally, Mr. Holmes, in order to ensure that you would return with me. I feared that no telegram would convince you of the absolute urgency of the case.”</p>\n\n<p>“When you are quite restored—</p>\n\n<p>“I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how I came to be so weak. I wish you, Mr. Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by the next train.”</p>\n\n<p>My friend shook his head.</p>\n\n<p>“My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you that we are very busy at present. I am retained in this case of the Ferrers Documents, and the Abergavenny murder is coming up for trial. Only a very important issue could call me from London at present.”</p>\n\n<p>“Important!” Our visitor threw up his hands. “Have you heard nothing of the abduction of the only son of the Duke of Holdernesse?”</p>\n\n<p>“What! the late Cabinet Minister?”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the papers, but there was some rumour in the Globe last night. I thought it might have reached your ears.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked out Volume “H” in his encyclopaedia of reference.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.’—half the alphabet! ‘Baron Beverley, Earl of Carston’—dear me, what a list! ‘Lord Lieutenant of Hallamshire since 1900. Married Edith, daughter of Sir Charles Appledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord Saltire. Owns about two hundred and fifty thousand acres. Minerals in Lancashire and Wales. Address: Carlton House Terrace; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; Carston Castle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of the Admiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of State for—’ Well, well, this man is certainly one of the greatest subjects of the Crown!”</p>\n\n<p>“The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I am aware, Mr. Holmes, that you take a very high line in professional matters, and that you are prepared to work for the work’s sake. I may tell you, however, that his Grace has already intimated that a cheque for five thousand pounds will be handed over to the person who can tell him where his son is, and another thousand to him who can name the man, or men, who have taken him.”</p>\n\n<p>“It is a princely offer,” said Holmes. “Watson, I think that we shall accompany Dr. Huxtable back to the North of England. And now, Dr. Huxtable, when you have consumed that milk you will kindly tell me what has happened, when it happened, how it happened, and, finally, what Dr. Thorneycroft Huxtable, of the Priory School, near Mackleton, has to do with the matter, and why he comes three days after an event—the state of your chin gives the date—to ask for my humble services.”</p>\n\n<p>Our visitor had consumed his milk and biscuits. The light had come back to his eyes and the colour to his cheeks as he set himself with great vigour and lucidity to explain the situation.</p>\n\n<p>“I must inform you, gentlemen, that the Priory is a preparatory school, of which I am the founder and principal. ‘Huxtable’s Sidelights on Horace’ may possibly recall my name to your memories. The Priory is, without exception, the best and most select preparatory school in England. Lord Leverstoke, the Earl of Blackwater, Sir Cathcart Soames—they all have entrusted their sons to me. But I felt that my school had reached its zenith when, three weeks ago, the Duke of Holdernesse sent Mr. James Wilder, his secretary, with the intimation that young Lord Saltire, ten years old, his only son and heir, was about to be committed to my charge. Little did I think that this would be the prelude to the most crushing misfortune of my life.</p>\n\n<p>“On May 1st the boy arrived, that being the beginning of the summer term. He was a charming youth, and he soon fell into our ways. I may tell you—I trust that I am not indiscreet, but half-confidences are absurd in such a case—that he was not entirely happy at home. It is an open secret that the Duke’s married life had not been a peaceful one, and the matter had ended in a separation by mutual consent, the Duchess taking up her residence in the South of France. This had occurred very shortly before, and the boy’s sympathies are known to have been strongly with his mother. He moped after her departure from Holdernesse Hall, and it was for this reason that the Duke desired to send him to my establishment. In a fortnight the boy was quite at home with us, and was apparently absolutely happy.</p>\n\n<p>“He was last seen on the night of May 13th—that is, the night of last Monday. His room was on the second floor, and was approached through another larger room in which two boys were sleeping. These boys saw and heard nothing, so that it is certain that young Saltire did not pass out that way. His window was open, and there is a stout ivy plant leading to the ground. We could trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this is the only possible exit.</p>\n\n<p>“His absence was discovered at seven o’clock on Tuesday morning. His bed had been slept in. He had dressed himself fully before going off in his usual school suit of black Eton jacket and dark grey trousers. There were no signs that anyone had entered the room, and it is quite certain that anything in the nature of cries, or a struggle, would have been heard, since Caunter, the elder boy in the inner room, is a very light sleeper.</p>\n\n<p>“When Lord Saltire’s disappearance was discovered I at once called a roll of the whole establishment, boys, masters, and servants. It was then that we ascertained that Lord Saltire had not been alone in his flight. Heidegger, the German master, was missing. His room was on the second floor, at the farther end of the building, facing the same way as Lord Saltire’s. His bed had also been slept in; but he had apparently gone away partly dressed, since his shirt and socks were lying on the floor. He had undoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for we could see the marks of his feet where he had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was kept in a small shed beside this lawn, and it also was gone.</p>\n\n<p>“He had been with me for two years, and came with the best references; but he was a silent, morose man, not very popular either with masters or boys. No trace could be found of the fugitives, and now on Thursday morning we are as ignorant as we were on Tuesday. Inquiry was, of course, made at once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few miles away, and we imagined that in some sudden attack of home-sickness he had gone back to his father; but nothing had been heard of him. The Duke is greatly agitated—and as to me, you have seen yourselves the state of nervous prostration to which the suspense and the responsibility have reduced me. Mr. Holmes, if ever you put forward your full powers, I implore you to do so now, for never in your life could you have a case which is more worthy of them.”</p>\n\n<p>Sherlock Holmes had listened with the utmost intentness to the statement of the unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows and the deep furrow between them showed that he needed no exhortation to concentrate all his attention upon a problem which, apart from the tremendous interests involved, must appeal so directly to his love of the complex and the unusual. He now drew out his note-book and jotted down one or two memoranda.</p>\n\n<p>“You have been very remiss in not coming to me sooner,” said he, severely. “You start me on my investigation with a very serious handicap. It is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and this lawn would have yielded nothing to an expert observer.”</p>\n\n<p>“I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace was extremely desirous to avoid all public scandal. He was afraid of his family unhappiness being dragged before the world. He has a deep horror of anything of the kind.”</p>\n\n<p>“But there has been some official investigation?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. An apparent clue was at once obtained, since a boy and a young man were reported to have been seen leaving a neighbouring station by an early train. Only last night we had news that the couple had been hunted down in Liverpool, and they prove to have no connection whatever with the matter in hand. Then it was that in my despair and disappointment, after a sleepless night, I came straight to you by the early train.”</p>\n\n<p>“I suppose the local investigation was relaxed while this false clue was being followed up?”</p>\n\n<p>“It was entirely dropped.”</p>\n\n<p>“So that three days have been wasted. The affair has been most deplorably handled.”</p>\n\n<p>“I feel it, and admit it.”</p>\n\n<p>“And yet the problem should be capable of ultimate solution. I shall be very happy to look into it. Have you been able to trace any connection between the missing boy and this German master?”</p>\n\n<p>“None at all.”</p>\n\n<p>“Was he in the master’s class?”</p>\n\n<p>“No; he never exchanged a word with him so far as I know.”</p>\n\n<p>“That is certainly very singular. Had the boy a bicycle?”</p>\n\n<p>“No.”</p>\n\n<p>“Was any other bicycle missing?”</p>\n\n<p>“No.”</p>\n\n<p>“Is that certain?”</p>\n\n<p>“Quite.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, now, you do not mean to seriously suggest that this German rode off upon a bicycle in the dead of the night bearing the boy in his arms?”</p>\n\n<p>“Certainly not.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then what is the theory in your mind?”</p>\n\n<p>“The bicycle may have been a blind. It may have been hidden somewhere and the pair gone off on foot.”</p>\n\n<p>“Quite so; but it seems rather an absurd blind, does it not? Were there other bicycles in this shed?”</p>\n\n<p>“Several.”</p>\n\n<p>“Would he not have hidden a couple he desired to give the idea that they had gone off upon them?”</p>\n\n<p>“I suppose he would.”</p>\n\n<p>“Of course he would. The blind theory won’t do. But the incident is an admirable starting-point for an investigation. After all, a bicycle is not an easy thing to conceal or to destroy. One other question. Did anyone call to see the boy on the day before he disappeared?”</p>\n\n<p>“No.”</p>\n\n<p>“Did he get any letters?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes; one letter.”</p>\n\n<p>“From whom?”</p>\n\n<p>“From his father.”</p>\n\n<p>“Do you open the boys’ letters?”</p>\n\n<p>“No.”</p>\n\n<p>“How do you know it was from the father?”</p>\n\n<p>“The coat of arms was on the envelope, and it was addressed in the Duke’s peculiar stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembers having written.”</p>\n\n<p>“When had he a letter before that?”</p>\n\n<p>“Not for several days.”</p>\n\n<p>“Had he ever one from France?”</p>\n\n<p>“No; never.”</p>\n\n<p>“You see the point of my questions, of course. Either the boy was carried off by force or he went of his own free will. In the latter case you would expect that some prompting from outside would be needed to make so young a lad do such a thing. If he has had no visitors, that prompting must have come in letters. Hence I try to find out who were his correspondents.”</p>\n\n<p>“I fear I cannot help you much. His only correspondent, so far as I know, was his own father.”</p>\n\n<p>“Who wrote to him on the very day of his disappearance. Were the relations between father and son very friendly?”</p>\n\n<p>“His Grace is never very friendly with anyone. He is completely immersed in large public questions, and is rather inaccessible to all ordinary emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his own way.”</p>\n\n<p>“But the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes.”</p>\n\n<p>“Did he say so?”</p>\n\n<p>“No.”</p>\n\n<p>“The Duke, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“Good heavens, no!”</p>\n\n<p>“Then how could you know?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have had some confidential talks with Mr. James Wilder, his Grace’s secretary. It was he who gave me the information about Lord Saltire’s feelings.”</p>\n\n<p>“I see. By the way, that last letter of the Duke’s—was it found in the boy’s room after he was gone?”</p>\n\n<p>“No; he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. Holmes, it is time that we were leaving for Euston.”</p>\n\n<p>“I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an hour we shall be at your service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it would be well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine that the inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else that red herring led your pack. In the meantime I will do a little quiet work at your own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but that two old hounds like Watson and myself may get a sniff of it.”</p>\n\n<p>That evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of the Peak country, in which Dr. Huxtable’s famous school is situated. It was already dark when we reached it. A card was lying on the hall table, and the butler whispered something to his master, who turned to us with agitation in every heavy feature.</p>\n\n<p>“The Duke is here,” said he. “The Duke and Mr. Wilder are in the study. Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce you.”</p>\n\n<p>I was, of course, familiar with the pictures of the famous statesman, but the man himself was very different from his representation. He was a tall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin face, and a nose which was grotesquely curved and long. His complexion was of a dead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long, dwindling beard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat, with his watch-chain gleaming through its fringe. Such was the stately presence who looked stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Huxtable’s hearthrug. Beside him stood a very young man, whom I understood to be Wilder, the private secretary. He was small, nervous, alert, with intelligent, light-blue eyes and mobile features. It was he who at once, in an incisive and positive tone, opened the conversation.</p>\n\n<p>“I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late to prevent you from starting for London. I learned that your object was to invite Mr. Sherlock Holmes to undertake the conduct of this case. His Grace is surprised, Dr. Huxtable, that you should have taken such a step without consulting him.”</p>\n\n<p>“When I learned that the police had failed—”</p>\n\n<p>“His Grace is by no means convinced that the police have failed.”</p>\n\n<p>“But surely, Mr. Wilder—”</p>\n\n<p>“You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that his Grace is particularly anxious to avoid all public scandal. He prefers to take as few people as possible into his confidence.”</p>\n\n<p>“The matter can be easily remedied,” said the brow-beaten doctor; “Mr. Sherlock Holmes can return to London by the morning train.”</p>\n\n<p>“Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that,” said Holmes, in his blandest voice. “This northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so I propose to spend a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my mind as best I may. Whether I have the shelter of your roof or of the village inn is, of course, for you to decide.”</p>\n\n<p>I could see that the unfortunate doctor was in the last stage of indecision, from which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of the red-bearded Duke, which boomed out like a dinner-gong.</p>\n\n<p>“I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable, that you would have done wisely to consult me. But since Mr. Holmes has already been taken into your confidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should not avail ourselves of his services. Far from going to the inn, Mr. Holmes, I should be pleased if you would come and stay with me at Holdernesse Hall.”</p>\n\n<p>“I thank your Grace. For the purposes of my investigation I think that it would be wiser for me to remain at the scene of the mystery.”</p>\n\n<p>“Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any information which Mr. Wilder or I can give you is, of course, at your disposal.”</p>\n\n<p>“It will probably be necessary for me to see you at the Hall,” said Holmes. “I would only ask you now, sir, whether you have formed any explanation in your own mind as to the mysterious disappearance of your son?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, sir, I have not.”</p>\n\n<p>“Excuse me if I allude to that which is painful to you, but I have no alternative. Do you think that the Duchess had anything to do with the matter?”</p>\n\n<p>The great Minister showed perceptible hesitation.</p>\n\n<p>“I do not think so,” he said, at last.</p>\n\n<p>“The other most obvious explanation is that the child has been kidnapped for the purpose of levying ransom. You have not had any demand of the sort?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, sir.”</p>\n\n<p>“One more question, your Grace. I understand that you wrote to your son upon the day when this incident occurred.”</p>\n\n<p>“No; I wrote upon the day before.”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly. But he received it on that day?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes.”</p>\n\n<p>“Was there anything in your letter which might have unbalanced him or induced him to take such a step?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, sir, certainly not.”</p>\n\n<p>“Did you post that letter yourself?”</p>\n\n<p>The nobleman’s reply was interrupted by his secretary, who broke in with some heat.</p>\n\n<p>“His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters himself,” said he. “This letter was laid with others upon the study table, and I myself put them in the post-bag.”</p>\n\n<p>“You are sure this one was among them?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes; I observed it.”</p>\n\n<p>“How many letters did your Grace write that day?”</p>\n\n<p>“Twenty or thirty. I have a large correspondence. But surely this is somewhat irrelevant?”</p>\n\n<p>“Not entirely,” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“For my own part,” the Duke continued, “I have advised the police to turn their attention to the South of France. I have already said that I do not believe that the Duchess would encourage so monstrous an action, but the lad had the most wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible that he may have fled to her, aided and abetted by this German. I think, Dr. Huxtable, that we will now return to the Hall.”</p>\n\n<p>I could see that there were other questions which Holmes would have wished to put; but the nobleman’s abrupt manner showed that the interview was at an end. It was evident that to his intensely aristocratic nature this discussion of his intimate family affairs with a stranger was most abhorrent, and that he feared lest every fresh question would throw a fiercer light into the discreetly shadowed corners of his ducal history.</p>\n\n<p>When the nobleman and his secretary had left, my friend flung himself at once with characteristic eagerness into the investigation.</p>\n\n<p>The boy’s chamber was carefully examined, and yielded nothing save the absolute conviction that it was only through the window that he could have escaped. The German master’s room and effects gave no further clue. In his case a trailer of ivy had given way under his weight, and we saw by the light of a lantern the mark on the lawn where his heels had come down. That one dint in the short green grass was the only material witness left of this inexplicable nocturnal flight.</p>\n\n<p>Sherlock Holmes left the house alone, and only returned after eleven. He had obtained a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood, and this he brought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed, and, having balanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke over it, and occasionally to point out objects of interest with the reeking amber of his pipe.</p>\n\n<p>“This case grows upon me, Watson,” said he. “There are decidedly some points of interest in connection with it. In this early stage I want you to realize those geographical features which may have a good deal to do with our investigation.</p>\n\n<p>“Look at this map. This dark square is the Priory School. I’ll put a pin in it. Now, this line is the main road. You see that it runs east and west past the school, and you see also that there is no side road for a mile either way. If these two folk passed away by road it was this road.”</p>\n\n<p><img src=\"https://sherlock-holm.es/stories/html/pictures/prio-1.png\" alt=\"\" /></p>\n\n<p>“Exactly.”</p>\n\n<p>“By a singular and happy chance we are able to some extent to check what passed along this road during the night in question. At this point, where my pipe is now resting, a country constable was on duty from twelve to six. It is, as you perceive, the first cross road on the east side. This man declares that he was not absent from his post for an instant, and he is positive that neither boy nor man could have gone that way unseen. I have spoken with this policeman to-night, and he appears to me to be a perfectly reliable person. That blocks this end. We have now to deal with the other. There is an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady of which was ill. She had sent to Mackleton for a doctor, but he did not arrive until morning, being absent at another case. The people at the inn were alert all night, awaiting his coming, and one or other of them seems to have continually had an eye upon the road. They declare that no one passed. If their evidence is good, then we are fortunate enough to be able to block the west, and also to be able to say that the fugitives did not use the road at all.”</p>\n\n<p>“But the bicycle?” I objected.</p>\n\n<p>“Quite so. We will come to the bicycle presently. To continue our reasoning: if these people did not go by the road, they must have traversed the country to the north of the house or to the south of the house. That is certain. Let us weigh the one against the other. On the south of the house is, as you perceive, a large district of arable land, cut up into small fields, with stone walls between them. There, I admit that a bicycle is impossible. We can dismiss the idea. We turn to the country on the north. Here there lies a grove of trees, marked as the ‘Ragged Shaw,’ and on the farther side stretches a great rolling moor, Lower Gill Moor, extending for ten miles and sloping gradually upwards. Here, at one side of this wilderness, is Holdernesse Hall, ten miles by road, but only six across the moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A few moor farmers have small holdings, where they rear sheep and cattle. Except these, the plover and the curlew are the only inhabitants until you come to the Chesterfield high road. There is a church there, you see, a few cottages, and an inn. Beyond that the hills become precipitous. Surely it is here to the north that our quest must lie.”</p>\n\n<p>“But the bicycle?” I persisted.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, well!” said Holmes, impatiently. “A good cyclist does not need a high road. The moor is intersected with paths and the moon was at the full. Halloa! what is this?”</p>\n\n<p>There was an agitated knock at the door, and an instant afterwards Dr. Huxtable was in the room. In his hand he held a blue cricket-cap, with a white chevron on the peak.</p>\n\n<p>“At last we have a clue!” he cried. “Thank Heaven! at last we are on the dear boy’s track! It is his cap.”</p>\n\n<p>“Where was it found?”</p>\n\n<p>“In the van of the gipsies who camped on the moor. They left on Tuesday. To-day the police traced them down and examined their caravan. This was found.”</p>\n\n<p>“How do they account for it?”</p>\n\n<p>“They shuffled and lied—said that they found it on the moor on Tuesday morning. They know where he is, the rascals! Thank goodness, they are all safe under lock and key. Either the fear of the law or the Duke’s purse will certainly get out of them all that they know.”</p>\n\n<p>“So far, so good,” said Holmes, when the doctor had at last left the room. “It at least bears out the theory that it is on the side of the Lower Gill Moor that we must hope for results. The police have really done nothing locally, save the arrest of these gipsies. Look here, Watson! There is a watercourse across the moor. You see it marked here in the map. In some parts it widens into a morass. This is particularly so in the region between Holdernesse Hall and the school. It is vain to look elsewhere for tracks in this dry weather; but at that point there is certainly a chance of some record being left. I will call you early to-morrow morning, and you and I will try if we can throw some little light upon the mystery.”</p>\n\n<p>The day was just breaking when I woke to find the long, thin form of Holmes by my bedside. He was fully dressed, and had apparently already been out.</p>\n\n<p>“I have done the lawn and the bicycle shed,” said he. “I have also had a ramble through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there is cocoa ready in the next room. I must beg you to hurry, for we have a great day before us.”</p>\n\n<p>His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of the master workman who sees his work lie ready before him. A very different Holmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and pallid dreamer of Baker Street. I felt, as I looked upon that supple figure, alive with nervous energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day that awaited us.</p>\n\n<p>And yet it opened in the blackest disappointment. With high hopes we struck across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with a thousand sheep paths, until we came to the broad, light-green belt which marked the morass between us and Holdernesse. Certainly, if the lad had gone homewards, he must have passed this, and he could not pass it without leaving his traces. But no sign of him or the German could be seen. With a darkening face my friend strode along the margin, eagerly observant of every muddy stain upon the mossy surface. Sheep-marks there were in profusion, and at one place, some miles down, cows had left their tracks. Nothing more.</p>\n\n<p>“Check number one,” said Holmes, looking gloomily over the rolling expanse of the moor. “There is another morass down yonder and a narrow neck between. Halloa! halloa! halloa! what have we here?”</p>\n\n<p>We had come on a small black ribbon of pathway. In the middle of it, clearly marked on the sodden soil, was the track of a bicycle.</p>\n\n<p>“Hurrah!” I cried. “We have it.”</p>\n\n<p>But Holmes was shaking his head, and his face was puzzled and expectant rather than joyous.</p>\n\n<p>“A bicycle, certainly, but not the bicycle,” said he. “I am familiar with forty-two different impressions left by tyres. This, as you perceive, is a Dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. Heidegger’s tyres were Palmer’s, leaving longitudinal stripes. Aveling, the mathematical master, was sure upon the point. Therefore, it is not Heidegger’s track.”</p>\n\n<p>“The boy’s, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have been in his possession. But this we have utterly failed to do. This track, as you perceive, was made by a rider who was going from the direction of the school.”</p>\n\n<p>“Or towards it?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, no, my dear Watson. The more deeply sunk impression is, of course, the hind wheel, upon which the weight rests. You perceive several places where it has passed across and obliterated the more shallow mark of the front one. It was undoubtedly heading away from the school. It may or may not be connected with our inquiry, but we will follow it backwards before we go any farther.”</p>\n\n<p>We did so, and at the end of a few hundred yards lost the tracks as we emerged from the boggy portion of the moor. Following the path backwards, we picked out another spot, where a spring trickled across it. Here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, though nearly obliterated by the hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign, but the path ran right on into Ragged Shaw, the wood which backed on to the school. From this wood the cycle must have emerged. Holmes sat down on a boulder and rested his chin in his hands. I had smoked two cigarettes before he moved.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, well,” said he, at last. “It is, of course, possible that a cunning man might change the tyre of his bicycle in order to leave unfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was capable of such a thought is a man whom I should be proud to do business with. We will leave this question undecided and hark back to our morass again, for we have left a good deal unexplored.”</p>\n\n<p>We continued our systematic survey of the edge of the sodden portion of the moor, and soon our perseverance was gloriously rewarded. Right across the lower part of the bog lay a miry path. Holmes gave a cry of delight as he approached it. An impression like a fine bundle of telegraph wires ran down the centre of it. It was the Palmer tyre.</p>\n\n<p>“Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!” cried Holmes, exultantly. “My reasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson.”</p>\n\n<p>“I congratulate you.”</p>\n\n<p>“But we have a long way still to go. Kindly walk clear of the path. Now let us follow the trail. I fear that it will not lead very far.”</p>\n\n<p>We found, however, as we advanced that this portion of the moor is intersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently lost sight of the track, we always succeeded in picking it up once more.</p>\n\n<p>“Do you observe,” said Holmes, “that the rider is now undoubtedly forcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it. Look at this impression, where you get both tyres clear. The one is as deep as the other. That can only mean that the rider is throwing his weight on to the handle-bar, as a man does when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a fall.”</p>\n\n<p>There was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of the track. Then there were a few footmarks, and the tyre reappeared once more.</p>\n\n<p>“A side-slip,” I suggested.</p>\n\n<p>Holmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse. To my horror I perceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled with crimson. On the path, too, and among the heather were dark stains of clotted blood.</p>\n\n<p>“Bad!” said Holmes. “Bad! Stand clear, Watson! Not an unnecessary footstep! What do I read here? He fell wounded, he stood up, he remounted, he proceeded. But there is no other track. Cattle on this side path. He was surely not gored by a bull? Impossible! But I see no traces of anyone else. We must push on, Watson. Surely with stains as well as the track to guide us he cannot escape us now.”</p>\n\n<p>Our search was not a very long one. The tracks of the tyre began to curve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly, as I looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the thick gorse bushes. Out of them we dragged a bicycle, Palmer-tyred, one pedal bent, and the whole front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with blood. On the other side of the bushes a shoe was projecting. We ran round, and there lay the unfortunate rider. He was a tall man, full bearded, with spectacles, one glass of which had been knocked out. The cause of his death was a frightful blow upon the head, which had crushed in part of his skull. That he could have gone on after receiving such an injury said much for the vitality and courage of the man. He wore shoes, but no socks, and his open coat disclosed a night-shirt beneath it. It was undoubtedly the German master.</p>\n\n<p>Holmes turned the body over reverently, and examined it with great attention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and I could see by his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in his opinion, advanced us much in our inquiry.</p>\n\n<p>“It is a little difficult to know what to do, Watson,” said he, at last. “My own inclinations are to push this inquiry on, for we have already lost so much time that we cannot afford to waste another hour. On the other hand, we are bound to inform the police of the discovery, and to see that this poor fellow’s body is looked after.”</p>\n\n<p>“I could take a note back.”</p>\n\n<p>“But I need your company and assistance. Wait a bit! There is a fellow cutting peat up yonder. Bring him over here, and he will guide the police.”</p>\n\n<p>I brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched the frightened man with a note to Dr. Huxtable.</p>\n\n<p>“Now, Watson,” said he, “we have picked up two clues this morning. One is the bicycle with the Palmer tyre, and we see what that has led to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we start to investigate that, let us try to realize what we do know so as to make the most of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental.”</p>\n\n<p>“First of all I wish to impress upon you that the boy certainly left of his own free will. He got down from his window and he went off, either alone or with someone. That is sure.”</p>\n\n<p>I assented.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. The boy was fully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what he would do. But the German went without his socks. He certainly acted on very short notice.”</p>\n\n<p>“Undoubtedly.”</p>\n\n<p>“Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw the flight of the boy. Because he wished to overtake him and bring him back. He seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met his death.”</p>\n\n<p>“So it would seem.”</p>\n\n<p>“Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The natural action of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him. He would know that he could overtake him. But the German does not do so. He turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was an excellent cyclist. He would not do this if he did not see that the boy had some swift means of escape.”</p>\n\n<p>“The other bicycle.”</p>\n\n<p>“Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death five miles from the school—not by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad might conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm. The lad, then, had a companion in his flight. And the flight was a swift one, since it took five miles before an expert cyclist could overtake them. Yet we survey the ground round the scene of the tragedy. What do we find? A few cattle tracks, nothing more. I took a wide sweep round, and there is no path within fifty yards. Another cyclist could have had nothing to do with the actual murder. Nor were there any human footmarks.”</p>\n\n<p>“Holmes,” I cried, “this is impossible.”</p>\n\n<p>“Admirable!” he said. “A most illuminating remark. It is impossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated it wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?”</p>\n\n<p>“He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?”</p>\n\n<p>“In a morass, Watson?”</p>\n\n<p>“I am at my wit’s end.”</p>\n\n<p>“Tut, tut; we have solved some worse problems. At least we have plenty of material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and, having exhausted the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the patched cover has to offer us.”</p>\n\n<p>We picked up the track and followed it onwards for some distance; but soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we left the watercourse behind us. No further help from tracks could be hoped for. At the spot where we saw the last of the Dunlop tyre it might equally have led to Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of which rose some miles to our left, or to a low, grey village which lay in front of us, and marked the position of the Chesterfield high road.</p>\n\n<p>As we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the sign of a game-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan and clutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had had one of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. With difficulty he limped up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man was smoking a black clay pipe.</p>\n\n<p>“How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“Who are you, and how do you get my name so pat?” the countryman answered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, it’s printed on the board above your head. It’s easy to see a man who is master of his own house. I suppose you haven’t such a thing as a carriage in your stables?”</p>\n\n<p>“No; I have not.”</p>\n\n<p>“I can hardly put my foot to the ground.”</p>\n\n<p>“Don’t put it to the ground.”</p>\n\n<p>“But I can’t walk.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, then, hop.”</p>\n\n<p>Mr. Reuben Hayes’s manner was far from gracious, but Holmes took it with admirable good-humour.</p>\n\n<p>“Look here, my man,” said he. “This is really rather an awkward fix for me. I don’t mind how I get on.”</p>\n\n<p>“Neither do I,” said the morose landlord.</p>\n\n<p>“The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign for the use of a bicycle.”</p>\n\n<p>The landlord pricked up his ears.</p>\n\n<p>“Where do you want to go?”</p>\n\n<p>“To Holdernesse Hall.”</p>\n\n<p>“Pals of the Dook, I suppose?” said the landlord, surveying our mud-stained garments with ironical eyes.</p>\n\n<p>Holmes laughed good-naturedly.</p>\n\n<p>“He’ll be glad to see us, anyhow.”</p>\n\n<p>“Why?”</p>\n\n<p>“Because we bring him news of his lost son.”</p>\n\n<p>The landlord gave a very visible start.</p>\n\n<p>“What, you’re on his track?”</p>\n\n<p>“He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect to get him every hour.”</p>\n\n<p>Again a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. His manner was suddenly genial.</p>\n\n<p>“I’ve less reason to wish the Dook well than most men,” said he, “for I was his head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. It was him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lying corn-chandler. But I’m glad to hear that the young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and I’ll help you to take the news to the Hall.”</p>\n\n<p>“Thank you,” said Holmes. “We’ll have some food first. Then you can bring round the bicycle.”</p>\n\n<p>“I haven’t got a bicycle.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes held up a sovereign.</p>\n\n<p>“I tell you, man, that I haven’t got one. I’ll let you have two horses as far as the Hall.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, well,” said Holmes, “we’ll talk about it when we’ve had something to eat.”</p>\n\n<p>When we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen it was astonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It was nearly nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning, so that we spent some time over our meal. Holmes was lost in thought, and once or twice he walked over to the window and stared earnestly out. It opened on to a squalid courtyard. In the far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at work. On the other side were the stables. Holmes had sat down again after one of these excursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with a loud exclamation.</p>\n\n<p>“By Heaven, Watson, I believe that I’ve got it!” he cried. “Yes, yes, it must be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracks to-day?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, several.”</p>\n\n<p>“Where?”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, and again on the path, and again near where poor Heidegger met his death.”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on the moor?”</p>\n\n<p>“I don’t remember seeing any.”</p>\n\n<p>“Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line, but never a cow on the whole moor; very strange, Watson, eh?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, it is strange.”</p>\n\n<p>“Now, Watson, make an effort; throw your mind back! Can you see those tracks upon the path?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, I can.”</p>\n\n<p>“Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that, Watson”—he arranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion—: : : : :—“and sometimes like this”—: ˙ : ˙ : ˙ : ˙—“and occasionally like this”—. ˙ . ˙ . ˙ . “Can you remember that?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, I cannot.”</p>\n\n<p>“But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at our leisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been not to draw my conclusion!”</p>\n\n<p>“And what is your conclusion?”</p>\n\n<p>“Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and gallops. By George, Watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought out such a blind as that! The coast seems to be clear, save for that lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and see what we can see.”</p>\n\n<p>There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-down stable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed aloud.</p>\n\n<p>“Old shoes, but newly shod—old shoes, but new nails. This case deserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy.”</p>\n\n<p>The lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes’s eye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which was scattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his savage eyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion that I was right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket.</p>\n\n<p>“You infernal spies!” the man cried. “What are you doing there?”</p>\n\n<p>“Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes,” said Holmes, coolly, “one might think that you were afraid of our finding something out.”</p>\n\n<p>The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouth loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than his frown.</p>\n\n<p>“You’re welcome to all you can find out in my smithy,” said he. “But look here, mister, I don’t care for folk poking about my place without my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of this the better I shall be pleased.”</p>\n\n<p>“All right, Mr. Hayes—no harm meant,” said Holmes. “We have been having a look at your horses, but I think I’ll walk after all. It’s not far, I believe.”</p>\n\n<p>“Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. That’s the road to the left.” He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his premises.</p>\n\n<p>We did not go very far along the road, for Holmes stopped the instant that the curve hid us from the landlord’s view.</p>\n\n<p>“We were warm, as the children say, at that inn,” said he. “I seem to grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no; I can’t possibly leave it.”</p>\n\n<p>“I am convinced,” said I, “that this Reuben Hayes knows all about it. A more self-evident villain I never saw.”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses, there is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this Fighting Cock. I think we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way.”</p>\n\n<p>A long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey limestone boulders, stretched behind us. We had turned off the road, and were making our way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I saw a cyclist coming swiftly along.</p>\n\n<p>“Get down, Watson!” cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon my shoulder. We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us on the road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust I caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated face—a face with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, the eyes staring wildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of the dapper James Wilder whom we had seen the night before.</p>\n\n<p>“The Duke’s secretary!” cried Holmes. “Come, Watson, let us see what he does.”</p>\n\n<p>We scrambled from rock to rock until in a few moments we had made our way to a point from which we could see the front door of the inn. Wilder’s bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. No one was moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at the windows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the high towers of Holdernesse Hall. Then in the gloom we saw the two side-lamps of a trap light up in the stable yard of the inn, and shortly afterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road and tore off at a furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield.</p>\n\n<p>“What do you make of that, Watson?” Holmes whispered.</p>\n\n<p>“It looks like a flight.”</p>\n\n<p>“A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door.”</p>\n\n<p>A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he was expecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, a second figure was visible for an instant against the light, the door shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor.</p>\n\n<p>“It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the Fighting Cock,” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“The bar is on the other side.”</p>\n\n<p>“Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now, what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this hour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely.”</p>\n\n<p>Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above us was the lighted window.</p>\n\n<p>“I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back and support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage.”</p>\n\n<p>An instant later his feet were on my shoulders. But he was hardly up before he was down again.</p>\n\n<p>“Come, my friend,” said he, “our day’s work has been quite long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It’s a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better.”</p>\n\n<p>He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his master’s death, and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning. “All goes well, my friend,” said he. “I promise that before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery.”</p>\n\n<p>At eleven o’clock next morning my friend and I were walking up the famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered through the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace’s study. There we found Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but with some trace of that wild terror of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and in his twitching features.</p>\n\n<p>“You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry; but the fact is that the Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the tragic news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon, which told us of your discovery.”</p>\n\n<p>“I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder.”</p>\n\n<p>“But he is in his room.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then I must go to his room.”</p>\n\n<p>“I believe he is in his bed.”</p>\n\n<p>“I will see him there.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes’s cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary that it was useless to argue with him.</p>\n\n<p>“Very good, Mr. Holmes; I will tell him that you are here.”</p>\n\n<p>After half an hour’s delay the great nobleman appeared. His face was more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed to me to be an altogether older man than he had been the morning before. He greeted us with a stately courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his red beard streaming down on to the table.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, Mr. Holmes?” said he.</p>\n\n<p>But my friend’s eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood by his master’s chair.</p>\n\n<p>“I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr. Wilder’s absence.”</p>\n\n<p>The man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance at Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“If your Grace wishes—”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, yes; you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you to say?”</p>\n\n<p>My friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreating secretary.</p>\n\n<p>“The fact is, your Grace,” said he, “that my colleague, Dr. Watson, and myself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a reward had been offered in this case. I should like to have this confirmed from your own lips.”</p>\n\n<p>“Certainly, Mr. Holmes.”</p>\n\n<p>“It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousand pounds to anyone who will tell you where your son is?”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly.”</p>\n\n<p>“And another thousand to the man who will name the person or persons who keep him in custody?”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly.”</p>\n\n<p>“Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only those who may have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keep him in his present position?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, yes,” cried the Duke, impatiently. “If you do your work well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain of niggardly treatment.”</p>\n\n<p>My friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of avidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.</p>\n\n<p>“I fancy that I see your Grace’s cheque-book upon the table,” said he. “I should be glad if you would make me out a cheque for six thousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch, are my agents.”</p>\n\n<p>His Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair, and looked stonily at my friend.</p>\n\n<p>“Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for pleasantry.”</p>\n\n<p>“Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life.”</p>\n\n<p>“What do you mean, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is, and I know some, at least, of those who are holding him.”</p>\n\n<p>The Duke’s beard had turned more aggressively red than ever against his ghastly white face.</p>\n\n<p>“Where is he?” he gasped.</p>\n\n<p>“He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two miles from your park gate.”</p>\n\n<p>The Duke fell back in his chair.</p>\n\n<p>“And whom do you accuse?”</p>\n\n<p>Sherlock Holmes’s answer was an astounding one. He stepped swiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.</p>\n\n<p>“I accuse you,” said he. “And now, your Grace, I’ll trouble you for that cheque.”</p>\n\n<p>Never shall I forget the Duke’s appearance as he sprang up and clawed with his hands like one who is sinking into an abyss. Then, with an extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down and sank his face in his hands. It was some minutes before he spoke.</p>\n\n<p>“How much do you know?” he asked at last, without raising his head.</p>\n\n<p>“I saw you together last night.”</p>\n\n<p>“Does anyone else besides your friend know?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have spoken to no one.”</p>\n\n<p>The Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened his cheque-book.</p>\n\n<p>“I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to write your cheque, however unwelcome the information which you have gained may be to me. When the offer was first made I little thought the turn which events might take. But you and your friend are men of discretion, Mr. Holmes?”</p>\n\n<p>“I hardly understand your Grace.”</p>\n\n<p>“I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you two know of this incident, there is no reason why it should go any farther. I think twelve thousand pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it not?”</p>\n\n<p>But Holmes smiled and shook his head.</p>\n\n<p>“I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so easily. There is the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted for.”</p>\n\n<p>“But James knew nothing of that. You cannot hold him responsible for that. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had the misfortune to employ.”</p>\n\n<p>“I must take the view, your Grace, that when a man embarks upon a crime he is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring from it.”</p>\n\n<p>“Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. But surely not in the eyes of the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder at which he was not present, and which he loathes and abhors as much as you do. The instant that he heard of it he made a complete confession to me, so filled was he with horror and remorse. He lost not an hour in breaking entirely with the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must save him—you must save him! I tell you that you must save him!” The Duke had dropped the last attempt at self-command, and was pacing the room with a convulsed face and with his clenched hands raving in the air. At last he mastered himself and sat down once more at his desk. “I appreciate your conduct in coming here before you spoke to anyone else,” said he. “At least, we may take counsel how far we can minimize this hideous scandal.”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly,” said Holmes. “I think, your Grace, that this can only be done by absolute and complete frankness between us. I am disposed to help your Grace to the best of my ability; but in order to do so I must understand to the last detail how the matter stands. I realize that your words applied to Mr. James Wilder, and that he is not the murderer.”</p>\n\n<p>“No; the murderer has escaped.”</p>\n\n<p>Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely.</p>\n\n<p>“Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which I possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape me. Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield on my information at eleven o’clock last night. I had a telegram from the head of the local police before I left the school this morning.”</p>\n\n<p>The Duke leaned back in his chair and stared with amazement at my friend.</p>\n\n<p>“You seem to have powers that are hardly human,” said he. “So Reuben Hayes is taken? I am right glad to hear it, if it will not react upon the fate of James.”</p>\n\n<p>“Your secretary?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, sir; my son.”</p>\n\n<p>It was Holmes’s turn to look astonished.</p>\n\n<p>“I confess that this is entirely new to me, your Grace. I must beg you to be more explicit.”</p>\n\n<p>“I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with you that complete frankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy in this desperate situation to which James’s folly and jealousy have reduced us. When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved with such a love as comes only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady marriage, but she refused it on the grounds that such a match might mar my career. Had she lived I would certainly never have married anyone else. She died, and left this one child, whom for her sake I have cherished and cared for. I could not acknowledge the paternity to the world; but I gave him the best of educations, and since he came to manhood I have kept him near my person. He surprised my secret, and has presumed ever since upon the claim which he has upon me and upon his power of provoking a scandal, which would be abhorrent to me. His presence had something to do with the unhappy issue of my marriage. Above all, he hated my young legitimate heir from the first with a persistent hatred. You may well ask me why, under these circumstances, I still kept James under my roof. I answer that it was because I could see his mother’s face in his, and that for her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering. All her pretty ways, too—there was not one of them which he could not suggest and bring back to my memory. I could not send him away. But I feared so much lest he should do Arthur—that is, Lord Saltire—a mischief that I dispatched him for safety to Dr. Huxtable’s school.</p>\n\n<p>“James came into contact with this fellow Hayes because the man was a tenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow was a rascal from the beginning; but in some extraordinary way James became intimate with him. He had always a taste for low company. When James determined to kidnap Lord Saltire it was of this man’s service that he availed himself. You remember that I wrote to Arthur upon that last day. Well, James opened the letter and inserted a note asking Arthur to meet him in a little wood called the Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school. He used the Duchess’s name, and in that way got the boy to come. That evening James bicycled over—I am telling you what he has himself confessed to me—and he told Arthur, whom he met in the wood, that his mother longed to see him, that she was awaiting him on the moor, and that if he would come back into the wood at midnight he would find a man with a horse, who would take him to her. Poor Arthur fell into the trap. He came to the appointment and found this fellow Hayes with a led pony. Arthur mounted, and they set off together. It appears—though this James only heard yesterday—that they were pursued, that Hayes struck the pursuer with his stick, and that the man died of his injuries. Hayes brought Arthur to his public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he was confined in an upper room, under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly woman, but entirely under the control of her brutal husband.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs when I first saw you two days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you. You will ask me what was James’s motive in doing such a deed. I answer that there was a great deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in the hatred which he bore my heir. In his view he should himself have been heir of all my estates, and he deeply resented those social laws which made it impossible. At the same time he had a definite motive also. He was eager that I should break the entail, and he was of opinion that it lay in my power to do so. He intended to make a bargain with me—to restore Arthur if I would break the entail, and so make it possible for the estate to be left to him by will. He knew well that I should never willingly invoke the aid of the police against him. I say that he would have proposed such a bargain to me, but he did not actually do so, for events moved too quickly for him, and he had not time to put his plans into practice.</p>\n\n<p>“What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck was your discovery of this man Heidegger’s dead body. James was seized with horror at the news. It came to us yesterday as we sat together in this study. Dr. Huxtable had sent a telegram. James was so overwhelmed with grief and agitation that my suspicions, which had never been entirely absent, rose instantly to a certainty, and I taxed him with the deed. He made a complete voluntary confession. Then he implored me to keep his secret for three days longer, so as to give his wretched accomplice a chance of saving his guilty life. I yielded—as I have always yielded—to his prayers, and instantly James hurried off to the Fighting Cock to warn Hayes and give him the means of flight. I could not go there by daylight without provoking comment, but as soon as night fell I hurried off to see my dear Arthur. I found him safe and well, but horrified beyond expression by the dreadful deed he had witnessed. In deference to my promise, and much against my will, I consented to leave him there for three days under the charge of Mrs. Hayes, since it was evident that it was impossible to inform the police where he was without telling them also who was the murderer, and I could not see how that murderer could be punished without ruin to my unfortunate James. You asked for frankness, Mr. Holmes, and I have taken you at your word, for I have now told you everything without an attempt at circumlocution or concealment. Do you in turn be as frank with me.”</p>\n\n<p>“I will,” said Holmes. “In the first place, your Grace, I am bound to tell you that you have placed yourself in a most serious position in the eyes of the law. You have condoned a felony and you have aided the escape of a murderer; for I cannot doubt that any money which was taken by James Wilder to aid his accomplice in his flight came from your Grace’s purse.”</p>\n\n<p>The Duke bowed his assent.</p>\n\n<p>“This is indeed a most serious matter. Even more culpable in my opinion, your Grace, is your attitude towards your younger son. You leave him in this den for three days.”</p>\n\n<p>“Under solemn promises—”</p>\n\n<p>“What are promises to such people as these? You have no guarantee that he will not be spirited away again. To humour your guilty elder son you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent and unnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifiable action.”</p>\n\n<p>The proud lord of Holdernesse was not accustomed to be so rated in his own ducal hall. The blood flushed into his high forehead, but his conscience held him dumb.</p>\n\n<p>“I will help you, but on one condition only. It is that you ring for the footman and let me give such orders as I like.”</p>\n\n<p>Without a word the Duke pressed the electric bell. A servant entered.</p>\n\n<p>“You will be glad to hear,” said Holmes, “that your young master is found. It is the Duke’s desire that the carriage shall go at once to the Fighting Cock Inn to bring Lord Saltire home.</p>\n\n<p>“Now,” said Holmes, when the rejoicing lackey had disappeared, “having secured the future, we can afford to be more lenient with the past. I am not in an official position, and there is no reason, so long as the ends of justice are served, why I should disclose all that I know. As to Hayes I say nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I would do nothing to save him from it. What he will divulge I cannot tell, but I have no doubt that your Grace could make him understand that it is to his interest to be silent. From the police point of view he will have kidnapped the boy for the purpose of ransom. If they do not themselves find it out I see no reason why I should prompt them to take a broader point of view. I would warn your Grace, however, that the continued presence of Mr. James Wilder in your household can only lead to misfortune.”</p>\n\n<p>“I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is already settled that he shall leave me for ever and go to seek his fortune in Australia.”</p>\n\n<p>“In that case, your Grace, since you have yourself stated that any unhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence, I would suggest that you make such amends as you can to the Duchess, and that you try to resume those relations which have been so unhappily interrupted.”</p>\n\n<p>“That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I wrote to the Duchess this morning.”</p>\n\n<p>“In that case,” said Holmes, rising, “I think that my friend and I can congratulate ourselves upon several most happy results from our little visit to the North. There is one other small point upon which I desire some light. This fellow Hayes had shod his horses with shoes which counterfeited the tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder that he learned so extraordinary a device?”</p>\n\n<p>The Duke stood in thought for a moment, with a look of intense surprise on his face. Then he opened a door and showed us into a large room furnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass case in a corner, and pointed to the inscription.</p>\n\n<p>“These shoes,” it ran, “were dug up in the moat of Holdernesse Hall. They are for the use of horses; but they are shaped below with a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track. They are supposed to have belonged to some of the marauding Barons of Holdernesse in the Middle Ages.“</p>\n\n<p>Holmes opened the case, and moistening his finger he passed it along the shoe. A thin film of recent mud was left upon his skin.</p>\n\n<p>“Thank you,” said he, as he replaced the glass. “It is the second most interesting object that I have seen in the North.”</p>\n\n<p>“And the first?”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes folded up his cheque and placed it carefully in his note-book. “I am a poor man,” said he, as he patted it affectionately and thrust it into the depths of his inner pocket.</p>\n\n<p><a href=\"https://sherlock-holm.es/stories/html/prio.html\">Text taken from here</a></p>\n",
      "url": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2018/08/12/the-adventure-of-the-priory-school.html",
      "date_published": "2018-08-12T00:00:00+00:00",
      "date_modified": "2018-08-12T00:00:00+00:00",
      "author": {
        "name": "Arthur Conan Doyle"
      }
    },
    {
      "id": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/opinion/2018/08/12/not-all-posts.html",
      "content_text": "Not all posts need a title.\n\n\n\nThey sometimes just want to be left alone.\n",
      "content_html": "<p>Not all posts need a title.</p>\n\n<!-- excerpt_separator -->\n\n<p>They sometimes just want to be left alone.</p>\n",
      "url": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/opinion/2018/08/12/not-all-posts.html",
      "date_published": "2018-08-12T00:00:00+00:00",
      "date_modified": "2018-08-12T00:00:00+00:00",
      "author": {
        "name": "Pat Dryburgh"
      }
    },
    {
      "id": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2018/08/11/the-adventure-of-charles-augustus-milverton.html",
      "title": "The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton",
      "content_text": "It is years since the incidents of which I speak took place, and yet\nit is with diffidence that I allude to them. For a long time, even\nwith the utmost discretion and reticence, it would have been\nimpossible to make the facts public; but now the principal person\nconcerned is beyond the reach of human law, and with due suppression\nthe story may be told in such fashion as to injure no one. It records\nan absolutely unique experience in the career both of Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes and of myself. The reader will excuse me if I conceal the date\nor any other fact by which he might trace the actual occurrence.\n\nWe had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I, and had\nreturned about six o’clock on a cold, frosty winter’s evening. As\nHolmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card on the table. He\nglanced at it, and then, with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on\nthe floor. I picked it up and read:–\n\n\n  Charles Augustus Milverton,                            \nAppledore Towers,\nHampstead.\nAgent.\n\n\n“Who is he?” I asked.\n\n“The worst man in London,” Holmes answered, as he sat down and\nstretched his legs before the fire. “Is anything on the back of the\ncard?”\n\nI turned it over.\n\n“Will call at 6.30–C.A.M.,” I read.\n\n“Hum! He’s about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation,\nWatson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zoo and see the\nslithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and\nwicked, flattened faces? Well, that’s how Milverton impresses me.\nI’ve had to do with fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of\nthem never gave me the repulsion which I have for this fellow. And\nyet I can’t get out of doing business with him–indeed, he is here at\nmy invitation.”\n\n“But who is he?”\n\n“I’ll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers.\nHeaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and\nreputation come into the power of Milverton. With a smiling face and\na heart of marble he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained\nthem dry. The fellow is a genius in his way, and would have made his\nmark in some more savoury trade. His method is as follows: He allows\nit to be known that he is prepared to pay very high sums for letters\nwhich compromise people of wealth or position. He receives these\nwares not only from treacherous valets or maids, but frequently from\ngenteel ruffians who have gained the confidence and affection of\ntrusting women. He deals with no niggard hand. I happen to know that\nhe paid seven hundred pounds to a footman for a note two lines in\nlength, and that the ruin of a noble family was the result.\nEverything which is in the market goes to Milverton, and there are\nhundreds in this great city who turn white at his name. No one knows\nwhere his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far too cunning\nto work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card back for years in\norder to play it at the moment when the stake is best worth winning.\nI have said that he is the worst man in London, and I would ask you\nhow could one compare the ruffian who in hot blood bludgeons his mate\nwith this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul\nand wrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen\nmoney-bags?”\n\nI had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.\n\n“But surely,” said I, “the fellow must be within the grasp of the\nlaw?”\n\n“Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would it profit a\nwoman, for example, to get him a few months’ imprisonment if her own\nruin must immediately follow? His victims dare not hit back. If ever\nhe blackmailed an innocent person, then, indeed, we should have him;\nbut he is as cunning as the Evil One. No, no; we must find other ways\nto fight him.”\n\n“And why is he here?”\n\n“Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in my\nhands. It is the Lady Eva Brackwell, the most beautiful debutante of\nlast season. She is to be married in a fortnight to the Earl of\nDovercourt. This fiend has several imprudent letters–imprudent,\nWatson, nothing worse–which were written to an impecunious young\nsquire in the country. They would suffice to break off the match.\nMilverton will send the letters to the Earl unless a large sum of\nmoney is paid him. I have been commissioned to meet him, and–to make\nthe best terms I can.”\n\nAt that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the street below.\nLooking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, the brilliant lamps\ngleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble chestnuts. A footman\nopened the door, and a small, stout man in a shaggy astrachan\novercoat descended. A minute later he was in the room.\n\nCharles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large,\nintellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetual frozen\nsmile, and two keen grey eyes, which gleamed brightly from behind\nbroad, golden-rimmed glasses. There was something of Mr. Pickwick’s\nbenevolence in his appearance, marred only by the insincerity of the\nfixed smile and by the hard glitter of those restless and penetrating\neyes. His voice was as smooth and suave as his countenance, as he\nadvanced with a plump little hand extended, murmuring his regret for\nhaving missed us at his first visit. Holmes disregarded the\noutstretched hand and looked at him with a face of granite.\nMilverton’s smile broadened; he shrugged his shoulders, removed his\novercoat, folded it with great deliberation over the back of a chair,\nand then took a seat.\n\n“This gentleman?” said he, with a wave in my direction. “Is it\ndiscreet? Is it right?”\n\n“Dr. Watson is my friend and partner.”\n\n“Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client’s interests that I\nprotested. The matter is so very delicate–”\n\n“Dr. Watson has already heard of it.”\n\n“Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are acting for\nLady Eva. Has she empowered you to accept my terms?”\n\n“What are your terms?”\n\n“Seven thousand pounds.”\n\n“And the alternative?”\n\n“My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it; but if the money is\nnot paid on the 14th there certainly will be no marriage on the\n18th.” His insufferable smile was more complacent than ever.\n\nHolmes thought for a little.\n\n“You appear to me,” he said, at last, “to be taking matters too much\nfor granted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents of these\nletters. My client will certainly do what I may advise. I shall\ncounsel her to tell her future husband the whole story and to trust\nto his generosity.”\n\nMilverton chuckled.\n\n“You evidently do not know the Earl,” said he.\n\nFrom the baffled look upon Holmes’s face I could see clearly that he\ndid.\n\n“What harm is there in the letters?” he asked.\n\n“They are sprightly–very sprightly,” Milverton answered. “The lady\nwas a charming correspondent. But I can assure you that the Earl of\nDovercourt would fail to appreciate them. However, since you think\notherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter of\nbusiness. If you think that it is in the best interests of your\nclient that these letters should be placed in the hands of the Earl,\nthen you would indeed be foolish to pay so large a sum of money to\nregain them.” He rose and seized his astrachan coat.\n\nHolmes was grey with anger and mortification.\n\n“Wait a little,” he said. “You go too fast. We would certainly make\nevery effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter.”\n\nMilverton relapsed into his chair.\n\n“I was sure that you would see it in that light,” he purred.\n\n“At the same time,” Holmes continued, “Lady Eva is not a wealthy\nwoman. I assure you that two thousand pounds would be a drain upon\nher resources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyond her power.\nI beg, therefore, that you will moderate your demands, and that you\nwill return the letters at the price I indicate, which is, I assure\nyou, the highest that you can get.”\n\nMilverton’s smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously.\n\n“I am aware that what you say is true about the lady’s resources,”\nsaid he. “At the same time, you must admit that the occasion of a\nlady’s marriage is a very suitable time for her friends and relatives\nto make some little effort upon her behalf. They may hesitate as to\nan acceptable wedding present. Let me assure them that this little\nbundle of letters would give more joy than all the candelabra and\nbutter-dishes in London.”\n\n“It is impossible,” said Holmes.\n\n“Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!” cried Milverton, taking out a\nbulky pocket-book. “I cannot help thinking that ladies are\nill-advised in not making an effort. Look at this!” He held up a\nlittle note with a coat-of-arms upon the envelope. “That belongs\nto–well, perhaps it is hardly fair to tell the name until to-morrow\nmorning. But at that time it will be in the hands of the lady’s\nhusband. And all because she will not find a beggarly sum which she\ncould get by turning her diamonds into paste. It is such a pity. Now,\nyou remember the sudden end of the engagement between the Honourable\nMiss Miles and Colonel Dorking? Only two days before the wedding\nthere was a paragraph in the Morning Post to say that it was all off.\nAnd why? It is almost incredible, but the absurd sum of twelve\nhundred pounds would have settled the whole question. Is it not\npitiful? And here I find you, a man of sense, boggling about terms\nwhen your client’s future and honour are at stake. You surprise me,\nMr. Holmes.”\n\n“What I say is true,” Holmes answered. “The money cannot be found.\nSurely it is better for you to take the substantial sum which I offer\nthan to ruin this woman’s career, which can profit you in no way?”\n\n“There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would profit me\nindirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or ten similar\ncases maturing. If it was circulated among them that I had made a\nsevere example of the Lady Eva I should find all of them much more\nopen to reason. You see my point?”\n\nHolmes sprang from his chair.\n\n“Get behind him, Watson! Don’t let him out! Now, sir, let us see the\ncontents of that note-book.”\n\nMilverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room, and\nstood with his back against the wall.\n\n“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes,” he said, turning the front of his coat and\nexhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected from the\ninside pocket. “I have been expecting you to do something original.\nThis has been done so often, and what good has ever come from it? I\nassure you that I am armed to the teeth, and I am perfectly prepared\nto use my weapons, knowing that the law will support me. Besides,\nyour supposition that I would bring the letters here in a note-book\nis entirely mistaken. I would do nothing so foolish. And now,\ngentlemen, I have one or two little interviews this evening, and it\nis a long drive to Hampstead.” He stepped forward, took up his coat,\nlaid his hand on his revolver, and turned to the door. I picked up a\nchair, but Holmes shook his head and I laid it down again. With bow,\na smile, and a twinkle Milverton was out of the room, and a few\nmoments after we heard the slam of the carriage door and the rattle\nof the wheels as he drove away.\n\nHolmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his\ntrouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon\nthe glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent and still. Then,\nwith the gesture of a man who has taken his decision, he sprang to\nhis feet and passed into his bedroom. A little later a rakish young\nworkman with a goatee beard and a swagger lit his clay pipe at the\nlamp before descending into the street. “I’ll be back some time,\nWatson,” said he, and vanished into the night. I understood that he\nhad opened his campaign against Charles Augustus Milverton; but I\nlittle dreamed the strange shape which that campaign was destined to\ntake.\n\nFor some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this attire, but\nbeyond a remark that his time was spent at Hampstead, and that it was\nnot wasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing. At last, however, on\na wild, tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed and rattled\nagainst the windows, he returned from his last expedition, and having\nremoved his disguise he sat before the fire and laughed heartily in\nhis silent inward fashion.\n\n“You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?”\n\n“No, indeed!”\n\n“You’ll be interested to hear that I am engaged.”\n\n“My dear fellow! I congrat–”\n\n“To Milverton’s housemaid.”\n\n“Good heavens, Holmes!”\n\n“I wanted information, Watson.”\n\n“Surely you have gone too far?”\n\n“It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising business,\nEscott by name. I have walked out with her each evening, and I have\ntalked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, I have got all I\nwanted. I know Milverton’s house as I know the palm of my hand.”\n\n“But the girl, Holmes?”\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders.\n\n“You can’t help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cards as best\nyou can when such a stake is on the table. However, I rejoice to say\nthat I have a hated rival who will certainly cut me out the instant\nthat my back is turned. What a splendid night it is!”\n\n“You like this weather?”\n\n“It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to burgle Milverton’s house\nto-night.”\n\nI had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at the words,\nwhich were slowly uttered in a tone of concentrated resolution. As a\nflash of lightning in the night shows up in an instant every detail\nof a wide landscape, so at one glance I seemed to see every possible\nresult of such an action–the detection, the capture, the honoured\ncareer ending in irreparable failure and disgrace, my friend himself\nlying at the mercy of the odious Milverton.\n\n“For Heaven’s sake, Holmes, think what you are doing,” I cried.\n\n“My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I am never\nprecipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energetic and indeed\nso dangerous a course if any other were possible. Let us look at the\nmatter clearly and fairly. I suppose that you will admit that the\naction is morally justifiable, though technically criminal. To burgle\nhis house is no more than to forcibly take his pocket-book–an action\nin which you were prepared to aid me.”\n\nI turned it over in my mind.\n\n“Yes,” I said; “it is morally justifiable so long as our object is to\ntake no articles save those which are used for an illegal purpose.”\n\n“Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable I have only to consider the\nquestion of personal risk. Surely a gentleman should not lay much\nstress upon this when a lady is in most desperate need of his help?”\n\n“You will be in such a false position.”\n\n“Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible way of\nregaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not the money, and\nthere are none of her people in whom she could confide. To-morrow is\nthe last day of grace, and unless we can get the letters to-night\nthis villain will be as good as his word and will bring about her\nruin. I must, therefore, abandon my client to her fate or I must play\nthis last card. Between ourselves, Watson, it’s a sporting duel\nbetween this fellow Milverton and me. He had, as you saw, the best of\nthe first exchanges; but my self-respect and my reputation are\nconcerned to fight it to a finish.”\n\n“Well, I don’t like it; but I suppose it must be,” said I. “When do\nwe start?”\n\n“You are not coming.”\n\n“Then you are not going,” said I. “I give you my word of honour–and\nI never broke it in my life–that I will take a cab straight to the\npolice-station and give you away unless you let me share this\nadventure with you.”\n\n“You can’t help me.”\n\n“How do you know that? You can’t tell what may happen. Anyway, my\nresolution is taken. Other people beside you have self-respect and\neven reputations.”\n\nHolmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clapped me on\nthe shoulder.\n\n“Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared the same room\nfor some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the\nsame cell. You know, Watson, I don’t mind confessing to you that I\nhave always had an idea that I would have made a highly efficient\ncriminal. This is the chance of my lifetime in that direction. See\nhere!” He took a neat little leather case out of a drawer, and\nopening it he exhibited a number of shining instruments. “This is a\nfirst-class, up-to-date burgling kit, with nickel-plated jemmy,\ndiamond-tipped glass-cutter, adaptable keys, and every modern\nimprovement which the march of civilization demands. Here, too, is my\ndark lantern. Everything is in order. Have you a pair of silent\nshoes?”\n\n“I have rubber-soled tennis shoes.”\n\n“Excellent. And a mask?”\n\n“I can make a couple out of black silk.”\n\n“I can see that you have a strong natural turn for this sort of\nthing. Very good; do you make the masks. We shall have some cold\nsupper before we start. It is now nine-thirty. At eleven we shall\ndrive as far as Church Row. It is a quarter of an hour’s walk from\nthere to Appledore Towers. We shall be at work before midnight.\nMilverton is a heavy sleeper and retires punctually at ten-thirty.\nWith any luck we should be back here by two, with the Lady Eva’s\nletters in my pocket.”\n\nHolmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we might appear to be\ntwo theatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford Street we picked up a\nhansom and drove to an address in Hampstead. Here we paid off our\ncab, and with our great-coats buttoned up, for it was bitterly cold\nand the wind seemed to blow through us, we walked along the edge of\nthe Heath.\n\n“It’s a business that needs delicate treatment,” said Holmes. “These\ndocuments are contained in a safe in the fellow’s study, and the\nstudy is the ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the other hand, like\nall these stout, little men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric\nsleeper. Agatha–that’s my fiancee–says it is a joke in the\nservants’ hall that it’s impossible to wake the master. He has a\nsecretary who is devoted to his interests and never budges from the\nstudy all day. That’s why we are going at night. Then he has a beast\nof a dog which roams the garden. I met Agatha late the last two\nevenings, and she locks the brute up so as to give me a clear run.\nThis is the house, this big one in its own grounds. Through the\ngate–now to the right among the laurels. We might put on our masks\nhere, I think. You see, there is not a glimmer of light in any of the\nwindows, and everything is working splendidly.”\n\nWith our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two of the\nmost truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent, gloomy\nhouse. A sort of tiled veranda extended along one side of it, lined\nby several windows and two doors.\n\n“That’s his bedroom,” Holmes whispered. “This door opens straight\ninto the study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted as well as\nlocked, and we should make too much noise getting in. Come round\nhere. There’s a greenhouse which opens into the drawing-room.”\n\nThe place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass and turned\nthe key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had closed the door\nbehind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. The\nthick, warm air of the conservatory and the rich, choking fragrance\nof exotic plants took us by the throat. He seized my hand in the\ndarkness and led me swiftly past banks of shrubs which brushed\nagainst our faces. Holmes had remarkable powers, carefully\ncultivated, of seeing in the dark. Still holding my hand in one of\nhis he opened a door, and I was vaguely conscious that we had entered\na large room in which a cigar had been smoked not long before. He\nfelt his way among the furniture, opened another door, and closed it\nbehind us. Putting out my hand I felt several coats hanging from the\nwall, and I understood that I was in a passage. We passed along it,\nand Holmes very gently opened a door upon the right-hand side.\nSomething rushed out at us and my heart sprang into my mouth, but I\ncould have laughed when I realized that it was the cat. A fire was\nburning in this new room, and again the air was heavy with tobacco\nsmoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for me to follow, and then\nvery gently closed the door. We were in Milverton’s study, and a\nportiere at the farther side showed the entrance to his bedroom.\n\nIt was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near the door\nI saw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary, even\nif it had been safe, to turn it on. At one side of the fireplace was\na heavy curtain, which covered the bay window we had seen from\noutside. On the other side was the door which communicated with the\nveranda. A desk stood in the centre, with a turning chair of shining\nred leather. Opposite was a large bookcase, with a marble bust of\nAthene on the top. In the corner between the bookcase and the wall\nthere stood a tall green safe, the firelight flashing back from the\npolished brass knobs upon its face. Holmes stole across and looked at\nit. Then he crept to the door of the bedroom, and stood with slanting\nhead listening intently. No sound came from within. Meanwhile it had\nstruck me that it would be wise to secure our retreat through the\nouter door, so I examined it. To my amazement it was neither locked\nnor bolted! I touched Holmes on the arm, and he turned his masked\nface in that direction. I saw him start, and he was evidently as\nsurprised as I.\n\n“I don’t like it,” he whispered, putting his lips to my very ear. “I\ncan’t quite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time to lose.”\n\n“Can I do anything?”\n\n“Yes; stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt it on the\ninside, and we can get away as we came. If they come the other way,\nwe can get through the door if our job is done, or hide behind these\nwindow curtains if it is not. Do you understand?”\n\nI nodded and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear had passed\naway, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed\nwhen we were the defenders of the law instead of its defiers. The\nhigh object of our mission, the consciousness that it was unselfish\nand chivalrous, the villainous character of our opponent, all added\nto the sporting interest of the adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I\nrejoiced and exulted in our dangers. With a glow of admiration I\nwatched Holmes unrolling his case of instruments and choosing his\ntool with the calm, scientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a\ndelicate operation. I knew that the opening of safes was a particular\nhobby with him, and I understood the joy which it gave him to be\nconfronted with this green and gold monster, the dragon which held in\nits maw the reputations of many fair ladies. Turning up the cuffs of\nhis dress-coat–he had placed his overcoat on a chair–Holmes laid\nout two drills, a jemmy, and several skeleton keys. I stood at the\ncentre door with my eyes glancing at each of the others, ready for\nany emergency; though, indeed, my plans were somewhat vague as to\nwhat I should do if we were interrupted. For half an hour Holmes\nworked with concentrated energy, laying down one tool, picking up\nanother, handling each with the strength and delicacy of the trained\nmechanic. Finally I heard a click, the broad green door swung open,\nand inside I had a glimpse of a number of paper packets, each tied,\nsealed, and inscribed. Holmes picked one out, but it was hard to read\nby the flickering fire, and he drew out his little dark lantern, for\nit was too dangerous, with Milverton in the next room, to switch on\nthe electric light. Suddenly I saw him halt, listen intently, and\nthen in an instant he had swung the door of the safe to, picked up\nhis coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets, and darted behind the\nwindow curtain, motioning me to do the same.\n\nIt was only when I had joined him there that I heard what had alarmed\nhis quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within the house. A\ndoor slammed in the distance. Then a confused, dull murmur broke\nitself into the measured thud of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching.\nThey were in the passage outside the room. They paused at the door.\nThe door opened. There was a sharp snick as the electric light was\nturned on. The door closed once more, and the pungent reek of a\nstrong cigar was borne to our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued\nbackwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, within a few yards of\nus. Finally, there was a creak from a chair, and the footsteps\nceased. Then a key clicked in a lock and I heard the rustle of\npapers.\n\nSo far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the\ndivision of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From the\npressure of Holmes’s shoulder against mine I knew that he was sharing\nmy observations. Right in front of us, and almost within our reach,\nwas the broad, rounded back of Milverton. It was evident that we had\nentirely miscalculated his movements, that he had never been to his\nbedroom, but that he had been sitting up in some smoking or billiard\nroom in the farther wing of the house, the windows of which we had\nnot seen. His broad, grizzled head, with its shining patch of\nbaldness, was in the immediate foreground of our vision. He was\nleaning far back in the red leather chair, his legs outstretched, a\nlong black cigar projecting at an angle from his mouth. He wore a\nsemi-military smoking jacket, claret-coloured, with a black velvet\ncollar. In his hand he held a long legal document, which he was\nreading in an indolent fashion, blowing rings of tobacco smoke from\nhis lips as he did so. There was no promise of a speedy departure in\nhis composed bearing and his comfortable attitude.\n\nI felt Holmes’s hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake,\nas if to say that the situation was within his powers and that he was\neasy in his mind. I was not sure whether he had seen what was only\ntoo obvious from my position, that the door of the safe was\nimperfectly closed, and that Milverton might at any moment observe\nit. In my own mind I had determined that if I were sure, from the\nrigidity of his gaze, that it had caught his eye, I would at once\nspring out, throw my great-coat over his head, pinion him, and leave\nthe rest to Holmes. But Milverton never looked up. He was languidly\ninterested by the papers in his hand, and page after page was turned\nas he followed the argument of the lawyer. At least, I thought, when\nhe has finished the document and the cigar he will go to his room;\nbut before he had reached the end of either there came a remarkable\ndevelopment which turned our thoughts into quite another channel.\n\nSeveral times I had observed that Milverton looked at his watch, and\nonce he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture of impatience.\nThe idea, however, that he might have an appointment at so strange an\nhour never occurred to me until a faint sound reached my ears from\nthe veranda outside. Milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in\nhis chair. The sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tap\nat the door. Milverton rose and opened it.\n\n“Well,” said he, curtly, “you are nearly half an hour late.”\n\nSo this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the nocturnal\nvigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of a woman’s dress. I\nhad closed the slit between the curtains as Milverton’s face had\nturned in our direction, but now I ventured very carefully to open it\nonce more. He had resumed his seat, the cigar still projecting at an\ninsolent angle from the corner of his mouth. In front of him, in the\nfull glare of the electric light, there stood a tall, slim, dark\nwoman, a veil over her face, a mantle drawn round her chin. Her\nbreath came quick and fast, and every inch of the lithe figure was\nquivering with strong emotion.\n\n“Well,” said Milverton, “you’ve made me lose a good night’s rest, my\ndear. I hope you’ll prove worth it. You couldn’t come any other\ntime–eh?”\n\nThe woman shook her head.\n\n“Well, if you couldn’t you couldn’t. If the Countess is a hard\nmistress you have your chance to get level with her now. Bless the\ngirl, what are you shivering about? That’s right! Pull yourself\ntogether! Now, let us get down to business.” He took a note from the\ndrawer of his desk. “You say that you have five letters which\ncompromise the Countess d’Albert. You want to sell them. I want to\nbuy them. So far so good. It only remains to fix a price. I should\nwant to inspect the letters, of course. If they are really good\nspecimens–Great heavens, is it you?”\n\nThe woman without a word had raised her veil and dropped the mantle\nfrom her chin. It was a dark, handsome, clear-cut face which\nconfronted Milverton, a face with a curved nose, strong, dark\neyebrows shading hard, glittering eyes, and a straight, thin-lipped\nmouth set in a dangerous smile.\n\n“It is I,” she said; “the woman whose life you have ruined.”\n\nMilverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. “You were so very\nobstinate,” said he. “Why did you drive me to such extremities? I\nassure you I wouldn’t hurt a fly of my own accord, but every man has\nhis business, and what was I to do? I put the price well within your\nmeans. You would not pay.”\n\n“So you sent the letters to my husband, and he–the noblest gentleman\nthat ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthy to lace–he\nbroke his gallant heart and died. You remember that last night when I\ncame through that door I begged and prayed you for mercy, and you\nlaughed in my face as you are trying to laugh now, only your coward\nheart cannot keep your lips from twitching? Yes, you never thought to\nsee me here again, but it was that night which taught me how I could\nmeet you face to face, and alone. Well, Charles Milverton, what have\nyou to say?”\n\n“Don’t imagine that you can bully me,” said he, rising to his feet.\n“I have only to raise my voice, and I could call my servants and have\nyou arrested. But I will make allowance for your natural anger. Leave\nthe room at once as you came, and I will say no more.”\n\nThe woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the same\ndeadly smile on her thin lips.\n\n“You will ruin no more lives as you ruined mine. You will wring no\nmore hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a poisonous\nthing. Take that, you hound, and that!–and that!–and that!”\n\nShe had drawn a little, gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel after\nbarrel into Milverton’s body, the muzzle within two feet of his shirt\nfront. He shrank away and then fell forward upon the table, coughing\nfuriously and clawing among the papers. Then he staggered to his\nfeet, received another shot, and rolled upon the floor. “You’ve done\nme,” he cried, and lay still. The woman looked at him intently and\nground her heel into his upturned face. She looked again, but there\nwas no sound or movement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew\ninto the heated room, and the avenger was gone.\n\nNo interference upon our part could have saved the man from his fate;\nbut as the woman poured bullet after bullet into Milverton’s\nshrinking body I was about to spring out, when I felt Holmes’s cold,\nstrong grasp upon my wrist. I understood the whole argument of that\nfirm, restraining grip–that it was no affair of ours; that justice\nhad overtaken a villain; that we had our own duties and our own\nobjects which were not to be lost sight of. But hardly had the woman\nrushed from the room when Holmes, with swift, silent steps, was over\nat the other door. He turned the key in the lock. At the same instant\nwe heard voices in the house and the sound of hurrying feet. The\nrevolver shots had roused the household. With perfect coolness Holmes\nslipped across to the safe, filled his two arms with bundles of\nletters, and poured them all into the fire. Again and again he did\nit, until the safe was empty. Someone turned the handle and beat upon\nthe outside of the door. Holmes looked swiftly round. The letter\nwhich had been the messenger of death for Milverton lay, all mottled\nwith his blood, upon the table. Holmes tossed it in among the blazing\npapers. Then he drew the key from the outer door, passed through\nafter me, and locked it on the outside. “This way, Watson,” said he;\n“we can scale the garden wall in this direction.”\n\nI could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so swiftly.\nLooking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. The front door\nwas open, and figures were rushing down the drive. The whole garden\nwas alive with people, and one fellow raised a view-halloa as we\nemerged from the veranda and followed hard at our heels. Holmes\nseemed to know the ground perfectly, and he threaded his way swiftly\namong a plantation of small trees, I close at his heels, and our\nforemost pursuer panting behind us. It was a six-foot wall which\nbarred our path, but he sprang to the top and over. As I did the same\nI felt the hand of the man behind me grab at my ankle; but I kicked\nmyself free and scrambled over a glass-strewn coping. I fell upon my\nface among some bushes; but Holmes had me on my feet in an instant,\nand together we dashed away across the huge expanse of Hampstead\nHeath. We had run two miles, I suppose, before Holmes at last halted\nand listened intently. All was absolute silence behind us. We had\nshaken off our pursuers and were safe.\n\nWe had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on the day after\nthe remarkable experience which I have recorded when Mr. Lestrade, of\nScotland Yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered into our\nmodest sitting-room.\n\n“Good morning, Mr. Holmes,” said he; “good morning. May I ask if you\nare very busy just now?”\n\n“Not too busy to listen to you.”\n\n“I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, you\nmight care to assist us in a most remarkable case which occurred only\nlast night at Hampstead.”\n\n“Dear me!” said Holmes. “What was that?”\n\n“A murder–a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know how keen you\nare upon these things, and I would take it as a great favour if you\nwould step down to Appledore Towers and give us the benefit of your\nadvice. It is no ordinary crime. We have had our eyes upon this Mr.\nMilverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a\nvillain. He is known to have held papers which he used for\nblackmailing purposes. These papers have all been burned by the\nmurderers. No article of value was taken, as it is probable that the\ncriminals were men of good position, whose sole object was to prevent\nsocial exposure.”\n\n“Criminals!” said Holmes. “Plural!”\n\n“Yes, there were two of them. They were, as nearly as possible,\ncaptured red-handed. We have their foot-marks, we have their\ndescription; it’s ten to one that we trace them. The first fellow was\na bit too active, but the second was caught by the under-gardener and\nonly got away after a struggle. He was a middle-sized, strongly-built\nman–square jaw, thick neck, moustache, a mask over his eyes.”\n\n“That’s rather vague,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Why, it might be a\ndescription of Watson!”\n\n“It’s true,” said the inspector, with much amusement. “It might be a\ndescription of Watson.”\n\n“Well, I am afraid I can’t help you, Lestrade,” said Holmes. “The\nfact is that I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one\nof the most dangerous men in London, and that I think there are\ncertain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to\nsome extent, justify private revenge. No, it’s no use arguing. I have\nmade up my mind. My sympathies are with the criminals rather than\nwith the victim, and I will not handle this case.”\n\nHolmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which we had\nwitnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in his most\nthoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from his vacant eyes\nand his abstracted manner, of a man who is striving to recall\nsomething to his memory. We were in the middle of our lunch when he\nsuddenly sprang to his feet. “By Jove, Watson; I’ve got it!” he\ncried. “Take your hat! Come with me!” He hurried at his top speed\ndown Baker Street and along Oxford Street, until we had almost\nreached Regent Circus. Here on the left hand there stands a shop\nwindow filled with photographs of the celebrities and beauties of the\nday. Holmes’s eyes fixed themselves upon one of them, and following\nhis gaze I saw the picture of a regal and stately lady in Court\ndress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noble head. I looked at\nthat delicately-curved nose, at the marked eyebrows, at the straight\nmouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I caught my breath\nas I read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman and statesman\nwhose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes, and he put his\nfinger to his lips as we turned away from the window.\n\nText taken from here\n",
      "content_html": "<p>It is years since the incidents of which I speak took place, and yet\nit is with diffidence that I allude to them. For a long time, even\nwith the utmost discretion and reticence, it would have been\nimpossible to make the facts public; but now the principal person\nconcerned is beyond the reach of human law, and with due suppression\nthe story may be told in such fashion as to injure no one. It records\nan absolutely unique experience in the career both of Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes and of myself. The reader will excuse me if I conceal the date\nor any other fact by which he might trace the actual occurrence.</p>\n\n<p>We had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I, and had\nreturned about six o’clock on a cold, frosty winter’s evening. As\nHolmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card on the table. He\nglanced at it, and then, with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on\nthe floor. I picked it up and read:–</p>\n\n<blockquote>\n  <p>Charles Augustus Milverton,                            <br />\nAppledore Towers,<br />\nHampstead.<br />\nAgent.</p>\n</blockquote>\n\n<p>“Who is he?” I asked.</p>\n\n<p>“The worst man in London,” Holmes answered, as he sat down and\nstretched his legs before the fire. “Is anything on the back of the\ncard?”</p>\n\n<p>I turned it over.</p>\n\n<p>“Will call at 6.30–C.A.M.,” I read.</p>\n\n<p>“Hum! He’s about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation,\nWatson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zoo and see the\nslithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and\nwicked, flattened faces? Well, that’s how Milverton impresses me.\nI’ve had to do with fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of\nthem never gave me the repulsion which I have for this fellow. And\nyet I can’t get out of doing business with him–indeed, he is here at\nmy invitation.”</p>\n\n<p>“But who is he?”</p>\n\n<p>“I’ll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers.\nHeaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and\nreputation come into the power of Milverton. With a smiling face and\na heart of marble he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained\nthem dry. The fellow is a genius in his way, and would have made his\nmark in some more savoury trade. His method is as follows: He allows\nit to be known that he is prepared to pay very high sums for letters\nwhich compromise people of wealth or position. He receives these\nwares not only from treacherous valets or maids, but frequently from\ngenteel ruffians who have gained the confidence and affection of\ntrusting women. He deals with no niggard hand. I happen to know that\nhe paid seven hundred pounds to a footman for a note two lines in\nlength, and that the ruin of a noble family was the result.\nEverything which is in the market goes to Milverton, and there are\nhundreds in this great city who turn white at his name. No one knows\nwhere his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far too cunning\nto work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card back for years in\norder to play it at the moment when the stake is best worth winning.\nI have said that he is the worst man in London, and I would ask you\nhow could one compare the ruffian who in hot blood bludgeons his mate\nwith this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul\nand wrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen\nmoney-bags?”</p>\n\n<p>I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.</p>\n\n<p>“But surely,” said I, “the fellow must be within the grasp of the\nlaw?”</p>\n\n<p>“Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would it profit a\nwoman, for example, to get him a few months’ imprisonment if her own\nruin must immediately follow? His victims dare not hit back. If ever\nhe blackmailed an innocent person, then, indeed, we should have him;\nbut he is as cunning as the Evil One. No, no; we must find other ways\nto fight him.”</p>\n\n<p>“And why is he here?”</p>\n\n<p>“Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in my\nhands. It is the Lady Eva Brackwell, the most beautiful debutante of\nlast season. She is to be married in a fortnight to the Earl of\nDovercourt. This fiend has several imprudent letters–imprudent,\nWatson, nothing worse–which were written to an impecunious young\nsquire in the country. They would suffice to break off the match.\nMilverton will send the letters to the Earl unless a large sum of\nmoney is paid him. I have been commissioned to meet him, and–to make\nthe best terms I can.”</p>\n\n<p>At that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the street below.\nLooking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, the brilliant lamps\ngleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble chestnuts. A footman\nopened the door, and a small, stout man in a shaggy astrachan\novercoat descended. A minute later he was in the room.</p>\n\n<p>Charles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large,\nintellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetual frozen\nsmile, and two keen grey eyes, which gleamed brightly from behind\nbroad, golden-rimmed glasses. There was something of Mr. Pickwick’s\nbenevolence in his appearance, marred only by the insincerity of the\nfixed smile and by the hard glitter of those restless and penetrating\neyes. His voice was as smooth and suave as his countenance, as he\nadvanced with a plump little hand extended, murmuring his regret for\nhaving missed us at his first visit. Holmes disregarded the\noutstretched hand and looked at him with a face of granite.\nMilverton’s smile broadened; he shrugged his shoulders, removed his\novercoat, folded it with great deliberation over the back of a chair,\nand then took a seat.</p>\n\n<p>“This gentleman?” said he, with a wave in my direction. “Is it\ndiscreet? Is it right?”</p>\n\n<p>“Dr. Watson is my friend and partner.”</p>\n\n<p>“Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client’s interests that I\nprotested. The matter is so very delicate–”</p>\n\n<p>“Dr. Watson has already heard of it.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are acting for\nLady Eva. Has she empowered you to accept my terms?”</p>\n\n<p>“What are your terms?”</p>\n\n<p>“Seven thousand pounds.”</p>\n\n<p>“And the alternative?”</p>\n\n<p>“My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it; but if the money is\nnot paid on the 14th there certainly will be no marriage on the\n18th.” His insufferable smile was more complacent than ever.</p>\n\n<p>Holmes thought for a little.</p>\n\n<p>“You appear to me,” he said, at last, “to be taking matters too much\nfor granted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents of these\nletters. My client will certainly do what I may advise. I shall\ncounsel her to tell her future husband the whole story and to trust\nto his generosity.”</p>\n\n<p>Milverton chuckled.</p>\n\n<p>“You evidently do not know the Earl,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>From the baffled look upon Holmes’s face I could see clearly that he\ndid.</p>\n\n<p>“What harm is there in the letters?” he asked.</p>\n\n<p>“They are sprightly–very sprightly,” Milverton answered. “The lady\nwas a charming correspondent. But I can assure you that the Earl of\nDovercourt would fail to appreciate them. However, since you think\notherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter of\nbusiness. If you think that it is in the best interests of your\nclient that these letters should be placed in the hands of the Earl,\nthen you would indeed be foolish to pay so large a sum of money to\nregain them.” He rose and seized his astrachan coat.</p>\n\n<p>Holmes was grey with anger and mortification.</p>\n\n<p>“Wait a little,” he said. “You go too fast. We would certainly make\nevery effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter.”</p>\n\n<p>Milverton relapsed into his chair.</p>\n\n<p>“I was sure that you would see it in that light,” he purred.</p>\n\n<p>“At the same time,” Holmes continued, “Lady Eva is not a wealthy\nwoman. I assure you that two thousand pounds would be a drain upon\nher resources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyond her power.\nI beg, therefore, that you will moderate your demands, and that you\nwill return the letters at the price I indicate, which is, I assure\nyou, the highest that you can get.”</p>\n\n<p>Milverton’s smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously.</p>\n\n<p>“I am aware that what you say is true about the lady’s resources,”\nsaid he. “At the same time, you must admit that the occasion of a\nlady’s marriage is a very suitable time for her friends and relatives\nto make some little effort upon her behalf. They may hesitate as to\nan acceptable wedding present. Let me assure them that this little\nbundle of letters would give more joy than all the candelabra and\nbutter-dishes in London.”</p>\n\n<p>“It is impossible,” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!” cried Milverton, taking out a\nbulky pocket-book. “I cannot help thinking that ladies are\nill-advised in not making an effort. Look at this!” He held up a\nlittle note with a coat-of-arms upon the envelope. “That belongs\nto–well, perhaps it is hardly fair to tell the name until to-morrow\nmorning. But at that time it will be in the hands of the lady’s\nhusband. And all because she will not find a beggarly sum which she\ncould get by turning her diamonds into paste. It is such a pity. Now,\nyou remember the sudden end of the engagement between the Honourable\nMiss Miles and Colonel Dorking? Only two days before the wedding\nthere was a paragraph in the Morning Post to say that it was all off.\nAnd why? It is almost incredible, but the absurd sum of twelve\nhundred pounds would have settled the whole question. Is it not\npitiful? And here I find you, a man of sense, boggling about terms\nwhen your client’s future and honour are at stake. You surprise me,\nMr. Holmes.”</p>\n\n<p>“What I say is true,” Holmes answered. “The money cannot be found.\nSurely it is better for you to take the substantial sum which I offer\nthan to ruin this woman’s career, which can profit you in no way?”</p>\n\n<p>“There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would profit me\nindirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or ten similar\ncases maturing. If it was circulated among them that I had made a\nsevere example of the Lady Eva I should find all of them much more\nopen to reason. You see my point?”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes sprang from his chair.</p>\n\n<p>“Get behind him, Watson! Don’t let him out! Now, sir, let us see the\ncontents of that note-book.”</p>\n\n<p>Milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room, and\nstood with his back against the wall.</p>\n\n<p>“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes,” he said, turning the front of his coat and\nexhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected from the\ninside pocket. “I have been expecting you to do something original.\nThis has been done so often, and what good has ever come from it? I\nassure you that I am armed to the teeth, and I am perfectly prepared\nto use my weapons, knowing that the law will support me. Besides,\nyour supposition that I would bring the letters here in a note-book\nis entirely mistaken. I would do nothing so foolish. And now,\ngentlemen, I have one or two little interviews this evening, and it\nis a long drive to Hampstead.” He stepped forward, took up his coat,\nlaid his hand on his revolver, and turned to the door. I picked up a\nchair, but Holmes shook his head and I laid it down again. With bow,\na smile, and a twinkle Milverton was out of the room, and a few\nmoments after we heard the slam of the carriage door and the rattle\nof the wheels as he drove away.</p>\n\n<p>Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his\ntrouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon\nthe glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent and still. Then,\nwith the gesture of a man who has taken his decision, he sprang to\nhis feet and passed into his bedroom. A little later a rakish young\nworkman with a goatee beard and a swagger lit his clay pipe at the\nlamp before descending into the street. “I’ll be back some time,\nWatson,” said he, and vanished into the night. I understood that he\nhad opened his campaign against Charles Augustus Milverton; but I\nlittle dreamed the strange shape which that campaign was destined to\ntake.</p>\n\n<p>For some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this attire, but\nbeyond a remark that his time was spent at Hampstead, and that it was\nnot wasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing. At last, however, on\na wild, tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed and rattled\nagainst the windows, he returned from his last expedition, and having\nremoved his disguise he sat before the fire and laughed heartily in\nhis silent inward fashion.</p>\n\n<p>“You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, indeed!”</p>\n\n<p>“You’ll be interested to hear that I am engaged.”</p>\n\n<p>“My dear fellow! I congrat–”</p>\n\n<p>“To Milverton’s housemaid.”</p>\n\n<p>“Good heavens, Holmes!”</p>\n\n<p>“I wanted information, Watson.”</p>\n\n<p>“Surely you have gone too far?”</p>\n\n<p>“It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising business,\nEscott by name. I have walked out with her each evening, and I have\ntalked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, I have got all I\nwanted. I know Milverton’s house as I know the palm of my hand.”</p>\n\n<p>“But the girl, Holmes?”</p>\n\n<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p>\n\n<p>“You can’t help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cards as best\nyou can when such a stake is on the table. However, I rejoice to say\nthat I have a hated rival who will certainly cut me out the instant\nthat my back is turned. What a splendid night it is!”</p>\n\n<p>“You like this weather?”</p>\n\n<p>“It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to burgle Milverton’s house\nto-night.”</p>\n\n<p>I had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at the words,\nwhich were slowly uttered in a tone of concentrated resolution. As a\nflash of lightning in the night shows up in an instant every detail\nof a wide landscape, so at one glance I seemed to see every possible\nresult of such an action–the detection, the capture, the honoured\ncareer ending in irreparable failure and disgrace, my friend himself\nlying at the mercy of the odious Milverton.</p>\n\n<p>“For Heaven’s sake, Holmes, think what you are doing,” I cried.</p>\n\n<p>“My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I am never\nprecipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energetic and indeed\nso dangerous a course if any other were possible. Let us look at the\nmatter clearly and fairly. I suppose that you will admit that the\naction is morally justifiable, though technically criminal. To burgle\nhis house is no more than to forcibly take his pocket-book–an action\nin which you were prepared to aid me.”</p>\n\n<p>I turned it over in my mind.</p>\n\n<p>“Yes,” I said; “it is morally justifiable so long as our object is to\ntake no articles save those which are used for an illegal purpose.”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable I have only to consider the\nquestion of personal risk. Surely a gentleman should not lay much\nstress upon this when a lady is in most desperate need of his help?”</p>\n\n<p>“You will be in such a false position.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible way of\nregaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not the money, and\nthere are none of her people in whom she could confide. To-morrow is\nthe last day of grace, and unless we can get the letters to-night\nthis villain will be as good as his word and will bring about her\nruin. I must, therefore, abandon my client to her fate or I must play\nthis last card. Between ourselves, Watson, it’s a sporting duel\nbetween this fellow Milverton and me. He had, as you saw, the best of\nthe first exchanges; but my self-respect and my reputation are\nconcerned to fight it to a finish.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, I don’t like it; but I suppose it must be,” said I. “When do\nwe start?”</p>\n\n<p>“You are not coming.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then you are not going,” said I. “I give you my word of honour–and\nI never broke it in my life–that I will take a cab straight to the\npolice-station and give you away unless you let me share this\nadventure with you.”</p>\n\n<p>“You can’t help me.”</p>\n\n<p>“How do you know that? You can’t tell what may happen. Anyway, my\nresolution is taken. Other people beside you have self-respect and\neven reputations.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clapped me on\nthe shoulder.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared the same room\nfor some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the\nsame cell. You know, Watson, I don’t mind confessing to you that I\nhave always had an idea that I would have made a highly efficient\ncriminal. This is the chance of my lifetime in that direction. See\nhere!” He took a neat little leather case out of a drawer, and\nopening it he exhibited a number of shining instruments. “This is a\nfirst-class, up-to-date burgling kit, with nickel-plated jemmy,\ndiamond-tipped glass-cutter, adaptable keys, and every modern\nimprovement which the march of civilization demands. Here, too, is my\ndark lantern. Everything is in order. Have you a pair of silent\nshoes?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have rubber-soled tennis shoes.”</p>\n\n<p>“Excellent. And a mask?”</p>\n\n<p>“I can make a couple out of black silk.”</p>\n\n<p>“I can see that you have a strong natural turn for this sort of\nthing. Very good; do you make the masks. We shall have some cold\nsupper before we start. It is now nine-thirty. At eleven we shall\ndrive as far as Church Row. It is a quarter of an hour’s walk from\nthere to Appledore Towers. We shall be at work before midnight.\nMilverton is a heavy sleeper and retires punctually at ten-thirty.\nWith any luck we should be back here by two, with the Lady Eva’s\nletters in my pocket.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we might appear to be\ntwo theatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford Street we picked up a\nhansom and drove to an address in Hampstead. Here we paid off our\ncab, and with our great-coats buttoned up, for it was bitterly cold\nand the wind seemed to blow through us, we walked along the edge of\nthe Heath.</p>\n\n<p>“It’s a business that needs delicate treatment,” said Holmes. “These\ndocuments are contained in a safe in the fellow’s study, and the\nstudy is the ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the other hand, like\nall these stout, little men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric\nsleeper. Agatha–that’s my fiancee–says it is a joke in the\nservants’ hall that it’s impossible to wake the master. He has a\nsecretary who is devoted to his interests and never budges from the\nstudy all day. That’s why we are going at night. Then he has a beast\nof a dog which roams the garden. I met Agatha late the last two\nevenings, and she locks the brute up so as to give me a clear run.\nThis is the house, this big one in its own grounds. Through the\ngate–now to the right among the laurels. We might put on our masks\nhere, I think. You see, there is not a glimmer of light in any of the\nwindows, and everything is working splendidly.”</p>\n\n<p>With our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two of the\nmost truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent, gloomy\nhouse. A sort of tiled veranda extended along one side of it, lined\nby several windows and two doors.</p>\n\n<p>“That’s his bedroom,” Holmes whispered. “This door opens straight\ninto the study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted as well as\nlocked, and we should make too much noise getting in. Come round\nhere. There’s a greenhouse which opens into the drawing-room.”</p>\n\n<p>The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass and turned\nthe key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had closed the door\nbehind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. The\nthick, warm air of the conservatory and the rich, choking fragrance\nof exotic plants took us by the throat. He seized my hand in the\ndarkness and led me swiftly past banks of shrubs which brushed\nagainst our faces. Holmes had remarkable powers, carefully\ncultivated, of seeing in the dark. Still holding my hand in one of\nhis he opened a door, and I was vaguely conscious that we had entered\na large room in which a cigar had been smoked not long before. He\nfelt his way among the furniture, opened another door, and closed it\nbehind us. Putting out my hand I felt several coats hanging from the\nwall, and I understood that I was in a passage. We passed along it,\nand Holmes very gently opened a door upon the right-hand side.\nSomething rushed out at us and my heart sprang into my mouth, but I\ncould have laughed when I realized that it was the cat. A fire was\nburning in this new room, and again the air was heavy with tobacco\nsmoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for me to follow, and then\nvery gently closed the door. We were in Milverton’s study, and a\nportiere at the farther side showed the entrance to his bedroom.</p>\n\n<p>It was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near the door\nI saw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary, even\nif it had been safe, to turn it on. At one side of the fireplace was\na heavy curtain, which covered the bay window we had seen from\noutside. On the other side was the door which communicated with the\nveranda. A desk stood in the centre, with a turning chair of shining\nred leather. Opposite was a large bookcase, with a marble bust of\nAthene on the top. In the corner between the bookcase and the wall\nthere stood a tall green safe, the firelight flashing back from the\npolished brass knobs upon its face. Holmes stole across and looked at\nit. Then he crept to the door of the bedroom, and stood with slanting\nhead listening intently. No sound came from within. Meanwhile it had\nstruck me that it would be wise to secure our retreat through the\nouter door, so I examined it. To my amazement it was neither locked\nnor bolted! I touched Holmes on the arm, and he turned his masked\nface in that direction. I saw him start, and he was evidently as\nsurprised as I.</p>\n\n<p>“I don’t like it,” he whispered, putting his lips to my very ear. “I\ncan’t quite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time to lose.”</p>\n\n<p>“Can I do anything?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes; stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt it on the\ninside, and we can get away as we came. If they come the other way,\nwe can get through the door if our job is done, or hide behind these\nwindow curtains if it is not. Do you understand?”</p>\n\n<p>I nodded and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear had passed\naway, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed\nwhen we were the defenders of the law instead of its defiers. The\nhigh object of our mission, the consciousness that it was unselfish\nand chivalrous, the villainous character of our opponent, all added\nto the sporting interest of the adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I\nrejoiced and exulted in our dangers. With a glow of admiration I\nwatched Holmes unrolling his case of instruments and choosing his\ntool with the calm, scientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a\ndelicate operation. I knew that the opening of safes was a particular\nhobby with him, and I understood the joy which it gave him to be\nconfronted with this green and gold monster, the dragon which held in\nits maw the reputations of many fair ladies. Turning up the cuffs of\nhis dress-coat–he had placed his overcoat on a chair–Holmes laid\nout two drills, a jemmy, and several skeleton keys. I stood at the\ncentre door with my eyes glancing at each of the others, ready for\nany emergency; though, indeed, my plans were somewhat vague as to\nwhat I should do if we were interrupted. For half an hour Holmes\nworked with concentrated energy, laying down one tool, picking up\nanother, handling each with the strength and delicacy of the trained\nmechanic. Finally I heard a click, the broad green door swung open,\nand inside I had a glimpse of a number of paper packets, each tied,\nsealed, and inscribed. Holmes picked one out, but it was hard to read\nby the flickering fire, and he drew out his little dark lantern, for\nit was too dangerous, with Milverton in the next room, to switch on\nthe electric light. Suddenly I saw him halt, listen intently, and\nthen in an instant he had swung the door of the safe to, picked up\nhis coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets, and darted behind the\nwindow curtain, motioning me to do the same.</p>\n\n<p>It was only when I had joined him there that I heard what had alarmed\nhis quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within the house. A\ndoor slammed in the distance. Then a confused, dull murmur broke\nitself into the measured thud of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching.\nThey were in the passage outside the room. They paused at the door.\nThe door opened. There was a sharp snick as the electric light was\nturned on. The door closed once more, and the pungent reek of a\nstrong cigar was borne to our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued\nbackwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, within a few yards of\nus. Finally, there was a creak from a chair, and the footsteps\nceased. Then a key clicked in a lock and I heard the rustle of\npapers.</p>\n\n<p>So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the\ndivision of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From the\npressure of Holmes’s shoulder against mine I knew that he was sharing\nmy observations. Right in front of us, and almost within our reach,\nwas the broad, rounded back of Milverton. It was evident that we had\nentirely miscalculated his movements, that he had never been to his\nbedroom, but that he had been sitting up in some smoking or billiard\nroom in the farther wing of the house, the windows of which we had\nnot seen. His broad, grizzled head, with its shining patch of\nbaldness, was in the immediate foreground of our vision. He was\nleaning far back in the red leather chair, his legs outstretched, a\nlong black cigar projecting at an angle from his mouth. He wore a\nsemi-military smoking jacket, claret-coloured, with a black velvet\ncollar. In his hand he held a long legal document, which he was\nreading in an indolent fashion, blowing rings of tobacco smoke from\nhis lips as he did so. There was no promise of a speedy departure in\nhis composed bearing and his comfortable attitude.</p>\n\n<p>I felt Holmes’s hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake,\nas if to say that the situation was within his powers and that he was\neasy in his mind. I was not sure whether he had seen what was only\ntoo obvious from my position, that the door of the safe was\nimperfectly closed, and that Milverton might at any moment observe\nit. In my own mind I had determined that if I were sure, from the\nrigidity of his gaze, that it had caught his eye, I would at once\nspring out, throw my great-coat over his head, pinion him, and leave\nthe rest to Holmes. But Milverton never looked up. He was languidly\ninterested by the papers in his hand, and page after page was turned\nas he followed the argument of the lawyer. At least, I thought, when\nhe has finished the document and the cigar he will go to his room;\nbut before he had reached the end of either there came a remarkable\ndevelopment which turned our thoughts into quite another channel.</p>\n\n<p>Several times I had observed that Milverton looked at his watch, and\nonce he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture of impatience.\nThe idea, however, that he might have an appointment at so strange an\nhour never occurred to me until a faint sound reached my ears from\nthe veranda outside. Milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in\nhis chair. The sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tap\nat the door. Milverton rose and opened it.</p>\n\n<p>“Well,” said he, curtly, “you are nearly half an hour late.”</p>\n\n<p>So this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the nocturnal\nvigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of a woman’s dress. I\nhad closed the slit between the curtains as Milverton’s face had\nturned in our direction, but now I ventured very carefully to open it\nonce more. He had resumed his seat, the cigar still projecting at an\ninsolent angle from the corner of his mouth. In front of him, in the\nfull glare of the electric light, there stood a tall, slim, dark\nwoman, a veil over her face, a mantle drawn round her chin. Her\nbreath came quick and fast, and every inch of the lithe figure was\nquivering with strong emotion.</p>\n\n<p>“Well,” said Milverton, “you’ve made me lose a good night’s rest, my\ndear. I hope you’ll prove worth it. You couldn’t come any other\ntime–eh?”</p>\n\n<p>The woman shook her head.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, if you couldn’t you couldn’t. If the Countess is a hard\nmistress you have your chance to get level with her now. Bless the\ngirl, what are you shivering about? That’s right! Pull yourself\ntogether! Now, let us get down to business.” He took a note from the\ndrawer of his desk. “You say that you have five letters which\ncompromise the Countess d’Albert. You want to sell them. I want to\nbuy them. So far so good. It only remains to fix a price. I should\nwant to inspect the letters, of course. If they are really good\nspecimens–Great heavens, is it you?”</p>\n\n<p>The woman without a word had raised her veil and dropped the mantle\nfrom her chin. It was a dark, handsome, clear-cut face which\nconfronted Milverton, a face with a curved nose, strong, dark\neyebrows shading hard, glittering eyes, and a straight, thin-lipped\nmouth set in a dangerous smile.</p>\n\n<p>“It is I,” she said; “the woman whose life you have ruined.”</p>\n\n<p>Milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. “You were so very\nobstinate,” said he. “Why did you drive me to such extremities? I\nassure you I wouldn’t hurt a fly of my own accord, but every man has\nhis business, and what was I to do? I put the price well within your\nmeans. You would not pay.”</p>\n\n<p>“So you sent the letters to my husband, and he–the noblest gentleman\nthat ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthy to lace–he\nbroke his gallant heart and died. You remember that last night when I\ncame through that door I begged and prayed you for mercy, and you\nlaughed in my face as you are trying to laugh now, only your coward\nheart cannot keep your lips from twitching? Yes, you never thought to\nsee me here again, but it was that night which taught me how I could\nmeet you face to face, and alone. Well, Charles Milverton, what have\nyou to say?”</p>\n\n<p>“Don’t imagine that you can bully me,” said he, rising to his feet.\n“I have only to raise my voice, and I could call my servants and have\nyou arrested. But I will make allowance for your natural anger. Leave\nthe room at once as you came, and I will say no more.”</p>\n\n<p>The woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the same\ndeadly smile on her thin lips.</p>\n\n<p>“You will ruin no more lives as you ruined mine. You will wring no\nmore hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a poisonous\nthing. Take that, you hound, and that!–and that!–and that!”</p>\n\n<p>She had drawn a little, gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel after\nbarrel into Milverton’s body, the muzzle within two feet of his shirt\nfront. He shrank away and then fell forward upon the table, coughing\nfuriously and clawing among the papers. Then he staggered to his\nfeet, received another shot, and rolled upon the floor. “You’ve done\nme,” he cried, and lay still. The woman looked at him intently and\nground her heel into his upturned face. She looked again, but there\nwas no sound or movement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew\ninto the heated room, and the avenger was gone.</p>\n\n<p>No interference upon our part could have saved the man from his fate;\nbut as the woman poured bullet after bullet into Milverton’s\nshrinking body I was about to spring out, when I felt Holmes’s cold,\nstrong grasp upon my wrist. I understood the whole argument of that\nfirm, restraining grip–that it was no affair of ours; that justice\nhad overtaken a villain; that we had our own duties and our own\nobjects which were not to be lost sight of. But hardly had the woman\nrushed from the room when Holmes, with swift, silent steps, was over\nat the other door. He turned the key in the lock. At the same instant\nwe heard voices in the house and the sound of hurrying feet. The\nrevolver shots had roused the household. With perfect coolness Holmes\nslipped across to the safe, filled his two arms with bundles of\nletters, and poured them all into the fire. Again and again he did\nit, until the safe was empty. Someone turned the handle and beat upon\nthe outside of the door. Holmes looked swiftly round. The letter\nwhich had been the messenger of death for Milverton lay, all mottled\nwith his blood, upon the table. Holmes tossed it in among the blazing\npapers. Then he drew the key from the outer door, passed through\nafter me, and locked it on the outside. “This way, Watson,” said he;\n“we can scale the garden wall in this direction.”</p>\n\n<p>I could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so swiftly.\nLooking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. The front door\nwas open, and figures were rushing down the drive. The whole garden\nwas alive with people, and one fellow raised a view-halloa as we\nemerged from the veranda and followed hard at our heels. Holmes\nseemed to know the ground perfectly, and he threaded his way swiftly\namong a plantation of small trees, I close at his heels, and our\nforemost pursuer panting behind us. It was a six-foot wall which\nbarred our path, but he sprang to the top and over. As I did the same\nI felt the hand of the man behind me grab at my ankle; but I kicked\nmyself free and scrambled over a glass-strewn coping. I fell upon my\nface among some bushes; but Holmes had me on my feet in an instant,\nand together we dashed away across the huge expanse of Hampstead\nHeath. We had run two miles, I suppose, before Holmes at last halted\nand listened intently. All was absolute silence behind us. We had\nshaken off our pursuers and were safe.</p>\n\n<p>We had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on the day after\nthe remarkable experience which I have recorded when Mr. Lestrade, of\nScotland Yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered into our\nmodest sitting-room.</p>\n\n<p>“Good morning, Mr. Holmes,” said he; “good morning. May I ask if you\nare very busy just now?”</p>\n\n<p>“Not too busy to listen to you.”</p>\n\n<p>“I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, you\nmight care to assist us in a most remarkable case which occurred only\nlast night at Hampstead.”</p>\n\n<p>“Dear me!” said Holmes. “What was that?”</p>\n\n<p>“A murder–a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know how keen you\nare upon these things, and I would take it as a great favour if you\nwould step down to Appledore Towers and give us the benefit of your\nadvice. It is no ordinary crime. We have had our eyes upon this Mr.\nMilverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a\nvillain. He is known to have held papers which he used for\nblackmailing purposes. These papers have all been burned by the\nmurderers. No article of value was taken, as it is probable that the\ncriminals were men of good position, whose sole object was to prevent\nsocial exposure.”</p>\n\n<p>“Criminals!” said Holmes. “Plural!”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, there were two of them. They were, as nearly as possible,\ncaptured red-handed. We have their foot-marks, we have their\ndescription; it’s ten to one that we trace them. The first fellow was\na bit too active, but the second was caught by the under-gardener and\nonly got away after a struggle. He was a middle-sized, strongly-built\nman–square jaw, thick neck, moustache, a mask over his eyes.”</p>\n\n<p>“That’s rather vague,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Why, it might be a\ndescription of Watson!”</p>\n\n<p>“It’s true,” said the inspector, with much amusement. “It might be a\ndescription of Watson.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, I am afraid I can’t help you, Lestrade,” said Holmes. “The\nfact is that I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one\nof the most dangerous men in London, and that I think there are\ncertain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to\nsome extent, justify private revenge. No, it’s no use arguing. I have\nmade up my mind. My sympathies are with the criminals rather than\nwith the victim, and I will not handle this case.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which we had\nwitnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in his most\nthoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from his vacant eyes\nand his abstracted manner, of a man who is striving to recall\nsomething to his memory. We were in the middle of our lunch when he\nsuddenly sprang to his feet. “By Jove, Watson; I’ve got it!” he\ncried. “Take your hat! Come with me!” He hurried at his top speed\ndown Baker Street and along Oxford Street, until we had almost\nreached Regent Circus. Here on the left hand there stands a shop\nwindow filled with photographs of the celebrities and beauties of the\nday. Holmes’s eyes fixed themselves upon one of them, and following\nhis gaze I saw the picture of a regal and stately lady in Court\ndress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noble head. I looked at\nthat delicately-curved nose, at the marked eyebrows, at the straight\nmouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I caught my breath\nas I read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman and statesman\nwhose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes, and he put his\nfinger to his lips as we turned away from the window.</p>\n\n<p><a href=\"https://sherlock-holm.es/stories/html/chas.html\">Text taken from here</a></p>\n",
      "url": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2018/08/11/the-adventure-of-charles-augustus-milverton.html",
      "date_published": "2018-08-11T00:00:00+00:00",
      "date_modified": "2018-08-11T00:00:00+00:00",
      "author": {
        "name": "Arthur Conan Doyle"
      }
    },
    {
      "id": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2018/08/11/silver-blaze.html",
      "title": "Silver Blaze",
      "content_text": "“I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go,” said Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning.\n\n“Go! Where to?”\n\n“To Dartmoor; to King’s Pyland.”\n\nI was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was but one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.\n\n“I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the way,” said I.\n\n“My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We have, I think, just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will go further into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with you your very excellent field-glass.”\n\nAnd so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them under the seat, and offered me his cigar-case.\n\n“We are going well,” said he, looking out the window and glancing at his watch. “Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an hour.”\n\n“I have not observed the quarter-mile posts,” said I.\n\n“Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that you have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker and the disappearance of Silver Blaze?”\n\n“I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say.”\n\n“It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such personal importance to so many people, that we are suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to detach the framework of fact—of absolute undeniable fact—from the embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having established ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns. On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the case, inviting my cooperation.\n\n“Tuesday evening!” I exclaimed. “And this is Thursday morning. Why didn’t you go down yesterday?”\n\n“Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson—which is, I am afraid, a more common occurrence than any one would think who only knew me through your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible that the most remarkable horse in England could long remain concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and that his abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, another morning had come, and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take action. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been wasted.”\n\n“You have formed a theory, then?”\n\n“At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect your co-operation if I do not show you the position from which we start.”\n\nI lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while Holmes, leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which had led to our journey.\n\n“Silver Blaze,” said he, “is from the Somomy stock, and holds as brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year, and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first favorite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He has always, however, been a prime favorite with the racing public, and has never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that there were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing Silver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday.\n\n“The fact was, of course, appreciated at King’s Pyland, where the Colonel’s training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to guard the favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey who rode in Colonel Ross’s colors before he became too heavy for the weighing-chair. He has served the Colonel for five years as jockey and for seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and honest servant. Under him were three lads; for the establishment was a small one, containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up each night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellent characters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived in a small villa about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no children, keeps one maid-servant, and is comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which have been built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, while across the moor, also about two miles distant, is the larger training establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to Lord Backwater, and is managed by Silas Brown. In every other direction the moor is a complete wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. Such was the general situation last Monday night when the catastrophe occurred.\n\n“On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual, and the stables were locked up at nine o’clock. Two of the lads walked up to the trainer’s house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, which consisted of a dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was very dark and the path ran across the open moor.\n\n“Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables, when a man appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As he stepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds, with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters, and carried a heavy stick with a knob to it. She was most impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his face and by the nervousness of his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather over thirty than under it.\n\n“‘Can you tell me where I am?’ he asked. ‘I had almost made up my mind to sleep on the moor, when I saw the light of your lantern.’\n\n“‘You are close to the King’s Pyland training-stables,’ said she.\n\n“‘Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!’ he cried. ‘I understand that a stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper which you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too proud to earn the price of a new dress, would you?’ He took a piece of white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘See that the boy has this to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy.’\n\n“She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ran past him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. She had begun to tell him of what had happened, when the stranger came up again.\n\n“‘Good-evening,’ said he, looking through the window. ‘I wanted to have a word with you.’ The girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the corner of the little paper packet protruding from his closed hand.\n\n“‘What business have you here?’ asked the lad.\n\n“‘It’s business that may put something into your pocket,’ said the other. ‘You’ve two horses in for the Wessex Cup—Silver Blaze and Bayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won’t be a loser. Is it a fact that at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred yards in five furlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?’\n\n“‘So, you’re one of those damned touts!’ cried the lad. ‘I’ll show you how we serve them in King’s Pyland.’ He sprang up and rushed across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as she ran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through the window. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound he was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed to find any trace of him.”\n\n“One moment,” I asked. “Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?”\n\n“Excellent, Watson, excellent!” murmured my companion. “The importance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a special wire to Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The boy locked the door before he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough for a man to get through.\n\n“Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent a message to the trainer and told him what had occurred. Straker was excited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quite realized its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he was dressing. In reply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of his anxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stables to see that all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as she could hear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and left the house.\n\n“Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find that her husband had not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called the maid, and set off for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the favorite’s stall was empty, and there were no signs of his trainer.\n\n“The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the harness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out in search of the absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for some reason taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house, from which all the neighboring moors were visible, they not only could see no signs of the missing favorite, but they perceived something which warned them that they were in the presence of a tragedy.\n\n“About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker’s overcoat was flapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the dead body of the unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where there was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp instrument. It was clear, however, that Straker had defended himself vigorously against his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, which was clotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped a red and black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid as having been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had visited the stables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the same stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchman. As to the missing horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that he had been there at the time of the struggle. But from that morning he has disappeared, and although a large reward has been offered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news has come of him. Finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of his supper left by the stable-lad contain an appreciable quantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the same dish on the same night without any ill effect.\n\n“Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and stated as baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the police have done in the matter.\n\n“Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is an extremely competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination he might rise to great heights in his profession. On his arrival he promptly found and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally rested. There was little difficulty in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villas which I have mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson. He was a man of excellent birth and education, who had squandered a fortune upon the turf, and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel book-making in the sporting clubs of London. An examination of his betting-book shows that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had been registered by him against the favorite. On being arrested he volunteered the statement that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of getting some information about the King’s Pyland horses, and also about Desborough, the second favorite, which was in charge of Silas Brown at the Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted as described upon the evening before, but declared that he had no sinister designs, and had simply wished to obtain first-hand information. When confronted with his cravat, he turned very pale, and was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. His wet clothing showed that he had been out in the storm of the night before, and his stick, which was a Penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to which the trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no wound upon his person, while the state of Straker’s knife would show that one at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him. There you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me any light I shall be infinitely obliged to you.”\n\nI had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which Holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Though most of the facts were familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated their relative importance, nor their connection to each other.\n\n“Is in not possible,” I suggested, “that the incised wound upon Straker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury?”\n\n“It is more than possible; it is probable,” said Holmes. “In that case one of the main points in favor of the accused disappears.”\n\n“And yet,” said I, “even now I fail to understand what the theory of the police can be.”\n\n“I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections to it,” returned my companion. “The police imagine, I take it, that this Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some way obtained a duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the horse, with the intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether. His bridle is missing, so that Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left the door open behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor, when he was either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally ensued. Simpson beat out the trainer’s brains with his heavy stick without receiving any injury from the small knife which Straker used in self-defence, and then the thief either led the horse on to some secret hiding-place, or else it may have bolted during the struggle, and be now wandering out on the moors. That is the case as it appears to the police, and improbable as it is, all other explanations are more improbable still. However, I shall very quickly test the matter when I am once upon the spot, and until then I cannot really see how we can get much further than our present position.”\n\nIt was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock, which lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the station—the one a tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers and an eye-glass. The latter was Colonel Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory, a man who was rapidly making his name in the English detective service.\n\n“I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes,” said the Colonel. “The Inspector here has done all that could possibly be suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor Straker and in recovering my horse.”\n\n“Have there been any fresh developments?” asked Holmes.\n\n“I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress,” said the Inspector. “We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubt like to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it over as we drive.”\n\nA minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau, and were rattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector Gregory was full of his case, and poured out a stream of remarks, while Holmes threw in an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with interest to the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating his theory, which was almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the train.\n\n“The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson,” he remarked, “and I believe myself that he is our man. At the same time I recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some new development may upset it.”\n\n“How about Straker’s knife?”\n\n“We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his fall.”\n\n“My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. If so, it would tell against this man Simpson.”\n\n“Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound. The evidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest in the disappearance of the favorite. He lies under suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out in the storm, he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man’s hand. I really think we have enough to go before a jury.”\n\nHolmes shook his head. “A clever counsel would tear it all to rags,” said he. “Why should he take the horse out of the stable? If he wished to injure it why could he not do it there? Has a duplicate key been found in his possession? What chemist sold him the powdered opium? Above all, where could he, a stranger to the district, hide a horse, and such a horse as this? What is his own explanation as to the paper which he wished the maid to give to the stable-boy?”\n\n“He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his purse. But your other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. He is not a stranger to the district. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the summer. The opium was probably brought from London. The key, having served its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor.”\n\n“What does he say about the cravat?”\n\n“He acknowledges that it is his, and declares that he had lost it. But a new element has been introduced into the case which may account for his leading the horse from the stable.”\n\nHolmes pricked up his ears.\n\n“We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place. On Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was some understanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might he not have been leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they not have him now?”\n\n“It is certainly possible.”\n\n“The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined every stable and out-house in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles.”\n\n“There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?”\n\n“Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. As Desborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest in the disappearance of the favorite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known to have had large bets upon the event, and he was no friend to poor Straker. We have, however, examined the stables, and there is nothing to connect him with the affair.”\n\n“And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of the Mapleton stables?”\n\n“Nothing at all.”\n\nHolmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A few minutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa with overhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance off, across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled out-building. In every other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from the fading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the westward which marked the Mapleton stables. We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused himself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage.\n\n“Excuse me,” said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at him in some surprise. “I was day-dreaming.” There was a gleam in his eyes and a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as I was to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could not imagine where he had found it.\n\n“Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime, Mr. Holmes?” said Gregory.\n\n“I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go into one or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, I presume?”\n\n“Yes; he lies upstairs. The inquest is to-morrow.”\n\n“He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?”\n\n“I have always found him an excellent servant.”\n\n“I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in this pockets at the time of his death, Inspector?”\n\n“I have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if you would care to see them.”\n\n“I should be very glad.” We all filed into the front room and sat round the central table while the Inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid a small heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas, two inches of tallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss &amp; Co., London.\n\n“This is a very singular knife,” said Holmes, lifting it up and examining it minutely. “I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it, that it is the one which was found in the dead man’s grasp. Watson, this knife is surely in your line?”\n\n“It is what we call a cataract knife,” said I.\n\n“I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work. A strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough expedition, especially as it would not shut in his pocket.”\n\n“The tip was guarded by a disk of cork which we found beside his body,” said the Inspector. “His wife tells us that the knife had lain upon the dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the room. It was a poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at the moment.”\n\n“Very possible. How about these papers?”\n\n“Three of them are receipted hay-dealers’ accounts. One of them is a letter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a milliner’s account for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier, of Bond Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that Derbyshire was a friend of her husband’s and that occasionally his letters were addressed here.”\n\n“Madam Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes,” remarked Holmes, glancing down the account. “Twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for a single costume. However there appears to be nothing more to learn, and we may now go down to the scene of the crime.”\n\nAs we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been waiting in the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the Inspector’s sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the print of a recent horror.\n\n“Have you got them? Have you found them?” she panted.\n\n“No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from London to help us, and we shall do all that is possible.”\n\n“Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little time ago, Mrs. Straker?” said Holmes.\n\n“No, sir; you are mistaken.”\n\n“Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume of dove-colored silk with ostrich-feather trimming.”\n\n“I never had such a dress, sir,” answered the lady.\n\n“Ah, that quite settles it,” said Holmes. And with an apology he followed the Inspector outside. A short walk across the moor took us to the hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it was the furze-bush upon which the coat had been hung.\n\n“There was no wind that night, I understand,” said Holmes.\n\n“None; but very heavy rain.”\n\n“In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush, but placed there.”\n\n“Yes, it was laid across the bush.”\n\n“You fill me with interest, I perceive that the ground has been trampled up a good deal. No doubt many feet have been here since Monday night.”\n\n“A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all stood upon that.”\n\n“Excellent.”\n\n“In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one of Fitzroy Simpson’s shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze.”\n\n“My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!” Holmes took the bag, and, descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a more central position. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin upon his hands, he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of him. “Hullo!” said he, suddenly. “What’s this?” It was a wax vesta half burned, which was so coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip of wood.\n\n“I cannot think how I came to overlook it,” said the Inspector, with an expression of annoyance.\n\n“It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was looking for it.”\n\n“What! You expected to find it?”\n\n“I thought it not unlikely.”\n\nHe took the boots from the bag, and compared the impressions of each of them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim of the hollow, and crawled about among the ferns and bushes.\n\n“I am afraid that there are no more tracks,” said the Inspector. “I have examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each direction.”\n\n“Indeed!” said Holmes, rising. “I should not have the impertinence to do it again after what you say. But I should like to take a little walk over the moor before it grows dark, that I may know my ground to-morrow, and I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my pocket for luck.”\n\nColonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my companion’s quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch. “I wish you would come back with me, Inspector,” said he. “There are several points on which I should like your advice, and especially as to whether we do not owe it to the public to remove our horse’s name from the entries for the Cup.”\n\n“Certainly not,” cried Holmes, with decision. “I should let the name stand.”\n\nThe Colonel bowed. “I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir,” said he. “You will find us at poor Straker’s house when you have finished your walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock.”\n\nHe turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowly across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stables of Mapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and brambles caught the evening light. But the glories of the landscape were all wasted upon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought.\n\n“It’s this way, Watson,” said he at last. “We may leave the question of who killed John Straker for the instant, and confine ourselves to finding out what has become of the horse. Now, supposing that he broke away during or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse is a very gregarious creature. If left to himself his instincts would have been either to return to King’s Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should he run wild upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And why should gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out when they hear of trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the police. They could not hope to sell such a horse. They would run a great risk and gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear.”\n\n“Where is he, then?”\n\n“I have already said that he must have gone to King’s Pyland or to Mapleton. He is not at King’s Pyland. Therefore he is at Mapleton. Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. This part of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. But it falls away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here that there is a long hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday night. If our supposition is correct, then the horse must have crossed that, and there is the point where we should look for his tracks.”\n\nWe had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few more minutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes’ request I walked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but I had not taken fifty paces before I heard him give a shout, and saw him waving his hand to me. The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted the impression.\n\n“See the value of imagination,” said Holmes. “It is the one quality which Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed.”\n\nWe crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we came on the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A man’s track was visible beside the horse’s.\n\n“The horse was alone before,” I cried.\n\n“Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?”\n\nThe double track turned sharp off and took the direction of King’s Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side, and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction.\n\n“One for you, Watson,” said Holmes, when I pointed it out. “You have saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own traces. Let us follow the return track.”\n\nWe had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out from them.\n\n“We don’t want any loiterers about here,” said he.\n\n“I only wished to ask a question,” said Holmes, with his finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket. “Should I be too early to see your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o’clock to-morrow morning?”\n\n“Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for he is always the first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your questions for himself. No, sir, no; it is as much as my place is worth to let him see me touch your money. Afterwards, if you like.”\n\nAs Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.\n\n“What’s this, Dawson!” he cried. “No gossiping! Go about your business! And you, what the devil do you want here?”\n\n“Ten minutes’ talk with you, my good sir,” said Holmes in the sweetest of voices.\n\n“I’ve no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no stranger here. Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels.”\n\nHolmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer’s ear. He started violently and flushed to the temples.\n\n“It’s a lie!” he shouted, “an infernal lie!”\n\n“Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in your parlor?”\n\n“Oh, come in if you wish to.”\n\nHolmes smiled. “I shall not keep you more than a few minutes, Watson,” said he. “Now, Mr. Brown, I am quite at your disposal.”\n\nIt was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays before Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. His bullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed along at my companion’s side like a dog with its master.\n\n“Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done,” said he.\n\n“There must be no mistake,” said Holmes, looking round at him. The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.\n\n“Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change it first or not?”\n\nHolmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. “No, don’t,” said he; “I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now, or—”\n\n“Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!”\n\n“Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow.” He turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other held out to him, and we set off for King’s Pyland.\n\n“A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than Master Silas Brown I have seldom met with,” remarked Holmes as we trudged along together.\n\n“He has the horse, then?”\n\n“He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I was watching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. Again, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. I described to him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor. How he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead which has given the favorite its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then I described how his first impulse had been to lead him back to King’s Pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horse until the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it at Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only of saving his own skin.”\n\n“But his stables had been searched?”\n\n“Oh, and old horse-faker like him has many a dodge.”\n\n“But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he has every interest in injuring it?”\n\n“My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe.”\n\n“Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show much mercy in any case.”\n\n“The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methods, and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of being unofficial. I don’t know whether you observed it, Watson, but the Colonel’s manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I am inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse.”\n\n“Certainly not without your permission.”\n\n“And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the question of who killed John Straker.”\n\n“And you will devote yourself to that?”\n\n“On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night train.”\n\nI was thunderstruck by my friend’s words. We had only been a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a word more could I draw from him until we were back at the trainer’s house. The Colonel and the Inspector were awaiting us in the parlor.\n\n“My friend and I return to town by the night-express,” said Holmes. “We have had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor air.”\n\nThe Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel’s lip curled in a sneer.\n\n“So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker,” said he.\n\nHolmes shrugged his shoulders. “There are certainly grave difficulties in the way,” said he. “I have every hope, however, that your horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John Straker?”\n\nThe Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him.\n\n“My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to the maid.”\n\n“I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London consultant,” said Colonel Ross, bluntly, as my friend left the room. “I do not see that we are any further than when he came.”\n\n“At least you have his assurance that your horse will run,” said I.\n\n“Yes, I have his assurance,” said the Colonel, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I should prefer to have the horse.”\n\nI was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he entered the room again.\n\n“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “I am quite ready for Tavistock.”\n\nAs we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.\n\n“You have a few sheep in the paddock,” he said. “Who attends to them?”\n\n“I do, sir.”\n\n“Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?”\n\n“Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them have gone lame, sir.”\n\nI could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and rubbed his hands together.\n\n“A long shot, Watson; a very long shot,” said he, pinching my arm. “Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic among the sheep. Drive on, coachman!”\n\nColonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion which he had formed of my companion’s ability, but I saw by the Inspector’s face that his attention had been keenly aroused.\n\n“You consider that to be important?” he asked.\n\n“Exceedingly so.”\n\n“Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?”\n\n“To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.”\n\n“The dog did nothing in the night-time.”\n\n“That was the curious incident,” remarked Sherlock Holmes.\n\nFour days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us by appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the course beyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold in the extreme.\n\n“I have seen nothing of my horse,” said he.\n\n“I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?” asked Holmes.\n\nThe Colonel was very angry. “I have been on the turf for twenty years, and never was asked such a question as that before,” said he. “A child would know Silver Blaze, with his white forehead and his mottled off-foreleg.”\n\n“How is the betting?”\n\n“Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got fifteen to one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you can hardly get three to one now.”\n\n“Hum!” said Holmes. “Somebody knows something, that is clear.”\n\nAs the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand stand I glanced at the card to see the entries.\n\nWessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs. each h ft with 1000 sovs. added, for four and five year olds. Second, £300. Third, £200. New course (one mile and five furlongs).\n\n  Mr Heath Newton’s The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket.\n  Colonel Wardlaw’s Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket.\n  Lord Backwater’s Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves.\n  Colonel Ross’s Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket.\n  Duke of Balmoral’s Iris. Yellow and black stripes.\n  Lord Singleford’s Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves.\n“We scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your word,” said the Colonel. “Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favorite?”\n\n\n“Five to four against Silver Blaze!” roared the ring. “Five to four against Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four on the field!”\n\n“There are the numbers up,” I cried. “They are all six there.”\n\n“All six there? Then my horse is running,” cried the Colonel in great agitation. “But I don’t see him. My colors have not passed.”\n\n“Only five have passed. This must be he.”\n\nAs I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighting enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red of the Colonel.\n\n“That’s not my horse,” cried the owner. “That beast has not a white hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?”\n\n“Well, well, let us see how he gets on,” said my friend, imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass. “Capital! An excellent start!” he cried suddenly. “There they are, coming round the curve!”\n\nFrom our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them, but half way up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front. Before they reached us, however, Desborough’s bolt was shot, and the Colonel’s horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral’s Iris making a bad third.\n\n“It’s my race, anyhow,” gasped the Colonel, passing his hand over his eyes. “I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don’t you think that you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?”\n\n“Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round and have a look at the horse together. Here he is,” he continued, as we made our way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and their friends find admittance. “You have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever.”\n\n“You take my breath away!”\n\n“I found him in the hands of a faker, and took the liberty of running him just as he was sent over.”\n\n“My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit and well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a great service by recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John Straker.”\n\n“I have done so,” said Holmes quietly.\n\nThe Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. “You have got him! Where is he, then?”\n\n“He is here.”\n\n“Here! Where?”\n\n“In my company at the present moment.”\n\nThe Colonel flushed angrily. “I quite recognize that I am under obligations to you, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “but I must regard what you have just said as either a very bad joke or an insult.”\n\nSherlock Holmes laughed. “I assure you that I have not associated you with the crime, Colonel,” said he. “The real murderer is standing immediately behind you.” He stepped past and laid his hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred.\n\n“The horse!” cried both the Colonel and myself.\n\n“Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was done in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fitting time.”\n\nWe had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one to Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we listened to our companion’s narrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor training-stables upon the Monday night, and the means by which he had unravelled them.\n\n“I confess,” said he, “that any theories which I had formed from the newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there were indications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw that the evidence against him was by no means complete. It was while I was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer’s house, that the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may remember that I was distrait, and remained sitting after you had all alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue.”\n\n“I confess,” said the Colonel, “that even now I cannot see how it helps us.”\n\n“It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavor is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainer’s family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would disguise the flavor. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centers upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. The opium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Which of them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeing them?\n\n“Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance of the silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others. The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, and yet, though some one had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnight visitor was some one whom the dog knew well.\n\n“I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker went down to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been cases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by laying against their own horses, through agents, and then preventing them from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it is some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion.\n\n“And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife which was found in the dead man’s hand, a knife which certainly no sane man would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. And it was to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, with your wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse’s ham, and to do it subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated would develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play.”\n\n“Villain! Scoundrel!” cried the Colonel.\n\n“We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to take the horse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air.”\n\n“I have been blind!” cried the Colonel. “Of course that was why he needed the candle, and struck the match.”\n\n“Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enough to discover not only the method of the crime, but even its motives. As a man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other people’s bills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite enough to do to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double life, and keeping a second establishment. The nature of the bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had never reached her, I made a note of the milliner’s address, and felt that by calling there with Straker’s photograph I could easily dispose of the mythical Derbyshire.\n\n“From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in his flight had dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it up—with some idea, perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse’s leg. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light; but the creature frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it clear?”\n\n“Wonderful!” cried the Colonel. “Wonderful! You might have been there!”\n\n“My final shot was, I confess a very long one. It struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nicking without a little practice. What could he practice on? My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct.\n\n“When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot.”\n\n“You have explained all but one thing,” cried the Colonel. “Where was the horse?”\n\n“Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbors. We must have an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction, if I am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other details which might interest you.”\n",
      "content_html": "<p>“I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go,” said Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning.</p>\n\n<p>“Go! Where to?”</p>\n\n<p>“To Dartmoor; to King’s Pyland.”</p>\n\n<p>I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was but one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.</p>\n\n<p>“I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the way,” said I.</p>\n\n<p>“My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We have, I think, just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will go further into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with you your very excellent field-glass.”</p>\n\n<p>And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them under the seat, and offered me his cigar-case.</p>\n\n<p>“We are going well,” said he, looking out the window and glancing at his watch. “Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an hour.”</p>\n\n<p>“I have not observed the quarter-mile posts,” said I.</p>\n\n<p>“Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that you have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker and the disappearance of Silver Blaze?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say.”</p>\n\n<p>“It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such personal importance to so many people, that we are suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to detach the framework of fact—of absolute undeniable fact—from the embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having established ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns. On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the case, inviting my cooperation.</p>\n\n<p>“Tuesday evening!” I exclaimed. “And this is Thursday morning. Why didn’t you go down yesterday?”</p>\n\n<p>“Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson—which is, I am afraid, a more common occurrence than any one would think who only knew me through your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible that the most remarkable horse in England could long remain concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and that his abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, another morning had come, and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take action. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been wasted.”</p>\n\n<p>“You have formed a theory, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect your co-operation if I do not show you the position from which we start.”</p>\n\n<p>I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while Holmes, leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which had led to our journey.</p>\n\n<p>“Silver Blaze,” said he, “is from the Somomy stock, and holds as brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year, and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first favorite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He has always, however, been a prime favorite with the racing public, and has never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that there were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing Silver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday.</p>\n\n<p>“The fact was, of course, appreciated at King’s Pyland, where the Colonel’s training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to guard the favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey who rode in Colonel Ross’s colors before he became too heavy for the weighing-chair. He has served the Colonel for five years as jockey and for seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and honest servant. Under him were three lads; for the establishment was a small one, containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up each night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellent characters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived in a small villa about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no children, keeps one maid-servant, and is comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which have been built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, while across the moor, also about two miles distant, is the larger training establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to Lord Backwater, and is managed by Silas Brown. In every other direction the moor is a complete wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. Such was the general situation last Monday night when the catastrophe occurred.</p>\n\n<p>“On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual, and the stables were locked up at nine o’clock. Two of the lads walked up to the trainer’s house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, which consisted of a dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was very dark and the path ran across the open moor.</p>\n\n<p>“Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables, when a man appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As he stepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds, with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters, and carried a heavy stick with a knob to it. She was most impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his face and by the nervousness of his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather over thirty than under it.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Can you tell me where I am?’ he asked. ‘I had almost made up my mind to sleep on the moor, when I saw the light of your lantern.’</p>\n\n<p>“‘You are close to the King’s Pyland training-stables,’ said she.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!’ he cried. ‘I understand that a stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper which you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too proud to earn the price of a new dress, would you?’ He took a piece of white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘See that the boy has this to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy.’</p>\n\n<p>“She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ran past him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. She had begun to tell him of what had happened, when the stranger came up again.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Good-evening,’ said he, looking through the window. ‘I wanted to have a word with you.’ The girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the corner of the little paper packet protruding from his closed hand.</p>\n\n<p>“‘What business have you here?’ asked the lad.</p>\n\n<p>“‘It’s business that may put something into your pocket,’ said the other. ‘You’ve two horses in for the Wessex Cup—Silver Blaze and Bayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won’t be a loser. Is it a fact that at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred yards in five furlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?’</p>\n\n<p>“‘So, you’re one of those damned touts!’ cried the lad. ‘I’ll show you how we serve them in King’s Pyland.’ He sprang up and rushed across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as she ran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through the window. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound he was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed to find any trace of him.”</p>\n\n<p>“One moment,” I asked. “Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?”</p>\n\n<p>“Excellent, Watson, excellent!” murmured my companion. “The importance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a special wire to Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The boy locked the door before he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough for a man to get through.</p>\n\n<p>“Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent a message to the trainer and told him what had occurred. Straker was excited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quite realized its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he was dressing. In reply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of his anxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stables to see that all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as she could hear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and left the house.</p>\n\n<p>“Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find that her husband had not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called the maid, and set off for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the favorite’s stall was empty, and there were no signs of his trainer.</p>\n\n<p>“The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the harness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out in search of the absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for some reason taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house, from which all the neighboring moors were visible, they not only could see no signs of the missing favorite, but they perceived something which warned them that they were in the presence of a tragedy.</p>\n\n<p>“About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker’s overcoat was flapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the dead body of the unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where there was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp instrument. It was clear, however, that Straker had defended himself vigorously against his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, which was clotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped a red and black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid as having been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had visited the stables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the same stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchman. As to the missing horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that he had been there at the time of the struggle. But from that morning he has disappeared, and although a large reward has been offered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news has come of him. Finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of his supper left by the stable-lad contain an appreciable quantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the same dish on the same night without any ill effect.</p>\n\n<p>“Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and stated as baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the police have done in the matter.</p>\n\n<p>“Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is an extremely competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination he might rise to great heights in his profession. On his arrival he promptly found and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally rested. There was little difficulty in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villas which I have mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson. He was a man of excellent birth and education, who had squandered a fortune upon the turf, and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel book-making in the sporting clubs of London. An examination of his betting-book shows that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had been registered by him against the favorite. On being arrested he volunteered the statement that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of getting some information about the King’s Pyland horses, and also about Desborough, the second favorite, which was in charge of Silas Brown at the Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted as described upon the evening before, but declared that he had no sinister designs, and had simply wished to obtain first-hand information. When confronted with his cravat, he turned very pale, and was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. His wet clothing showed that he had been out in the storm of the night before, and his stick, which was a Penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to which the trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no wound upon his person, while the state of Straker’s knife would show that one at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him. There you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me any light I shall be infinitely obliged to you.”</p>\n\n<p>I had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which Holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Though most of the facts were familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated their relative importance, nor their connection to each other.</p>\n\n<p>“Is in not possible,” I suggested, “that the incised wound upon Straker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury?”</p>\n\n<p>“It is more than possible; it is probable,” said Holmes. “In that case one of the main points in favor of the accused disappears.”</p>\n\n<p>“And yet,” said I, “even now I fail to understand what the theory of the police can be.”</p>\n\n<p>“I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections to it,” returned my companion. “The police imagine, I take it, that this Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some way obtained a duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the horse, with the intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether. His bridle is missing, so that Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left the door open behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor, when he was either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally ensued. Simpson beat out the trainer’s brains with his heavy stick without receiving any injury from the small knife which Straker used in self-defence, and then the thief either led the horse on to some secret hiding-place, or else it may have bolted during the struggle, and be now wandering out on the moors. That is the case as it appears to the police, and improbable as it is, all other explanations are more improbable still. However, I shall very quickly test the matter when I am once upon the spot, and until then I cannot really see how we can get much further than our present position.”</p>\n\n<p>It was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock, which lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the station—the one a tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers and an eye-glass. The latter was Colonel Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory, a man who was rapidly making his name in the English detective service.</p>\n\n<p>“I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes,” said the Colonel. “The Inspector here has done all that could possibly be suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor Straker and in recovering my horse.”</p>\n\n<p>“Have there been any fresh developments?” asked Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress,” said the Inspector. “We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubt like to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it over as we drive.”</p>\n\n<p>A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau, and were rattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector Gregory was full of his case, and poured out a stream of remarks, while Holmes threw in an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with interest to the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating his theory, which was almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the train.</p>\n\n<p>“The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson,” he remarked, “and I believe myself that he is our man. At the same time I recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some new development may upset it.”</p>\n\n<p>“How about Straker’s knife?”</p>\n\n<p>“We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his fall.”</p>\n\n<p>“My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. If so, it would tell against this man Simpson.”</p>\n\n<p>“Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound. The evidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest in the disappearance of the favorite. He lies under suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out in the storm, he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man’s hand. I really think we have enough to go before a jury.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes shook his head. “A clever counsel would tear it all to rags,” said he. “Why should he take the horse out of the stable? If he wished to injure it why could he not do it there? Has a duplicate key been found in his possession? What chemist sold him the powdered opium? Above all, where could he, a stranger to the district, hide a horse, and such a horse as this? What is his own explanation as to the paper which he wished the maid to give to the stable-boy?”</p>\n\n<p>“He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his purse. But your other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. He is not a stranger to the district. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the summer. The opium was probably brought from London. The key, having served its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor.”</p>\n\n<p>“What does he say about the cravat?”</p>\n\n<p>“He acknowledges that it is his, and declares that he had lost it. But a new element has been introduced into the case which may account for his leading the horse from the stable.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes pricked up his ears.</p>\n\n<p>“We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place. On Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was some understanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might he not have been leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they not have him now?”</p>\n\n<p>“It is certainly possible.”</p>\n\n<p>“The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined every stable and out-house in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles.”</p>\n\n<p>“There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. As Desborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest in the disappearance of the favorite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known to have had large bets upon the event, and he was no friend to poor Straker. We have, however, examined the stables, and there is nothing to connect him with the affair.”</p>\n\n<p>“And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of the Mapleton stables?”</p>\n\n<p>“Nothing at all.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A few minutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa with overhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance off, across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled out-building. In every other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from the fading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the westward which marked the Mapleton stables. We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused himself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage.</p>\n\n<p>“Excuse me,” said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at him in some surprise. “I was day-dreaming.” There was a gleam in his eyes and a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as I was to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could not imagine where he had found it.</p>\n\n<p>“Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime, Mr. Holmes?” said Gregory.</p>\n\n<p>“I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go into one or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, I presume?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes; he lies upstairs. The inquest is to-morrow.”</p>\n\n<p>“He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have always found him an excellent servant.”</p>\n\n<p>“I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in this pockets at the time of his death, Inspector?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if you would care to see them.”</p>\n\n<p>“I should be very glad.” We all filed into the front room and sat round the central table while the Inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid a small heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas, two inches of tallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss &amp; Co., London.</p>\n\n<p>“This is a very singular knife,” said Holmes, lifting it up and examining it minutely. “I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it, that it is the one which was found in the dead man’s grasp. Watson, this knife is surely in your line?”</p>\n\n<p>“It is what we call a cataract knife,” said I.</p>\n\n<p>“I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work. A strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough expedition, especially as it would not shut in his pocket.”</p>\n\n<p>“The tip was guarded by a disk of cork which we found beside his body,” said the Inspector. “His wife tells us that the knife had lain upon the dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the room. It was a poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at the moment.”</p>\n\n<p>“Very possible. How about these papers?”</p>\n\n<p>“Three of them are receipted hay-dealers’ accounts. One of them is a letter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a milliner’s account for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier, of Bond Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that Derbyshire was a friend of her husband’s and that occasionally his letters were addressed here.”</p>\n\n<p>“Madam Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes,” remarked Holmes, glancing down the account. “Twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for a single costume. However there appears to be nothing more to learn, and we may now go down to the scene of the crime.”</p>\n\n<p>As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been waiting in the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the Inspector’s sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the print of a recent horror.</p>\n\n<p>“Have you got them? Have you found them?” she panted.</p>\n\n<p>“No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from London to help us, and we shall do all that is possible.”</p>\n\n<p>“Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little time ago, Mrs. Straker?” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“No, sir; you are mistaken.”</p>\n\n<p>“Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume of dove-colored silk with ostrich-feather trimming.”</p>\n\n<p>“I never had such a dress, sir,” answered the lady.</p>\n\n<p>“Ah, that quite settles it,” said Holmes. And with an apology he followed the Inspector outside. A short walk across the moor took us to the hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it was the furze-bush upon which the coat had been hung.</p>\n\n<p>“There was no wind that night, I understand,” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“None; but very heavy rain.”</p>\n\n<p>“In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush, but placed there.”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, it was laid across the bush.”</p>\n\n<p>“You fill me with interest, I perceive that the ground has been trampled up a good deal. No doubt many feet have been here since Monday night.”</p>\n\n<p>“A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all stood upon that.”</p>\n\n<p>“Excellent.”</p>\n\n<p>“In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one of Fitzroy Simpson’s shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze.”</p>\n\n<p>“My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!” Holmes took the bag, and, descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a more central position. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin upon his hands, he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of him. “Hullo!” said he, suddenly. “What’s this?” It was a wax vesta half burned, which was so coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip of wood.</p>\n\n<p>“I cannot think how I came to overlook it,” said the Inspector, with an expression of annoyance.</p>\n\n<p>“It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was looking for it.”</p>\n\n<p>“What! You expected to find it?”</p>\n\n<p>“I thought it not unlikely.”</p>\n\n<p>He took the boots from the bag, and compared the impressions of each of them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim of the hollow, and crawled about among the ferns and bushes.</p>\n\n<p>“I am afraid that there are no more tracks,” said the Inspector. “I have examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each direction.”</p>\n\n<p>“Indeed!” said Holmes, rising. “I should not have the impertinence to do it again after what you say. But I should like to take a little walk over the moor before it grows dark, that I may know my ground to-morrow, and I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my pocket for luck.”</p>\n\n<p>Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my companion’s quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch. “I wish you would come back with me, Inspector,” said he. “There are several points on which I should like your advice, and especially as to whether we do not owe it to the public to remove our horse’s name from the entries for the Cup.”</p>\n\n<p>“Certainly not,” cried Holmes, with decision. “I should let the name stand.”</p>\n\n<p>The Colonel bowed. “I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir,” said he. “You will find us at poor Straker’s house when you have finished your walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock.”</p>\n\n<p>He turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowly across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stables of Mapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and brambles caught the evening light. But the glories of the landscape were all wasted upon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought.</p>\n\n<p>“It’s this way, Watson,” said he at last. “We may leave the question of who killed John Straker for the instant, and confine ourselves to finding out what has become of the horse. Now, supposing that he broke away during or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse is a very gregarious creature. If left to himself his instincts would have been either to return to King’s Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should he run wild upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And why should gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out when they hear of trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the police. They could not hope to sell such a horse. They would run a great risk and gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear.”</p>\n\n<p>“Where is he, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have already said that he must have gone to King’s Pyland or to Mapleton. He is not at King’s Pyland. Therefore he is at Mapleton. Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. This part of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. But it falls away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here that there is a long hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday night. If our supposition is correct, then the horse must have crossed that, and there is the point where we should look for his tracks.”</p>\n\n<p>We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few more minutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes’ request I walked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but I had not taken fifty paces before I heard him give a shout, and saw him waving his hand to me. The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted the impression.</p>\n\n<p>“See the value of imagination,” said Holmes. “It is the one quality which Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed.”</p>\n\n<p>We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we came on the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A man’s track was visible beside the horse’s.</p>\n\n<p>“The horse was alone before,” I cried.</p>\n\n<p>“Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?”</p>\n\n<p>The double track turned sharp off and took the direction of King’s Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side, and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction.</p>\n\n<p>“One for you, Watson,” said Holmes, when I pointed it out. “You have saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own traces. Let us follow the return track.”</p>\n\n<p>We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out from them.</p>\n\n<p>“We don’t want any loiterers about here,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“I only wished to ask a question,” said Holmes, with his finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket. “Should I be too early to see your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o’clock to-morrow morning?”</p>\n\n<p>“Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for he is always the first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your questions for himself. No, sir, no; it is as much as my place is worth to let him see me touch your money. Afterwards, if you like.”</p>\n\n<p>As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.</p>\n\n<p>“What’s this, Dawson!” he cried. “No gossiping! Go about your business! And you, what the devil do you want here?”</p>\n\n<p>“Ten minutes’ talk with you, my good sir,” said Holmes in the sweetest of voices.</p>\n\n<p>“I’ve no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no stranger here. Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer’s ear. He started violently and flushed to the temples.</p>\n\n<p>“It’s a lie!” he shouted, “an infernal lie!”</p>\n\n<p>“Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in your parlor?”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, come in if you wish to.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes smiled. “I shall not keep you more than a few minutes, Watson,” said he. “Now, Mr. Brown, I am quite at your disposal.”</p>\n\n<p>It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays before Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. His bullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed along at my companion’s side like a dog with its master.</p>\n\n<p>“Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“There must be no mistake,” said Holmes, looking round at him. The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.</p>\n\n<p>“Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change it first or not?”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. “No, don’t,” said he; “I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now, or—”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow.” He turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other held out to him, and we set off for King’s Pyland.</p>\n\n<p>“A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than Master Silas Brown I have seldom met with,” remarked Holmes as we trudged along together.</p>\n\n<p>“He has the horse, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I was watching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. Again, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. I described to him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor. How he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead which has given the favorite its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then I described how his first impulse had been to lead him back to King’s Pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horse until the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it at Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only of saving his own skin.”</p>\n\n<p>“But his stables had been searched?”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, and old horse-faker like him has many a dodge.”</p>\n\n<p>“But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he has every interest in injuring it?”</p>\n\n<p>“My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe.”</p>\n\n<p>“Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show much mercy in any case.”</p>\n\n<p>“The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methods, and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of being unofficial. I don’t know whether you observed it, Watson, but the Colonel’s manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I am inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse.”</p>\n\n<p>“Certainly not without your permission.”</p>\n\n<p>“And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the question of who killed John Straker.”</p>\n\n<p>“And you will devote yourself to that?”</p>\n\n<p>“On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night train.”</p>\n\n<p>I was thunderstruck by my friend’s words. We had only been a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a word more could I draw from him until we were back at the trainer’s house. The Colonel and the Inspector were awaiting us in the parlor.</p>\n\n<p>“My friend and I return to town by the night-express,” said Holmes. “We have had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor air.”</p>\n\n<p>The Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel’s lip curled in a sneer.</p>\n\n<p>“So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>Holmes shrugged his shoulders. “There are certainly grave difficulties in the way,” said he. “I have every hope, however, that your horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John Straker?”</p>\n\n<p>The Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him.</p>\n\n<p>“My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to the maid.”</p>\n\n<p>“I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London consultant,” said Colonel Ross, bluntly, as my friend left the room. “I do not see that we are any further than when he came.”</p>\n\n<p>“At least you have his assurance that your horse will run,” said I.</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, I have his assurance,” said the Colonel, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I should prefer to have the horse.”</p>\n\n<p>I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he entered the room again.</p>\n\n<p>“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “I am quite ready for Tavistock.”</p>\n\n<p>As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.</p>\n\n<p>“You have a few sheep in the paddock,” he said. “Who attends to them?”</p>\n\n<p>“I do, sir.”</p>\n\n<p>“Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them have gone lame, sir.”</p>\n\n<p>I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and rubbed his hands together.</p>\n\n<p>“A long shot, Watson; a very long shot,” said he, pinching my arm. “Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic among the sheep. Drive on, coachman!”</p>\n\n<p>Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion which he had formed of my companion’s ability, but I saw by the Inspector’s face that his attention had been keenly aroused.</p>\n\n<p>“You consider that to be important?” he asked.</p>\n\n<p>“Exceedingly so.”</p>\n\n<p>“Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?”</p>\n\n<p>“To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.”</p>\n\n<p>“The dog did nothing in the night-time.”</p>\n\n<p>“That was the curious incident,” remarked Sherlock Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us by appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the course beyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold in the extreme.</p>\n\n<p>“I have seen nothing of my horse,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?” asked Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>The Colonel was very angry. “I have been on the turf for twenty years, and never was asked such a question as that before,” said he. “A child would know Silver Blaze, with his white forehead and his mottled off-foreleg.”</p>\n\n<p>“How is the betting?”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got fifteen to one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you can hardly get three to one now.”</p>\n\n<p>“Hum!” said Holmes. “Somebody knows something, that is clear.”</p>\n\n<p>As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand stand I glanced at the card to see the entries.</p>\n\n<p>Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs. each h ft with 1000 sovs. added, for four and five year olds. Second, £300. Third, £200. New course (one mile and five furlongs).</p>\n<ol>\n  <li>Mr Heath Newton’s The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket.</li>\n  <li>Colonel Wardlaw’s Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket.</li>\n  <li>Lord Backwater’s Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves.</li>\n  <li>Colonel Ross’s Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket.</li>\n  <li>Duke of Balmoral’s Iris. Yellow and black stripes.</li>\n  <li>Lord Singleford’s Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves.\n“We scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your word,” said the Colonel. “Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favorite?”</li>\n</ol>\n\n<p>“Five to four against Silver Blaze!” roared the ring. “Five to four against Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four on the field!”</p>\n\n<p>“There are the numbers up,” I cried. “They are all six there.”</p>\n\n<p>“All six there? Then my horse is running,” cried the Colonel in great agitation. “But I don’t see him. My colors have not passed.”</p>\n\n<p>“Only five have passed. This must be he.”</p>\n\n<p>As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighting enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red of the Colonel.</p>\n\n<p>“That’s not my horse,” cried the owner. “That beast has not a white hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, well, let us see how he gets on,” said my friend, imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass. “Capital! An excellent start!” he cried suddenly. “There they are, coming round the curve!”</p>\n\n<p>From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them, but half way up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front. Before they reached us, however, Desborough’s bolt was shot, and the Colonel’s horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral’s Iris making a bad third.</p>\n\n<p>“It’s my race, anyhow,” gasped the Colonel, passing his hand over his eyes. “I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don’t you think that you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?”</p>\n\n<p>“Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round and have a look at the horse together. Here he is,” he continued, as we made our way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and their friends find admittance. “You have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever.”</p>\n\n<p>“You take my breath away!”</p>\n\n<p>“I found him in the hands of a faker, and took the liberty of running him just as he was sent over.”</p>\n\n<p>“My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit and well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a great service by recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John Straker.”</p>\n\n<p>“I have done so,” said Holmes quietly.</p>\n\n<p>The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. “You have got him! Where is he, then?”</p>\n\n<p>“He is here.”</p>\n\n<p>“Here! Where?”</p>\n\n<p>“In my company at the present moment.”</p>\n\n<p>The Colonel flushed angrily. “I quite recognize that I am under obligations to you, Mr. Holmes,” said he, “but I must regard what you have just said as either a very bad joke or an insult.”</p>\n\n<p>Sherlock Holmes laughed. “I assure you that I have not associated you with the crime, Colonel,” said he. “The real murderer is standing immediately behind you.” He stepped past and laid his hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred.</p>\n\n<p>“The horse!” cried both the Colonel and myself.</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was done in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fitting time.”</p>\n\n<p>We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one to Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we listened to our companion’s narrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor training-stables upon the Monday night, and the means by which he had unravelled them.</p>\n\n<p>“I confess,” said he, “that any theories which I had formed from the newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there were indications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw that the evidence against him was by no means complete. It was while I was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer’s house, that the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may remember that I was distrait, and remained sitting after you had all alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue.”</p>\n\n<p>“I confess,” said the Colonel, “that even now I cannot see how it helps us.”</p>\n\n<p>“It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavor is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainer’s family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would disguise the flavor. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centers upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. The opium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Which of them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeing them?</p>\n\n<p>“Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance of the silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others. The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, and yet, though some one had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnight visitor was some one whom the dog knew well.</p>\n\n<p>“I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker went down to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been cases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by laying against their own horses, through agents, and then preventing them from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it is some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion.</p>\n\n<p>“And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife which was found in the dead man’s hand, a knife which certainly no sane man would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. And it was to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, with your wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse’s ham, and to do it subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated would develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play.”</p>\n\n<p>“Villain! Scoundrel!” cried the Colonel.</p>\n\n<p>“We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to take the horse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air.”</p>\n\n<p>“I have been blind!” cried the Colonel. “Of course that was why he needed the candle, and struck the match.”</p>\n\n<p>“Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enough to discover not only the method of the crime, but even its motives. As a man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other people’s bills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite enough to do to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double life, and keeping a second establishment. The nature of the bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had never reached her, I made a note of the milliner’s address, and felt that by calling there with Straker’s photograph I could easily dispose of the mythical Derbyshire.</p>\n\n<p>“From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in his flight had dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it up—with some idea, perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse’s leg. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light; but the creature frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it clear?”</p>\n\n<p>“Wonderful!” cried the Colonel. “Wonderful! You might have been there!”</p>\n\n<p>“My final shot was, I confess a very long one. It struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nicking without a little practice. What could he practice on? My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct.</p>\n\n<p>“When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot.”</p>\n\n<p>“You have explained all but one thing,” cried the Colonel. “Where was the horse?”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbors. We must have an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction, if I am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other details which might interest you.”</p>\n",
      "url": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2018/08/11/silver-blaze.html",
      "date_published": "2018-08-11T00:00:00+00:00",
      "date_modified": "2018-08-11T00:00:00+00:00",
      "author": {
        "name": "Arthur Conan Doyle"
      }
    },
    {
      "id": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2012/07/24/the-adventure-of-the-veiled-lodger.html",
      "content_text": "When one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in active practice for twenty-three years, and that during seventeen of these I was allowed to cooperate with him and to keep notes of his doings, it will be clear that I have a mass of material at my command. The problem has always been not to find but to choose. There is the long row of year-books which fill a shelf, and there are the dispatch-cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry for the student not only of crime but of the social and official scandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter, I may say that the writers of agonized letters, who beg that the honour of their families or the reputation of famous forebears may not be touched, have nothing to fear. The discretion and high sense of professional honour which have always distinguished my friend are still at work in the choice of these memoirs, and no confidence will be abused. I deprecate, however, in the strongest way the attempts which have been made lately to get at and to destroy these papers. The source of these outrages is known, and if they are repeated I have Mr. Holmes’s authority for saying that the whole story concerning the politician, the lighthouse, and the trained cormorant will be given to the public. There is at least one reader who will understand.\n\nIt is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these cases gave Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts of instinct and observation which I have endeavoured to set forth in these memoirs. Sometimes he had with much effort to pick the fruit, sometimes it fell easily into his lap. But the most terrible human tragedies were often involved in those cases which brought him the fewest personal opportunities, and it is one of these which I now desire to record. In telling it, I have made a slight change of name and place, but otherwise the facts are as stated.\n\nOne forenoon—it was late in 1896—I received a hurried note from Holmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived I found him seated in a smoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxom landlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him.\n\n“This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton,” said my friend with a wave of the hand. “Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if you wish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilow has an interesting story to tell which may well lead to further developments in which your presence may be useful.”\n\n“Anything I can do—”\n\n“You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs. Ronder I should prefer to have a witness. You will make her understand that before we arrive.”\n\n“Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes,” said our visitor, “she is that anxious to see you that you might bring the whole parish at your heels!”\n\n“Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that we have our facts correct before we start. If we go over them it will help Dr. Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ronder has been your lodger for seven years and that you have only once seen her face.”\n\n“And I wish to God I had not!” said Mrs. Merrilow.\n\n“It was, I understand, terribly mutilated.”\n\n“Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all. That’s how it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of the upper window, and he dropped his tin and the milk all over the front garden. That is the kind of face it is. When I saw her—I happened on her unawares—she covered up quick, and then she said, ‘Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it is that I never raise my veil.’”\n\n“Do you know anything about her history?”\n\n“Nothing at all.”\n\n“Did she give references when she came?”\n\n“No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter’s rent right down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms. In these times a poor woman like me can’t afford to turn down a chance like that.”\n\n“Did she give any reason for choosing your house?”\n\n“Mine stands well back from the road and is more private than most. Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of my own. I reckon she had tried others and found that mine suited her best. It’s privacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it.”\n\n“You say that she never showed her face from first to last save on the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story, most remarkable, and I don’t wonder that you want it examined.”\n\n“I don’t, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent. You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives less trouble.”\n\n“Then what has brought matters to a head?”\n\n“Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. And there’s something terrible on her mind. ‘Murder!’ she cries. ‘Murder!’ And once I heard her: ‘You cruel beast! You monster!’ she cried. It was in the night, and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers through me. So I went to her in the morning. ‘Mrs. Ronder,’ I says, ‘if you have anything that is troubling your soul, there’s the clergy,’ I says, ‘and there’s the police. Between them you should get some help.’ ‘For God’s sake, not the police!’ says she, ‘and the clergy can’t change what is past. And yet,’ she says, ‘it would ease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘if you won’t have the regulars, there is this detective man what we read about’—beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fair jumped at it. ‘That’s the man,’ says she. ‘I wonder I never thought of it before. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if he won’t come, tell him I am the wife of Ronder’s wild beast show. Say that, and give him the name Abbas Parva. Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas Parva. ‘That will bring him if he’s the man I think he is.’”\n\n“And it will, too,” remarked Holmes. “Very good, Mrs. Merrilow. I should like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carry us till lunch-time. About three o’clock you may expect to see us at your house in Brixton.”\n\nOur visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room—no other verb can describe Mrs. Merrilow’s method of progression—than Sherlock Holmes threw himself with fierce energy upon the pile of commonplace books in the corner. For a few minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves, and then with a grunt of satisfaction he came upon what he sought. So excited was he that he did not rise, but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round him, and one open upon his knees.\n\n“The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are my marginal notes to prove it. I confess that I could make nothing of it. And yet I was convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no recollection of the Abbas Parva tragedy?”\n\n“None, Holmes.”\n\n“And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impression was very superficial. For there was nothing to go by, and none of the parties had engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to read the papers?”\n\n“Could you not give me the points?”\n\n“That is very easily done. It will probably come back to your memory as I talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. He was the rival of Wombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen of his day. There is evidence, however, that he took to drink, and that both he and his show were on the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. The caravan had halted for the night at Abbas Parva, which is a small village in Berkshire, when this horror occurred. They were on their way to Wimbledon, travelling by road, and they were simply camping and not exhibiting, as the place is so small a one that it would not have paid them to open.\n\n“They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion. Sahara King was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronder and his wife, to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is a photograph of the performance by which you will perceive that Ronder was a huge porcine person and that his wife was a very magnificent woman. It was deposed at the inquest that there had been some signs that the lion was dangerous, but, as usual, familiarity begat contempt, and no notice was taken of the fact.\n\n“It was usual for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion at night. Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never allowed anyone else to do it, for they believed that so long as they were the food-carriers he would regard them as benefactors and would never molest them. On this particular night, seven years ago, they both went, and a very terrible happening followed, the details of which have never been made clear.\n\n“It seems that the whole camp was roused near midnight by the roars of the animal and the screams of the woman. The different grooms and employees rushed from their tents, carrying lanterns, and by their light an awful sight was revealed. Ronder lay, with the back of his head crushed in and deep claw-marks across his scalp, some ten yards from the cage, which was open. Close to the door of the cage lay Mrs. Ronder upon her back, with the creature squatting and snarling above her. It had torn her face in such a fashion that it was never thought that she could live. Several of the circus men, headed by Leonardo, the strong man, and Griggs, the clown, drove the creature off with poles, upon which it sprang back into the cage and was at once locked in. How it had got loose was a mystery. It was conjectured that the pair intended to enter the cage, but that when the door was loosed the creature bounded out upon them. There was no other point of interest in the evidence save that the woman in a delirium of agony kept screaming, ‘Coward! Coward!’ as she was carried back to the van in which they lived. It was six months before she was fit to give evidence, but the inquest was duly held, with the obvious verdict of death from misadventure.”\n\n“What alternative could be conceived?” said I.\n\n“You may well say so. And yet there were one or two points which worried young Edmunds, of the Berkshire Constabulary. A smart lad that! He was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I came into the matter, for he dropped in and smoked a pipe or two over it.”\n\n“A thin, yellow-haired man?”\n\n“Exactly. I was sure you would pick up the trail presently.”\n\n“But what worried him?”\n\n“Well, we were both worried. It was so deucedly difficult to reconstruct the affair. Look at it from the lion’s point of view. He is liberated. What does he do? He takes half a dozen bounds forward, which brings him to Ronder. Ronder turns to fly—the claw-marks were on the back of his head—but the lion strikes him down. Then, instead of bounding on and escaping, he returns to the woman, who was close to the cage, and he knocks her over and chews her face up. Then, again, those cries of hers would seem to imply that her husband had in some way failed her. What could the poor devil have done to help her? You see the difficulty?”\n\n“Quite.”\n\n“And then there was another thing. It comes back to me now as I think it over. There was some evidence that just at the time the lion roared and the woman screamed, a man began shouting in terror.”\n\n“This man Ronder, no doubt.”\n\n“Well, if his skull was smashed in you would hardly expect to hear from him again. There were at least two witnesses who spoke of the cries of a man being mingled with those of a woman.”\n\n“I should think the whole camp was crying out by then. As to the other points, I think I could suggest a solution.”\n\n“I should be glad to consider it.”\n\n“The two were together, ten yards from the cage, when the lion got loose. The man turned and was struck down. The woman conceived the idea of getting into the cage and shutting the door. It was her only refuge. She made for it, and just as she reached it the beast bounded after her and knocked her over. She was angry with her husband for having encouraged the beast’s rage by turning. If they had faced it they might have cowed it. Hence her cries of ‘Coward!’”\n\n“Brilliant, Watson! Only one flaw in your diamond.”\n\n“What is the flaw, Holmes?”\n\n“If they were both ten paces from the cage, how came the beast to get loose?”\n\n“Is it possible that they had some enemy who loosed it?”\n\n“And why should it attack them savagely when it was in the habit of playing with them, and doing tricks with them inside the cage?”\n\n“Possibly the same enemy had done something to enrage it.”\n\nHolmes looked thoughtful and remained in silence for some moments.\n\n“Well, Watson, there is this to be said for your theory. Ronder was a man of many enemies. Edmunds told me that in his cups he was horrible. A huge bully of a man, he cursed and slashed at everyone who came in his way. I expect those cries about a monster, of which our visitor has spoken, were nocturnal reminiscences of the dear departed. However, our speculations are futile until we have all the facts. There is a cold partridge on the sideboard, Watson, and a bottle of Montrachet. Let us renew our energies before we make a fresh call upon them.”\n\nWhen our hansom deposited us at the house of Mrs. Merrilow, we found that plump lady blocking up the open door of her humble but retired abode. It was very clear that her chief preoccupation was lest she should lose a valuable lodger, and she implored us, before showing us up, to say and do nothing which could lead to so undesirable an end. Then, having reassured her, we followed her up the straight, badly carpeted staircase and were shown into the room of the mysterious lodger.\n\nIt was a close, musty, ill-ventilated place, as might be expected, since its inmate seldom left it. From keeping beasts in a cage, the woman seemed, by some retribution of fate, to have become herself a beast in a cage. She sat now in a broken armchair in the shadowy corner of the room. Long years of inaction had coarsened the lines of her figure, but at some period it must have been beautiful, and was still full and voluptuous. A thick dark veil covered her face, but it was cut off close at her upper lip and disclosed a perfectly shaped mouth and a delicately rounded chin. I could well conceive that she had indeed been a very remarkable woman. Her voice, too, was well modulated and pleasing.\n\n“My name is not unfamiliar to you, Mr. Holmes,” said she. “I thought that it would bring you.”\n\n“That is so, madam, though I do not know how you are aware that I was interested in your case.”\n\n“I learned it when I had recovered my health and was examined by Mr. Edmunds, the county detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps it would have been wiser had I told the truth.”\n\n“It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why did you lie to him?”\n\n“Because the fate of someone else depended upon it. I know that he was a very worthless being, and yet I would not have his destruction upon my conscience. We had been so close—so close!”\n\n“But has this impediment been removed?”\n\n“Yes, sir. The person that I allude to is dead.”\n\n“Then why should you not now tell the police anything you know?”\n\n“Because there is another person to be considered. That other person is myself. I could not stand the scandal and publicity which would come from a police examination. I have not long to live, but I wish to die undisturbed. And yet I wanted to find one man of judgment to whom I could tell my terrible story, so that when I am gone all might be understood.”\n\n“You compliment me, madam. At the same time, I am a responsible person. I do not promise you that when you have spoken I may not myself think it my duty to refer the case to the police.”\n\n“I think not, Mr. Holmes. I know your character and methods too well, for I have followed your work for some years. Reading is the only pleasure which fate has left me, and I miss little which passes in the world. But in any case, I will take my chance of the use which you may make of my tragedy. It will ease my mind to tell it.”\n\n“My friend and I would be glad to hear it.”\n\nThe woman rose and took from a drawer the photograph of a man. He was clearly a professional acrobat, a man of magnificent physique, taken with his huge arms folded across his swollen chest and a smile breaking from under his heavy moustache—the self-satisfied smile of the man of many conquests.\n\n“That is Leonardo,” she said.\n\n“Leonardo, the strong man, who gave evidence?”\n\n“The same. And this—this is my husband.”\n\nIt was a dreadful face—a human pig, or rather a human wild boar, for it was formidable in its bestiality. One could imagine that vile mouth champing and foaming in its rage, and one could conceive those small, vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as they looked forth upon the world. Ruffian, bully, beast—it was all written on that heavy-jowled face.\n\n“Those two pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand the story. I was a poor circus girl brought up on the sawdust, and doing springs through the hoop before I was ten. When I became a woman this man loved me, if such lust as his can be called love, and in an evil moment I became his wife. From that day I was in hell, and he the devil who tormented me. There was no one in the show who did not know of his treatment. He deserted me for others. He tied me down and lashed me with his riding-whip when I complained. They all pitied me and they all loathed him, but what could they do? They feared him, one and all. For he was terrible at all times, and murderous when he was drunk. Again and again he was had up for assault, and for cruelty to the beasts, but he had plenty of money and the fines were nothing to him. The best men all left us, and the show began to go downhill. It was only Leonardo and I who kept it up—with little Jimmy Griggs, the clown. Poor devil, he had not much to be funny about, but he did what he could to hold things together.\n\n“Then Leonardo came more and more into my life. You see what he was like. I know now the poor spirit that was hidden in that splendid body, but compared to my husband he seemed like the angel Gabriel. He pitied me and helped me, till at last our intimacy turned to love—deep, deep, passionate love, such love as I had dreamed of but never hoped to feel. My husband suspected it, but I think that he was a coward as well as a bully, and that Leonardo was the one man that he was afraid of. He took revenge in his own way by torturing me more than ever. One night my cries brought Leonardo to the door of our van. We were near tragedy that night, and soon my lover and I understood that it could not be avoided. My husband was not fit to live. We planned that he should die.\n\n“Leonardo had a clever, scheming brain. It was he who planned it. I do not say that to blame him, for I was ready to go with him every inch of the way. But I should never have had the wit to think of such a plan. We made a club—Leonardo made it—and in the leaden head he fastened five long steel nails, the points outward, with just such a spread as the lion’s paw. This was to give my husband his death-blow, and yet to leave the evidence that it was the lion which we would loose who had done the deed.\n\n“It was a pitch-dark night when my husband and I went down, as was our custom, to feed the beast. We carried with us the raw meat in a zinc pail. Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big van which we should have to pass before we reached the cage. He was too slow, and we walked past him before he could strike, but he followed us on tiptoe and I heard the crash as the club smashed my husband’s skull. My heart leaped with joy at the sound. I sprang forward, and I undid the catch which held the door of the great lion’s cage.\n\n“And then the terrible thing happened. You may have heard how quick these creatures are to scent human blood, and how it excites them. Some strange instinct had told the creature in one instant that a human being had been slain. As I slipped the bars it bounded out and was on me in an instant. Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushed forward and struck the beast with his club he might have cowed it. But the man lost his nerve. I heard him shout in his terror, and then I saw him turn and fly. At the same instant the teeth of the lion met in my face. Its hot, filthy breath had already poisoned me and I was hardly conscious of pain. With the palms of my hands I tried to push the great steaming, blood-stained jaws away from me, and I screamed for help. I was conscious that the camp was stirring, and then dimly I remembered a group of men. Leonardo, Griggs, and others, dragging me from under the creature’s paws. That was my last memory, Mr. Holmes, for many a weary month. When I came to myself and saw myself in the mirror, I cursed that lion—oh, how I cursed him!—not because he had torn away my beauty but because he had not torn away my life. I had but one desire, Mr. Holmes, and I had enough money to gratify it. It was that I should cover myself so that my poor face should be seen by none, and that I should dwell where none whom I had ever known should find me. That was all that was left to me to do—and that is what I have done. A poor wounded beast that has crawled into its hole to die—that is the end of Eugenia Ronder.”\n\nWe sat in silence for some time after the unhappy woman had told her story. Then Holmes stretched out his long arm and patted her hand with such a show of sympathy as I had seldom known him to exhibit.\n\n“Poor girl!” he said. “Poor girl! The ways of fate are indeed hard to understand. If there is not some compensation hereafter, then the world is a cruel jest. But what of this man Leonardo?”\n\n“I never saw him or heard from him again. Perhaps I have been wrong to feel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have loved one of the freaks whom we carried round the country as the thing which the lion had left. But a woman’s love is not so easily set aside. He had left me under the beast’s claws, he had deserted me in my need, and yet I could not bring myself to give him to the gallows. For myself, I cared nothing what became of me. What could be more dreadful than my actual life? But I stood between Leonardo and his fate.”\n\n“And he is dead?”\n\n“He was drowned last month when bathing near Margate. I saw his death in the paper.”\n\n“And what did he do with this five-clawed club, which is the most singular and ingenious part of all your story?”\n\n“I cannot tell, Mr. Holmes. There is a chalk-pit by the camp, with a deep green pool at the base of it. Perhaps in the depths of that pool—”\n\n“Well, well, it is of little consequence now. The case is closed.”\n\n“Yes,” said the woman, “the case is closed.”\n\nWe had risen to go, but there was something in the woman’s voice which arrested Holmes’s attention. He turned swiftly upon her.\n\n“Your life is not your own,” he said. “Keep your hands off it.”\n\n“What use is it to anyone?”\n\n“How can you tell? The example of patient suffering is in itself the most precious of all lessons to an impatient world.”\n\nThe woman’s answer was a terrible one. She raised her veil and stepped forward into the light.\n\n“I wonder if you would bear it,” she said.\n\nIt was horrible. No words can describe the framework of a face when the face itself is gone. Two living and beautiful brown eyes looking sadly out from that grisly ruin did but make the view more awful. Holmes held up his hand in a gesture of pity and protest, and together we left the room.\n\nTwo days later, when I called upon my friend, he pointed with some pride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I picked it up. There was a red poison label. A pleasant almondy odour rose when I opened it.\n\n“Prussic acid?” said I.\n\n“Exactly. It came by post. ‘I send you my temptation. I will follow your advice.’ That was the message. I think, Watson, we can guess the name of the brave woman who sent it.”\n\nText taken from here\n",
      "content_html": "<p>When one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in active practice for twenty-three years, and that during seventeen of these I was allowed to cooperate with him and to keep notes of his doings, it will be clear that I have a mass of material at my command. The problem has always been not to find but to choose. There is the long row of year-books which fill a shelf, and there are the dispatch-cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry for the student not only of crime but of the social and official scandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter, I may say that the writers of agonized letters, who beg that the honour of their families or the reputation of famous forebears may not be touched, have nothing to fear. The discretion and high sense of professional honour which have always distinguished my friend are still at work in the choice of these memoirs, and no confidence will be abused. I deprecate, however, in the strongest way the attempts which have been made lately to get at and to destroy these papers. The source of these outrages is known, and if they are repeated I have Mr. Holmes’s authority for saying that the whole story concerning the politician, the lighthouse, and the trained cormorant will be given to the public. There is at least one reader who will understand.</p>\n\n<p>It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these cases gave Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts of instinct and observation which I have endeavoured to set forth in these memoirs. Sometimes he had with much effort to pick the fruit, sometimes it fell easily into his lap. But the most terrible human tragedies were often involved in those cases which brought him the fewest personal opportunities, and it is one of these which I now desire to record. In telling it, I have made a slight change of name and place, but otherwise the facts are as stated.</p>\n\n<p>One forenoon—it was late in 1896—I received a hurried note from Holmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived I found him seated in a smoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxom landlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him.</p>\n\n<p>“This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton,” said my friend with a wave of the hand. “Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if you wish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilow has an interesting story to tell which may well lead to further developments in which your presence may be useful.”</p>\n\n<p>“Anything I can do—”</p>\n\n<p>“You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs. Ronder I should prefer to have a witness. You will make her understand that before we arrive.”</p>\n\n<p>“Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes,” said our visitor, “she is that anxious to see you that you might bring the whole parish at your heels!”</p>\n\n<p>“Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that we have our facts correct before we start. If we go over them it will help Dr. Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ronder has been your lodger for seven years and that you have only once seen her face.”</p>\n\n<p>“And I wish to God I had not!” said Mrs. Merrilow.</p>\n\n<p>“It was, I understand, terribly mutilated.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all. That’s how it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of the upper window, and he dropped his tin and the milk all over the front garden. That is the kind of face it is. When I saw her—I happened on her unawares—she covered up quick, and then she said, ‘Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it is that I never raise my veil.’”</p>\n\n<p>“Do you know anything about her history?”</p>\n\n<p>“Nothing at all.”</p>\n\n<p>“Did she give references when she came?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter’s rent right down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms. In these times a poor woman like me can’t afford to turn down a chance like that.”</p>\n\n<p>“Did she give any reason for choosing your house?”</p>\n\n<p>“Mine stands well back from the road and is more private than most. Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of my own. I reckon she had tried others and found that mine suited her best. It’s privacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it.”</p>\n\n<p>“You say that she never showed her face from first to last save on the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story, most remarkable, and I don’t wonder that you want it examined.”</p>\n\n<p>“I don’t, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent. You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives less trouble.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then what has brought matters to a head?”</p>\n\n<p>“Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. And there’s something terrible on her mind. ‘Murder!’ she cries. ‘Murder!’ And once I heard her: ‘You cruel beast! You monster!’ she cried. It was in the night, and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers through me. So I went to her in the morning. ‘Mrs. Ronder,’ I says, ‘if you have anything that is troubling your soul, there’s the clergy,’ I says, ‘and there’s the police. Between them you should get some help.’ ‘For God’s sake, not the police!’ says she, ‘and the clergy can’t change what is past. And yet,’ she says, ‘it would ease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘if you won’t have the regulars, there is this detective man what we read about’—beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fair jumped at it. ‘That’s the man,’ says she. ‘I wonder I never thought of it before. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if he won’t come, tell him I am the wife of Ronder’s wild beast show. Say that, and give him the name Abbas Parva. Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas Parva. ‘That will bring him if he’s the man I think he is.’”</p>\n\n<p>“And it will, too,” remarked Holmes. “Very good, Mrs. Merrilow. I should like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carry us till lunch-time. About three o’clock you may expect to see us at your house in Brixton.”</p>\n\n<p>Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room—no other verb can describe Mrs. Merrilow’s method of progression—than Sherlock Holmes threw himself with fierce energy upon the pile of commonplace books in the corner. For a few minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves, and then with a grunt of satisfaction he came upon what he sought. So excited was he that he did not rise, but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round him, and one open upon his knees.</p>\n\n<p>“The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are my marginal notes to prove it. I confess that I could make nothing of it. And yet I was convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no recollection of the Abbas Parva tragedy?”</p>\n\n<p>“None, Holmes.”</p>\n\n<p>“And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impression was very superficial. For there was nothing to go by, and none of the parties had engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to read the papers?”</p>\n\n<p>“Could you not give me the points?”</p>\n\n<p>“That is very easily done. It will probably come back to your memory as I talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. He was the rival of Wombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen of his day. There is evidence, however, that he took to drink, and that both he and his show were on the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. The caravan had halted for the night at Abbas Parva, which is a small village in Berkshire, when this horror occurred. They were on their way to Wimbledon, travelling by road, and they were simply camping and not exhibiting, as the place is so small a one that it would not have paid them to open.</p>\n\n<p>“They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion. Sahara King was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronder and his wife, to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is a photograph of the performance by which you will perceive that Ronder was a huge porcine person and that his wife was a very magnificent woman. It was deposed at the inquest that there had been some signs that the lion was dangerous, but, as usual, familiarity begat contempt, and no notice was taken of the fact.</p>\n\n<p>“It was usual for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion at night. Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never allowed anyone else to do it, for they believed that so long as they were the food-carriers he would regard them as benefactors and would never molest them. On this particular night, seven years ago, they both went, and a very terrible happening followed, the details of which have never been made clear.</p>\n\n<p>“It seems that the whole camp was roused near midnight by the roars of the animal and the screams of the woman. The different grooms and employees rushed from their tents, carrying lanterns, and by their light an awful sight was revealed. Ronder lay, with the back of his head crushed in and deep claw-marks across his scalp, some ten yards from the cage, which was open. Close to the door of the cage lay Mrs. Ronder upon her back, with the creature squatting and snarling above her. It had torn her face in such a fashion that it was never thought that she could live. Several of the circus men, headed by Leonardo, the strong man, and Griggs, the clown, drove the creature off with poles, upon which it sprang back into the cage and was at once locked in. How it had got loose was a mystery. It was conjectured that the pair intended to enter the cage, but that when the door was loosed the creature bounded out upon them. There was no other point of interest in the evidence save that the woman in a delirium of agony kept screaming, ‘Coward! Coward!’ as she was carried back to the van in which they lived. It was six months before she was fit to give evidence, but the inquest was duly held, with the obvious verdict of death from misadventure.”</p>\n\n<p>“What alternative could be conceived?” said I.</p>\n\n<p>“You may well say so. And yet there were one or two points which worried young Edmunds, of the Berkshire Constabulary. A smart lad that! He was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I came into the matter, for he dropped in and smoked a pipe or two over it.”</p>\n\n<p>“A thin, yellow-haired man?”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly. I was sure you would pick up the trail presently.”</p>\n\n<p>“But what worried him?”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, we were both worried. It was so deucedly difficult to reconstruct the affair. Look at it from the lion’s point of view. He is liberated. What does he do? He takes half a dozen bounds forward, which brings him to Ronder. Ronder turns to fly—the claw-marks were on the back of his head—but the lion strikes him down. Then, instead of bounding on and escaping, he returns to the woman, who was close to the cage, and he knocks her over and chews her face up. Then, again, those cries of hers would seem to imply that her husband had in some way failed her. What could the poor devil have done to help her? You see the difficulty?”</p>\n\n<p>“Quite.”</p>\n\n<p>“And then there was another thing. It comes back to me now as I think it over. There was some evidence that just at the time the lion roared and the woman screamed, a man began shouting in terror.”</p>\n\n<p>“This man Ronder, no doubt.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, if his skull was smashed in you would hardly expect to hear from him again. There were at least two witnesses who spoke of the cries of a man being mingled with those of a woman.”</p>\n\n<p>“I should think the whole camp was crying out by then. As to the other points, I think I could suggest a solution.”</p>\n\n<p>“I should be glad to consider it.”</p>\n\n<p>“The two were together, ten yards from the cage, when the lion got loose. The man turned and was struck down. The woman conceived the idea of getting into the cage and shutting the door. It was her only refuge. She made for it, and just as she reached it the beast bounded after her and knocked her over. She was angry with her husband for having encouraged the beast’s rage by turning. If they had faced it they might have cowed it. Hence her cries of ‘Coward!’”</p>\n\n<p>“Brilliant, Watson! Only one flaw in your diamond.”</p>\n\n<p>“What is the flaw, Holmes?”</p>\n\n<p>“If they were both ten paces from the cage, how came the beast to get loose?”</p>\n\n<p>“Is it possible that they had some enemy who loosed it?”</p>\n\n<p>“And why should it attack them savagely when it was in the habit of playing with them, and doing tricks with them inside the cage?”</p>\n\n<p>“Possibly the same enemy had done something to enrage it.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes looked thoughtful and remained in silence for some moments.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, Watson, there is this to be said for your theory. Ronder was a man of many enemies. Edmunds told me that in his cups he was horrible. A huge bully of a man, he cursed and slashed at everyone who came in his way. I expect those cries about a monster, of which our visitor has spoken, were nocturnal reminiscences of the dear departed. However, our speculations are futile until we have all the facts. There is a cold partridge on the sideboard, Watson, and a bottle of Montrachet. Let us renew our energies before we make a fresh call upon them.”</p>\n\n<p>When our hansom deposited us at the house of Mrs. Merrilow, we found that plump lady blocking up the open door of her humble but retired abode. It was very clear that her chief preoccupation was lest she should lose a valuable lodger, and she implored us, before showing us up, to say and do nothing which could lead to so undesirable an end. Then, having reassured her, we followed her up the straight, badly carpeted staircase and were shown into the room of the mysterious lodger.</p>\n\n<p>It was a close, musty, ill-ventilated place, as might be expected, since its inmate seldom left it. From keeping beasts in a cage, the woman seemed, by some retribution of fate, to have become herself a beast in a cage. She sat now in a broken armchair in the shadowy corner of the room. Long years of inaction had coarsened the lines of her figure, but at some period it must have been beautiful, and was still full and voluptuous. A thick dark veil covered her face, but it was cut off close at her upper lip and disclosed a perfectly shaped mouth and a delicately rounded chin. I could well conceive that she had indeed been a very remarkable woman. Her voice, too, was well modulated and pleasing.</p>\n\n<p>“My name is not unfamiliar to you, Mr. Holmes,” said she. “I thought that it would bring you.”</p>\n\n<p>“That is so, madam, though I do not know how you are aware that I was interested in your case.”</p>\n\n<p>“I learned it when I had recovered my health and was examined by Mr. Edmunds, the county detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps it would have been wiser had I told the truth.”</p>\n\n<p>“It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why did you lie to him?”</p>\n\n<p>“Because the fate of someone else depended upon it. I know that he was a very worthless being, and yet I would not have his destruction upon my conscience. We had been so close—so close!”</p>\n\n<p>“But has this impediment been removed?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, sir. The person that I allude to is dead.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then why should you not now tell the police anything you know?”</p>\n\n<p>“Because there is another person to be considered. That other person is myself. I could not stand the scandal and publicity which would come from a police examination. I have not long to live, but I wish to die undisturbed. And yet I wanted to find one man of judgment to whom I could tell my terrible story, so that when I am gone all might be understood.”</p>\n\n<p>“You compliment me, madam. At the same time, I am a responsible person. I do not promise you that when you have spoken I may not myself think it my duty to refer the case to the police.”</p>\n\n<p>“I think not, Mr. Holmes. I know your character and methods too well, for I have followed your work for some years. Reading is the only pleasure which fate has left me, and I miss little which passes in the world. But in any case, I will take my chance of the use which you may make of my tragedy. It will ease my mind to tell it.”</p>\n\n<p>“My friend and I would be glad to hear it.”</p>\n\n<p>The woman rose and took from a drawer the photograph of a man. He was clearly a professional acrobat, a man of magnificent physique, taken with his huge arms folded across his swollen chest and a smile breaking from under his heavy moustache—the self-satisfied smile of the man of many conquests.</p>\n\n<p>“That is Leonardo,” she said.</p>\n\n<p>“Leonardo, the strong man, who gave evidence?”</p>\n\n<p>“The same. And this—this is my husband.”</p>\n\n<p>It was a dreadful face—a human pig, or rather a human wild boar, for it was formidable in its bestiality. One could imagine that vile mouth champing and foaming in its rage, and one could conceive those small, vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as they looked forth upon the world. Ruffian, bully, beast—it was all written on that heavy-jowled face.</p>\n\n<p>“Those two pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand the story. I was a poor circus girl brought up on the sawdust, and doing springs through the hoop before I was ten. When I became a woman this man loved me, if such lust as his can be called love, and in an evil moment I became his wife. From that day I was in hell, and he the devil who tormented me. There was no one in the show who did not know of his treatment. He deserted me for others. He tied me down and lashed me with his riding-whip when I complained. They all pitied me and they all loathed him, but what could they do? They feared him, one and all. For he was terrible at all times, and murderous when he was drunk. Again and again he was had up for assault, and for cruelty to the beasts, but he had plenty of money and the fines were nothing to him. The best men all left us, and the show began to go downhill. It was only Leonardo and I who kept it up—with little Jimmy Griggs, the clown. Poor devil, he had not much to be funny about, but he did what he could to hold things together.</p>\n\n<p>“Then Leonardo came more and more into my life. You see what he was like. I know now the poor spirit that was hidden in that splendid body, but compared to my husband he seemed like the angel Gabriel. He pitied me and helped me, till at last our intimacy turned to love—deep, deep, passionate love, such love as I had dreamed of but never hoped to feel. My husband suspected it, but I think that he was a coward as well as a bully, and that Leonardo was the one man that he was afraid of. He took revenge in his own way by torturing me more than ever. One night my cries brought Leonardo to the door of our van. We were near tragedy that night, and soon my lover and I understood that it could not be avoided. My husband was not fit to live. We planned that he should die.</p>\n\n<p>“Leonardo had a clever, scheming brain. It was he who planned it. I do not say that to blame him, for I was ready to go with him every inch of the way. But I should never have had the wit to think of such a plan. We made a club—Leonardo made it—and in the leaden head he fastened five long steel nails, the points outward, with just such a spread as the lion’s paw. This was to give my husband his death-blow, and yet to leave the evidence that it was the lion which we would loose who had done the deed.</p>\n\n<p>“It was a pitch-dark night when my husband and I went down, as was our custom, to feed the beast. We carried with us the raw meat in a zinc pail. Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big van which we should have to pass before we reached the cage. He was too slow, and we walked past him before he could strike, but he followed us on tiptoe and I heard the crash as the club smashed my husband’s skull. My heart leaped with joy at the sound. I sprang forward, and I undid the catch which held the door of the great lion’s cage.</p>\n\n<p>“And then the terrible thing happened. You may have heard how quick these creatures are to scent human blood, and how it excites them. Some strange instinct had told the creature in one instant that a human being had been slain. As I slipped the bars it bounded out and was on me in an instant. Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushed forward and struck the beast with his club he might have cowed it. But the man lost his nerve. I heard him shout in his terror, and then I saw him turn and fly. At the same instant the teeth of the lion met in my face. Its hot, filthy breath had already poisoned me and I was hardly conscious of pain. With the palms of my hands I tried to push the great steaming, blood-stained jaws away from me, and I screamed for help. I was conscious that the camp was stirring, and then dimly I remembered a group of men. Leonardo, Griggs, and others, dragging me from under the creature’s paws. That was my last memory, Mr. Holmes, for many a weary month. When I came to myself and saw myself in the mirror, I cursed that lion—oh, how I cursed him!—not because he had torn away my beauty but because he had not torn away my life. I had but one desire, Mr. Holmes, and I had enough money to gratify it. It was that I should cover myself so that my poor face should be seen by none, and that I should dwell where none whom I had ever known should find me. That was all that was left to me to do—and that is what I have done. A poor wounded beast that has crawled into its hole to die—that is the end of Eugenia Ronder.”</p>\n\n<p>We sat in silence for some time after the unhappy woman had told her story. Then Holmes stretched out his long arm and patted her hand with such a show of sympathy as I had seldom known him to exhibit.</p>\n\n<p>“Poor girl!” he said. “Poor girl! The ways of fate are indeed hard to understand. If there is not some compensation hereafter, then the world is a cruel jest. But what of this man Leonardo?”</p>\n\n<p>“I never saw him or heard from him again. Perhaps I have been wrong to feel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have loved one of the freaks whom we carried round the country as the thing which the lion had left. But a woman’s love is not so easily set aside. He had left me under the beast’s claws, he had deserted me in my need, and yet I could not bring myself to give him to the gallows. For myself, I cared nothing what became of me. What could be more dreadful than my actual life? But I stood between Leonardo and his fate.”</p>\n\n<p>“And he is dead?”</p>\n\n<p>“He was drowned last month when bathing near Margate. I saw his death in the paper.”</p>\n\n<p>“And what did he do with this five-clawed club, which is the most singular and ingenious part of all your story?”</p>\n\n<p>“I cannot tell, Mr. Holmes. There is a chalk-pit by the camp, with a deep green pool at the base of it. Perhaps in the depths of that pool—”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, well, it is of little consequence now. The case is closed.”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes,” said the woman, “the case is closed.”</p>\n\n<p>We had risen to go, but there was something in the woman’s voice which arrested Holmes’s attention. He turned swiftly upon her.</p>\n\n<p>“Your life is not your own,” he said. “Keep your hands off it.”</p>\n\n<p>“What use is it to anyone?”</p>\n\n<p>“How can you tell? The example of patient suffering is in itself the most precious of all lessons to an impatient world.”</p>\n\n<p>The woman’s answer was a terrible one. She raised her veil and stepped forward into the light.</p>\n\n<p>“I wonder if you would bear it,” she said.</p>\n\n<p>It was horrible. No words can describe the framework of a face when the face itself is gone. Two living and beautiful brown eyes looking sadly out from that grisly ruin did but make the view more awful. Holmes held up his hand in a gesture of pity and protest, and together we left the room.</p>\n\n<p>Two days later, when I called upon my friend, he pointed with some pride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I picked it up. There was a red poison label. A pleasant almondy odour rose when I opened it.</p>\n\n<p>“Prussic acid?” said I.</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly. It came by post. ‘I send you my temptation. I will follow your advice.’ That was the message. I think, Watson, we can guess the name of the brave woman who sent it.”</p>\n\n<p><a href=\"http://sherlock-holm.es/stories/html/veil.html\">Text taken from here</a></p>\n",
      "url": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2012/07/24/the-adventure-of-the-veiled-lodger.html",
      "date_published": "2012-07-24T00:00:00+00:00",
      "date_modified": "2012-07-24T00:00:00+00:00",
      "author": {
        "name": "Arthur Conan Doyle"
      }
    },
    {
      "id": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2012/06/09/the-adventure-of-the-dying-detective.html",
      "title": "The Adventure of the Dying Detective",
      "content_text": "Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must have sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in London. On the other hand, his payments were princely. I have no doubt that the house might have been purchased at the price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that I was with him.\n\nThe landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared to interfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might seem. She was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent. Knowing how genuine was her regard for him, I listened earnestly to her story when she came to my rooms in the second year of my married life and told me of the sad condition to which my poor friend was reduced.\n\n“He’s dying, Dr. Watson,” said she. “For three days he has been sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He would not let me get a doctor. This morning when I saw his bones sticking out of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me I could stand no more of it. ‘With your leave or without it, Mr. Holmes, I am going for a doctor this very hour,’ said I. ‘Let it be Watson, then,’ said he. I wouldn’t waste an hour in coming to him, sir, or you may not see him alive.”\n\nI was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I need not say that I rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back I asked for the details.\n\n“There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at a case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has brought this illness back with him. He took to his bed on Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these three days neither food nor drink has passed his lips.”\n\n“Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?”\n\n“He wouldn’t have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. I didn’t dare to disobey him. But he’s not long for this world, as you’ll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him.”\n\nHe was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dim light of a foggy November day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was that gaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill to my heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever, there was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clung to his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlet twitched incessantly, his voice was croaking and spasmodic. He lay listlessly as I entered the room, but the sight of me brought a gleam of recognition to his eyes.\n\n“Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days,” said he in a feeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness of manner.\n\n“My dear fellow!” I cried, approaching him.\n\n“Stand back! Stand right back!” said he with the sharp imperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis. “If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house.”\n\n“But why?”\n\n“Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?”\n\nYes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion.\n\n“I only wished to help,” I explained.\n\n“Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told.”\n\n“Certainly, Holmes.”\n\nHe relaxed the austerity of his manner.\n\n“You are not angry?” he asked, gasping for breath.\n\nPoor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plight before me?\n\n“It’s for your own sake, Watson,” he croaked.\n\n“For my sake?”\n\n“I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease from Sumatra—a thing that the Dutch know more about than we, though they have made little of it up to date. One thing only is certain. It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious.”\n\nHe spoke now with a feverish energy, the long hands twitching and jerking as he motioned me away.\n\n“Contagious by touch, Watson—that’s it, by touch. Keep your distance and all is well.”\n\n“Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?”\n\nAgain I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger.\n\n“If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must leave the room.”\n\nI have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them. But now all my professional instincts were aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his in a sick room.\n\n“Holmes,” said I, “you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will examine your symptoms and treat you for them.”\n\nHe looked at me with venomous eyes.\n\n“If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least have someone in whom I have confidence,” said he.\n\n“Then you have none in me?”\n\n“In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say these things, but you leave me no choice.”\n\nI was bitterly hurt.\n\n“Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me very clearly the state of your own nerves. But if you have no confidence in me I would not intrude my services. Let me bring Sir Jasper Meek or Penrose Fisher, or any of the best men in London. But someone you must have, and that is final. If you think that I am going to stand here and see you die without either helping you myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then you have mistaken your man.”\n\n“You mean well, Watson,” said the sick man with something between a sob and a groan. “Shall I demonstrate your own ignorance? What do you know, pray, of Tapanuli fever? What do you know of the black Formosa corruption?”\n\n“I have never heard of either.”\n\n“There are many problems of disease, many strange pathological possibilities, in the East, Watson.” He paused after each sentence to collect his failing strength. “I have learned so much during some recent researches which have a medico-criminal aspect. It was in the course of them that I contracted this complaint. You can do nothing.”\n\n“Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, the greatest living authority upon tropical disease, is now in London. All remonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant to fetch him.” I turned resolutely to the door.\n\nNever have I had such a shock! In an instant, with a tiger-spring, the dying man had intercepted me. I heard the sharp snap of a twisted key. The next moment he had staggered back to his bed, exhausted and panting after his one tremendous outflame of energy.\n\n“You won’t take the key from be by force, Watson, I’ve got you, my friend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I will otherwise. But I’ll humour you.” (All this in little gasps, with terrible struggles for breath between.) “You’ve only my own good at heart. Of course I know that very well. You shall have your way, but give me time to get my strength. Not now, Watson, not now. It’s four o’clock. At six you can go.”\n\n“This is insanity, Holmes.”\n\n“Only two hours, Watson. I promise you will go at six. Are you content to wait?”\n\n“I seem to have no choice.”\n\n“None in the world, Watson. Thank you, I need no help in arranging the clothes. You will please keep your distance. Now, Watson, there is one other condition that I would make. You will seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that I choose.”\n\n“By all means.”\n\n“The first three sensible words that you have uttered since you entered this room, Watson. You will find some books over there. I am somewhat exhausted; I wonder how a battery feels when it pours electricity into a non-conductor? At six, Watson, we resume our conversation.”\n\nBut it was destined to be resumed long before that hour, and in circumstances which gave me a shock hardly second to that caused by his spring to the door. I had stood for some minutes looking at the silent figure in the bed. His face was almost covered by the clothes and he appeared to be asleep. Then, unable to settle down to reading, I walked slowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned. Finally, in my aimless perambulation, I came to the mantelpiece. A litter of pipes, tobacco-pouches, syringes, penknives, revolver-cartridges, and other debris was scattered over it. In the midst of these was a small black and white ivory box with a sliding lid. It was a neat little thing, and I had stretched out my hand to examine it more closely when—\n\nIt was a dreadful cry that he gave—a yell which might have been heard down the street. My skin went cold and my hair bristled at that horrible scream. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a convulsed face and frantic eyes. I stood paralyzed, with the little box in my hand.\n\n“Put it down! Down, this instant, Watson—this instant, I say!” His head sank back upon the pillow and he gave a deep sigh of relief as I replaced the box upon the mantelpiece. “I hate to have my things touched, Watson. You know that I hate it. You fidget me beyond endurance. You, a doctor—you are enough to drive a patient into an asylum. Sit down, man, and let me have my rest!”\n\nThe incident left a most unpleasant impression upon my mind. The violent and causeless excitement, followed by this brutality of speech, so far removed from his usual suavity, showed me how deep was the disorganization of his mind. Of all ruins, that of a noble mind is the most deplorable. I sat in silent dejection until the stipulated time had passed. He seemed to have been watching the clock as well as I, for it was hardly six before he began to talk with the same feverish animation as before.\n\n“Now, Watson,” said he. “Have you any change in your pocket?”\n\n“Yes.”\n\n“Any silver?”\n\n“A good deal.”\n\n“How many half-crowns?”\n\n“I have five.”\n\n“Ah, too few! Too few! How very unfortunate, Watson! However, such as they are you can put them in your watchpocket. And all the rest of your money in your left trouser pocket. Thank you. It will balance you so much better like that.”\n\nThis was raving insanity. He shuddered, and again made a sound between a cough and a sob.\n\n“You will now light the gas, Watson, but you will be very careful that not for one instant shall it be more than half on. I implore you to be careful, Watson. Thank you, that is excellent. No, you need not draw the blind. Now you will have the kindness to place some letters and papers upon this table within my reach. Thank you. Now some of that litter from the mantelpiece. Excellent, Watson! There is a sugar-tongs there. Kindly raise that small ivory box with its assistance. Place it here among the papers. Good! You can now go and fetch Mr. Culverton Smith, of 13 Lower Burke Street.”\n\nTo tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat weakened, for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemed dangerous to leave him. However, he was as eager now to consult the person named as he had been obstinate in refusing.\n\n“I never heard the name,” said I.\n\n“Possibly not, my good Watson. It may surprise you to know that the man upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a medical man, but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-known resident of Sumatra, now visiting London. An outbreak of the disease upon his plantation, which was distant from medical aid, caused him to study it himself, with some rather far-reaching consequences. He is a very methodical person, and I did not desire you to start before six, because I was well aware that you would not find him in his study. If you could persuade him to come here and give us the benefit of his unique experience of this disease, the investigation of which has been his dearest hobby, I cannot doubt that he could help me.”\n\nI gave Holmes’s remarks as a consecutive whole and will not attempt to indicate how they were interrupted by gaspings for breath and those clutchings of his hands which indicated the pain from which he was suffering. His appearance had changed for the worse during the few hours that I had been with him. Those hectic spots were more pronounced, the eyes shone more brightly out of darker hollows, and a cold sweat glimmered upon his brow. He still retained, however, the jaunty gallantry of his speech. To the last gasp he would always be the master.\n\n“You will tell him exactly how you have left me,” said he. “You will convey the very impression which is in your own mind—a dying man—a dying and delirious man. Indeed, I cannot think why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem. Ah, I am wondering! Strange how the brain controls the brain! What was I saying, Watson?”\n\n“My directions for Mr. Culverton Smith.”\n\n“Ah, yes, I remember. My life depends upon it. Plead with him, Watson. There is no good feeling between us. His nephew, Watson—I had suspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. The boy died horribly. He has a grudge against me. You will soften him, Watson. Beg him, pray him, get him here by any means. He can save me—only he!”\n\n“I will bring him in a cab, if I have to carry him down to it.”\n\n“You will do nothing of the sort. You will persuade him to come. And then you will return in front of him. Make any excuse so as not to come with him. Don’t forget, Watson. You won’t fail me. You never did fail me. No doubt there are natural enemies which limit the increase of the creatures. You and I, Watson, we have done our part. Shall the world, then, be overrun by oysters? No, no; horrible! You’ll convey all that is in your mind.”\n\nI left him full of the image of this magnificent intellect babbling like a foolish child. He had handed me the key, and with a happy thought I took it with me lest he should lock himself in. Mrs. Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the passage. Behind me as I passed from the flat I heard Holmes’s high, thin voice in some delirious chant. Below, as I stood whistling for a cab, a man came on me through the fog.\n\n“How is Mr. Holmes, sir?” he asked.\n\nIt was an old acquaintance, Inspector Morton, of Scotland Yard, dressed in unofficial tweeds.\n\n“He is very ill,” I answered.\n\nHe looked at me in a most singular fashion. Had it not been too fiendish, I could have imagined that the gleam of the fanlight showed exultation in his face.\n\n“I heard some rumour of it,” said he.\n\nThe cab had driven up, and I left him.\n\nLower Burke Street proved to be a line of fine houses lying in the vague borderland between Notting Hill and Kensington. The particular one at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smug and demure respectability in its old-fashioned iron railings, its massive folding-door, and its shining brasswork. All was in keeping with a solemn butler who appeared framed in the pink radiance of a tinted electrical light behind him.\n\n“Yes, Mr. Culverton Smith is in. Dr. Watson! Very good, sir, I will take up your card.”\n\nMy humble name and title did not appear to impress Mr. Culverton Smith. Through the half-open door I heard a high, petulant, penetrating voice.\n\n“Who is this person? What does he want? Dear me, Staples, how often have I said that I am not to be disturbed in my hours of study?”\n\nThere came a gentle flow of soothing explanation from the butler.\n\n“Well, I won’t see him, Staples. I can’t have my work interrupted like this. I am not at home. Say so. Tell him to come in the morning if he really must see me.”\n\nAgain the gentle murmur.\n\n“Well, well, give him that message. He can come in the morning, or he can stay away. My work must not be hindered.”\n\nI thought of Holmes tossing upon his bed of sickness and counting the minutes, perhaps, until I could bring help to him. It was not a time to stand upon ceremony. His life depended upon my promptness. Before the apologetic butler had delivered his message I had pushed past him and was in the room.\n\nWith a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chair beside the fire. I saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained and greasy, with heavy, double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyes which glared at me from under tufted and sandy brows. A high bald head had a small velvet smoking-cap poised coquettishly upon one side of its pink curve. The skull was of enormous capacity, and yet as I looked down I saw to my amazement that the figure of the man was small and frail, twisted in the shoulders and back like one who has suffered from rickets in his childhood.\n\n“What’s this?” he cried in a high, screaming voice. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? Didn’t I send you word that I would see you to-morrow morning?”\n\n“I am sorry,” said I, “but the matter cannot be delayed. Mr. Sherlock Holmes—”\n\nThe mention of my friend’s name had an extraordinary effect upon the little man. The look of anger passed in an instant from his face. His features became tense and alert.\n\n“Have you come from Holmes?” he asked.\n\n“I have just left him.”\n\n“What about Holmes? How is he?”\n\n“He is desperately ill. That is why I have come.”\n\nThe man motioned me to a chair, and turned to resume his own. As he did so I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I could have sworn that it was set in a malicious and abominable smile. Yet I persuaded myself that it must have been some nervous contraction which I had surprised, for he turned to me an instant later with genuine concern upon his features.\n\n“I am sorry to hear this,” said he. “I only know Mr. Holmes through some business dealings which we have had, but I have every respect for his talents and his character. He is an amateur of crime, as I am of disease. For him the villain, for me the microbe. There are my prisons,” he continued, pointing to a row of bottles and jars which stood upon a side table. “Among those gelatine cultivations some of the very worst offenders in the world are now doing time.”\n\n“It was on account of your special knowledge that Mr. Holmes desired to see you. He has a high opinion of you and thought that you were the one man in London who could help him.”\n\nThe little man started, and the jaunty smoking-cap slid to the floor.\n\n“Why?” he asked. “Why should Mr. Homes think that I could help him in his trouble?”\n\n“Because of your knowledge of Eastern diseases.”\n\n“But why should he think that this disease which he has contracted is Eastern?”\n\n“Because, in some professional inquiry, he has been working among Chinese sailors down in the docks.”\n\nMr. Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and picked up his smoking-cap.\n\n“Oh, that’s it—is it?” said he. “I trust the matter is not so grave as you suppose. How long has he been ill?”\n\n“About three days.”\n\n“Is he delirious?”\n\n“Occasionally.”\n\n“Tut, tut! This sounds serious. It would be inhuman not to answer his call. I very much resent any interruption to my work, Dr. Watson, but this case is certainly exceptional. I will come with you at once.”\n\nI remembered Holmes’s injunction.\n\n“I have another appointment,” said I.\n\n“Very good. I will go alone. I have a note of Mr. Holmes’s address. You can rely upon my being there within half an hour at most.”\n\nIt was with a sinking heart that I reentered Holmes’s bedroom. For all that I knew the worst might have happened in my absence. To my enormous relief, he had improved greatly in the interval. His appearance was as ghastly as ever, but all trace of delirium had left him and he spoke in a feeble voice, it is true, but with even more than his usual crispness and lucidity.\n\n“Well, did you see him, Watson?”\n\n“Yes; he is coming.”\n\n“Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the best of messengers.”\n\n“He wished to return with me.”\n\n“That would never do, Watson. That would be obviously impossible. Did he ask what ailed me?”\n\n“I told him about the Chinese in the East End.”\n\n“Exactly! Well, Watson, you have done all that a good friend could. You can now disappear from the scene.”\n\n“I must wait and hear his opinion, Holmes.”\n\n“Of course you must. But I have reasons to suppose that this opinion would be very much more frank and valuable if he imagines that we are alone. There is just room behind the head of my bed, Watson.”\n\n“My dear Holmes!”\n\n“I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The room does not lend itself to concealment, which is as well, as it is the less likely to arouse suspicion. But just there, Watson, I fancy that it could be done.” Suddenly he sat up with a rigid intentness upon his haggard face. “There are the wheels, Watson. Quick, man, if you love me! And don’t budge, whatever happens—whatever happens, do you hear? Don’t speak! Don’t move! Just listen with all your ears.” Then in an instant his sudden access of strength departed, and his masterful, purposeful talk droned away into the low, vague murmurings of a semi-delirious man.\n\nFrom the hiding-place into which I had been so swiftly hustled I heard the footfalls upon the stair, with the opening and the closing of the bedroom door. Then, to my surprise, there came a long silence, broken only by the heavy breathings and gaspings of the sick man. I could imagine that our visitor was standing by the bedside and looking down at the sufferer. At last that strange hush was broken.\n\n“Holmes!” he cried. “Holmes!” in the insistent tone of one who awakens a sleeper. “Can’t you hear me, Holmes?” There was a rustling, as if he had shaken the sick man roughly by the shoulder.\n\n“Is that you, Mr. Smith?” Holmes whispered. “I hardly dared hope that you would come.”\n\nThe other laughed.\n\n“I should imagine not,” he said. “And yet, you see, I am here. Coals of fire, Holmes—coals of fire!”\n\n“It is very good of you—very noble of you. I appreciate your special knowledge.”\n\nOur visitor sniggered.\n\n“You do. You are, fortunately, the only man in London who does. Do you know what is the matter with you?”\n\n“The same,” said Holmes.\n\n“Ah! You recognize the symptoms?”\n\n“Only too well.”\n\n“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised, Holmes. I shouldn’t be surprised if it were the same. A bad lookout for you if it is. Poor Victor was a dead man on the fourth day—a strong, hearty young fellow. It was certainly, as you said, very surprising that he should have contracted and out-of-the-way Asiatic disease in the heart of London—a disease, too, of which I had made such a very special study. Singular coincidence, Holmes. Very smart of you to notice it, but rather uncharitable to suggest that it was cause and effect.”\n\n“I knew that you did it.”\n\n“Oh, you did, did you? Well, you couldn’t prove it, anyhow. But what do you think of yourself spreading reports about me like that, and then crawling to me for help the moment you are in trouble? What sort of a game is that—eh?”\n\nI heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the sick man. “Give me the water!” he gasped.\n\n“You’re precious near your end, my friend, but I don’t want you to go till I have had a word with you. That’s why I give you water. There, don’t slop it about! That’s right. Can you understand what I say?”\n\nHolmes groaned.\n\n“Do what you can for me. Let bygones be bygones,” he whispered. “I’ll put the words out of my head—I swear I will. Only cure me, and I’ll forget it.”\n\n“Forget what?”\n\n“Well, about Victor Savage’s death. You as good as admitted just now that you had done it. I’ll forget it.”\n\n“You can forget it or remember it, just as you like. I don’t see you in the witnessbox. Quite another shaped box, my good Holmes, I assure you. It matters nothing to me that you should know how my nephew died. It’s not him we are talking about. It’s you.”\n\n“Yes, yes.”\n\n“The fellow who came for me—I’ve forgotten his name—said that you contracted it down in the East End among the sailors.”\n\n“I could only account for it so.”\n\n“You are proud of your brains, Holmes, are you not? Think yourself smart, don’t you? You came across someone who was smarter this time. Now cast your mind back, Holmes. Can you think of no other way you could have got this thing?”\n\n“I can’t think. My mind is gone. For heaven’s sake help me!”\n\n“Yes, I will help you. I’ll help you to understand just where you are and how you got there. I’d like you to know before you die.”\n\n“Give me something to ease my pain.”\n\n“Painful, is it? Yes, the coolies used to do some squealing towards the end. Takes you as cramp, I fancy.”\n\n“Yes, yes; it is cramp.”\n\n“Well, you can hear what I say, anyhow. Listen now! Can you remember any unusual incident in your life just about the time your symptoms began?”\n\n“No, no; nothing.”\n\n“Think again.”\n\n“I’m too ill to think.”\n\n“Well, then, I’ll help you. Did anything come by post?”\n\n“By post?”\n\n“A box by chance?”\n\n“I’m fainting—I’m gone!”\n\n“Listen, Holmes!” There was a sound as if he was shaking the dying man, and it was all that I could do to hold myself quiet in my hiding-place. “You must hear me. You shall hear me. Do you remember a box—an ivory box? It came on Wednesday. You opened it—do you remember?”\n\n“Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring inside it. Some joke—”\n\n“It was no joke, as you will find to your cost. You fool, you would have it and you have got it. Who asked you to cross my path? If you had left me alone I would not have hurt you.”\n\n“I remember,” Holmes gasped. “The spring! It drew blood. This box—this on the table.”\n\n“The very one, by George! And it may as well leave the room in my pocket. There goes your last shred of evidence. But you have the truth now, Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that I killed you. You knew too much of the fate of Victor Savage, so I have sent you to share it. You are very near your end, Holmes. I will sit here and I will watch you die.”\n\nHolmes’s voice had sunk to an almost inaudible whisper.\n\n“What is that?” said Smith. “Turn up the gas? Ah, the shadows begin to fall, do they? Yes, I will turn it up, that I may see you the better.” He crossed the room and the light suddenly brightened. “Is there any other little service that I can do you, my friend?”\n\n“A match and a cigarette.”\n\nI nearly called out in my joy and my amazement. He was speaking in his natural voice—a little weak, perhaps, but the very voice I knew. There was a long pause, and I felt that Culverton Smith was standing in silent amazement looking down at his companion.\n\n“What’s the meaning of this?” I heard him say at last in a dry, rasping tone.\n\n“The best way of successfully acting a part is to be it,” said Holmes. “I give you my word that for three days I have tasted neither food nor drink until you were good enough to pour me out that glass of water. But it is the tobacco which I find most irksome. Ah, here are some cigarettes.” I heard the striking of a match. “That is very much better. Halloa! halloa! Do I hear the step of a friend?”\n\nThere were footfalls outside, the door opened, and Inspector Morton appeared.\n\n“All is in order and this is your man,” said Holmes.\n\nThe officer gave the usual cautions.\n\n“I arrest you on the charge of the murder of one Victor Savage,” he concluded.\n\n“And you might add of the attempted murder of one Sherlock Holmes,” remarked my friend with a chuckle. “To save an invalid trouble, Inspector, Mr. Culverton Smith was good enough to give our signal by turning up the gas. By the way, the prisoner has a small box in the right-hand pocket of his coat which it would be as well to remove. Thank you. I would handle it gingerly if I were you. Put it down here. It may play its part in the trial.”\n\nThere was a sudden rush and a scuffle, followed by the clash of iron and a cry of pain.\n\n“You’ll only get yourself hurt,” said the inspector. “Stand still, will you?” There was the click of the closing handcuffs.\n\n“A nice trap!” cried the high, snarling voice. “It will bring you into the dock, Holmes, not me. He asked me to come here to cure him. I was sorry for him and I came. Now he will pretend, no doubt, that I have said anything which he may invent which will corroborate his insane suspicions. You can lie as you like, Holmes. My word is always as good as yours.”\n\n“Good heavens!” cried Holmes. “I had totally forgotten him. My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. Culverton Smith, since I understand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening. Have you the cab below? I will follow you when I am dressed, for I may be of some use at the station.\n\n“I never needed it more,” said Holmes as he refreshed himself with a glass of claret and some biscuits in the intervals of his toilet. “However, as you know, my habits are irregular, and such a feat means less to me than to most men. It was very essential that I should impress Mrs. Hudson with the reality of my condition, since she was to convey it to you, and you in turn to him. You won’t be offended, Watson? You will realize that among your many talents dissimulation finds no place, and that if you had shared my secret you would never have been able to impress Smith with the urgent necessity of his presence, which was the vital point of the whole scheme. Knowing his vindictive nature, I was perfectly certain that he would come to look upon his handiwork.”\n\n“But your appearance, Holmes—your ghastly face?”\n\n“Three days of absolute fast does not improve one’s beauty, Watson. For the rest, there is nothing which a sponge may not cure. With vaseline upon one’s forehead, belladonna in one’s eyes, rouge over the cheek-bones, and crusts of beeswax round one’s lips, a very satisfying effect can be produced. Malingering is a subject upon which I have sometimes thought of writing a monograph. A little occasional talk about half-crowns, oysters, or any other extraneous subject produces a pleasing effect of delirium.”\n\n“But why would you not let me near you, since there was in truth no infection?”\n\n“Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imagine that I have no respect for your medical talents? Could I fancy that your astute judgment would pass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise of pulse or temperature? At four yards, I could deceive you. If I failed to do so, who would bring my Smith within my grasp? No, Watson, I would not touch that box. You can just see if you look at it sideways where the sharp spring like a viper’s tooth emerges as you open it. I dare say it was by some such device that poor Savage, who stood between this monster and a reversion, was done to death. My correspondence, however, is, as you know, a varied one, and I am somewhat upon my guard against any packages which reach me. It was clear to me, however, that by pretending that he had really succeeded in his design I might surprise a confession. That pretence I have carried out with the thoroughness of the true artist. Thank you, Watson, you must help me on with my coat. When we have finished at the police-station I think that something nutritious at Simpson’s would not be out of place.”\n\nText taken from here\n",
      "content_html": "<p>Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must have sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in London. On the other hand, his payments were princely. I have no doubt that the house might have been purchased at the price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that I was with him.</p>\n\n<p>The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared to interfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might seem. She was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent. Knowing how genuine was her regard for him, I listened earnestly to her story when she came to my rooms in the second year of my married life and told me of the sad condition to which my poor friend was reduced.</p>\n\n<p>“He’s dying, Dr. Watson,” said she. “For three days he has been sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He would not let me get a doctor. This morning when I saw his bones sticking out of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me I could stand no more of it. ‘With your leave or without it, Mr. Holmes, I am going for a doctor this very hour,’ said I. ‘Let it be Watson, then,’ said he. I wouldn’t waste an hour in coming to him, sir, or you may not see him alive.”</p>\n\n<p>I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I need not say that I rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back I asked for the details.</p>\n\n<p>“There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at a case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has brought this illness back with him. He took to his bed on Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these three days neither food nor drink has passed his lips.”</p>\n\n<p>“Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?”</p>\n\n<p>“He wouldn’t have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. I didn’t dare to disobey him. But he’s not long for this world, as you’ll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him.”</p>\n\n<p>He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dim light of a foggy November day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was that gaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill to my heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever, there was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clung to his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlet twitched incessantly, his voice was croaking and spasmodic. He lay listlessly as I entered the room, but the sight of me brought a gleam of recognition to his eyes.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days,” said he in a feeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness of manner.</p>\n\n<p>“My dear fellow!” I cried, approaching him.</p>\n\n<p>“Stand back! Stand right back!” said he with the sharp imperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis. “If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house.”</p>\n\n<p>“But why?”</p>\n\n<p>“Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?”</p>\n\n<p>Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion.</p>\n\n<p>“I only wished to help,” I explained.</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told.”</p>\n\n<p>“Certainly, Holmes.”</p>\n\n<p>He relaxed the austerity of his manner.</p>\n\n<p>“You are not angry?” he asked, gasping for breath.</p>\n\n<p>Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plight before me?</p>\n\n<p>“It’s for your own sake, Watson,” he croaked.</p>\n\n<p>“For my sake?”</p>\n\n<p>“I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease from Sumatra—a thing that the Dutch know more about than we, though they have made little of it up to date. One thing only is certain. It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious.”</p>\n\n<p>He spoke now with a feverish energy, the long hands twitching and jerking as he motioned me away.</p>\n\n<p>“Contagious by touch, Watson—that’s it, by touch. Keep your distance and all is well.”</p>\n\n<p>“Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?”</p>\n\n<p>Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger.</p>\n\n<p>“If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must leave the room.”</p>\n\n<p>I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them. But now all my professional instincts were aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his in a sick room.</p>\n\n<p>“Holmes,” said I, “you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will examine your symptoms and treat you for them.”</p>\n\n<p>He looked at me with venomous eyes.</p>\n\n<p>“If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least have someone in whom I have confidence,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“Then you have none in me?”</p>\n\n<p>“In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say these things, but you leave me no choice.”</p>\n\n<p>I was bitterly hurt.</p>\n\n<p>“Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me very clearly the state of your own nerves. But if you have no confidence in me I would not intrude my services. Let me bring Sir Jasper Meek or Penrose Fisher, or any of the best men in London. But someone you must have, and that is final. If you think that I am going to stand here and see you die without either helping you myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then you have mistaken your man.”</p>\n\n<p>“You mean well, Watson,” said the sick man with something between a sob and a groan. “Shall I demonstrate your own ignorance? What do you know, pray, of Tapanuli fever? What do you know of the black Formosa corruption?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have never heard of either.”</p>\n\n<p>“There are many problems of disease, many strange pathological possibilities, in the East, Watson.” He paused after each sentence to collect his failing strength. “I have learned so much during some recent researches which have a medico-criminal aspect. It was in the course of them that I contracted this complaint. You can do nothing.”</p>\n\n<p>“Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, the greatest living authority upon tropical disease, is now in London. All remonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant to fetch him.” I turned resolutely to the door.</p>\n\n<p>Never have I had such a shock! In an instant, with a tiger-spring, the dying man had intercepted me. I heard the sharp snap of a twisted key. The next moment he had staggered back to his bed, exhausted and panting after his one tremendous outflame of energy.</p>\n\n<p>“You won’t take the key from be by force, Watson, I’ve got you, my friend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I will otherwise. But I’ll humour you.” (All this in little gasps, with terrible struggles for breath between.) “You’ve only my own good at heart. Of course I know that very well. You shall have your way, but give me time to get my strength. Not now, Watson, not now. It’s four o’clock. At six you can go.”</p>\n\n<p>“This is insanity, Holmes.”</p>\n\n<p>“Only two hours, Watson. I promise you will go at six. Are you content to wait?”</p>\n\n<p>“I seem to have no choice.”</p>\n\n<p>“None in the world, Watson. Thank you, I need no help in arranging the clothes. You will please keep your distance. Now, Watson, there is one other condition that I would make. You will seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that I choose.”</p>\n\n<p>“By all means.”</p>\n\n<p>“The first three sensible words that you have uttered since you entered this room, Watson. You will find some books over there. I am somewhat exhausted; I wonder how a battery feels when it pours electricity into a non-conductor? At six, Watson, we resume our conversation.”</p>\n\n<p>But it was destined to be resumed long before that hour, and in circumstances which gave me a shock hardly second to that caused by his spring to the door. I had stood for some minutes looking at the silent figure in the bed. His face was almost covered by the clothes and he appeared to be asleep. Then, unable to settle down to reading, I walked slowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned. Finally, in my aimless perambulation, I came to the mantelpiece. A litter of pipes, tobacco-pouches, syringes, penknives, revolver-cartridges, and other debris was scattered over it. In the midst of these was a small black and white ivory box with a sliding lid. It was a neat little thing, and I had stretched out my hand to examine it more closely when—</p>\n\n<p>It was a dreadful cry that he gave—a yell which might have been heard down the street. My skin went cold and my hair bristled at that horrible scream. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a convulsed face and frantic eyes. I stood paralyzed, with the little box in my hand.</p>\n\n<p>“Put it down! Down, this instant, Watson—this instant, I say!” His head sank back upon the pillow and he gave a deep sigh of relief as I replaced the box upon the mantelpiece. “I hate to have my things touched, Watson. You know that I hate it. You fidget me beyond endurance. You, a doctor—you are enough to drive a patient into an asylum. Sit down, man, and let me have my rest!”</p>\n\n<p>The incident left a most unpleasant impression upon my mind. The violent and causeless excitement, followed by this brutality of speech, so far removed from his usual suavity, showed me how deep was the disorganization of his mind. Of all ruins, that of a noble mind is the most deplorable. I sat in silent dejection until the stipulated time had passed. He seemed to have been watching the clock as well as I, for it was hardly six before he began to talk with the same feverish animation as before.</p>\n\n<p>“Now, Watson,” said he. “Have you any change in your pocket?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes.”</p>\n\n<p>“Any silver?”</p>\n\n<p>“A good deal.”</p>\n\n<p>“How many half-crowns?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have five.”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah, too few! Too few! How very unfortunate, Watson! However, such as they are you can put them in your watchpocket. And all the rest of your money in your left trouser pocket. Thank you. It will balance you so much better like that.”</p>\n\n<p>This was raving insanity. He shuddered, and again made a sound between a cough and a sob.</p>\n\n<p>“You will now light the gas, Watson, but you will be very careful that not for one instant shall it be more than half on. I implore you to be careful, Watson. Thank you, that is excellent. No, you need not draw the blind. Now you will have the kindness to place some letters and papers upon this table within my reach. Thank you. Now some of that litter from the mantelpiece. Excellent, Watson! There is a sugar-tongs there. Kindly raise that small ivory box with its assistance. Place it here among the papers. Good! You can now go and fetch Mr. Culverton Smith, of 13 Lower Burke Street.”</p>\n\n<p>To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat weakened, for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemed dangerous to leave him. However, he was as eager now to consult the person named as he had been obstinate in refusing.</p>\n\n<p>“I never heard the name,” said I.</p>\n\n<p>“Possibly not, my good Watson. It may surprise you to know that the man upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a medical man, but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-known resident of Sumatra, now visiting London. An outbreak of the disease upon his plantation, which was distant from medical aid, caused him to study it himself, with some rather far-reaching consequences. He is a very methodical person, and I did not desire you to start before six, because I was well aware that you would not find him in his study. If you could persuade him to come here and give us the benefit of his unique experience of this disease, the investigation of which has been his dearest hobby, I cannot doubt that he could help me.”</p>\n\n<p>I gave Holmes’s remarks as a consecutive whole and will not attempt to indicate how they were interrupted by gaspings for breath and those clutchings of his hands which indicated the pain from which he was suffering. His appearance had changed for the worse during the few hours that I had been with him. Those hectic spots were more pronounced, the eyes shone more brightly out of darker hollows, and a cold sweat glimmered upon his brow. He still retained, however, the jaunty gallantry of his speech. To the last gasp he would always be the master.</p>\n\n<p>“You will tell him exactly how you have left me,” said he. “You will convey the very impression which is in your own mind—a dying man—a dying and delirious man. Indeed, I cannot think why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem. Ah, I am wondering! Strange how the brain controls the brain! What was I saying, Watson?”</p>\n\n<p>“My directions for Mr. Culverton Smith.”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah, yes, I remember. My life depends upon it. Plead with him, Watson. There is no good feeling between us. His nephew, Watson—I had suspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. The boy died horribly. He has a grudge against me. You will soften him, Watson. Beg him, pray him, get him here by any means. He can save me—only he!”</p>\n\n<p>“I will bring him in a cab, if I have to carry him down to it.”</p>\n\n<p>“You will do nothing of the sort. You will persuade him to come. And then you will return in front of him. Make any excuse so as not to come with him. Don’t forget, Watson. You won’t fail me. You never did fail me. No doubt there are natural enemies which limit the increase of the creatures. You and I, Watson, we have done our part. Shall the world, then, be overrun by oysters? No, no; horrible! You’ll convey all that is in your mind.”</p>\n\n<p>I left him full of the image of this magnificent intellect babbling like a foolish child. He had handed me the key, and with a happy thought I took it with me lest he should lock himself in. Mrs. Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the passage. Behind me as I passed from the flat I heard Holmes’s high, thin voice in some delirious chant. Below, as I stood whistling for a cab, a man came on me through the fog.</p>\n\n<p>“How is Mr. Holmes, sir?” he asked.</p>\n\n<p>It was an old acquaintance, Inspector Morton, of Scotland Yard, dressed in unofficial tweeds.</p>\n\n<p>“He is very ill,” I answered.</p>\n\n<p>He looked at me in a most singular fashion. Had it not been too fiendish, I could have imagined that the gleam of the fanlight showed exultation in his face.</p>\n\n<p>“I heard some rumour of it,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>The cab had driven up, and I left him.</p>\n\n<p>Lower Burke Street proved to be a line of fine houses lying in the vague borderland between Notting Hill and Kensington. The particular one at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smug and demure respectability in its old-fashioned iron railings, its massive folding-door, and its shining brasswork. All was in keeping with a solemn butler who appeared framed in the pink radiance of a tinted electrical light behind him.</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, Mr. Culverton Smith is in. Dr. Watson! Very good, sir, I will take up your card.”</p>\n\n<p>My humble name and title did not appear to impress Mr. Culverton Smith. Through the half-open door I heard a high, petulant, penetrating voice.</p>\n\n<p>“Who is this person? What does he want? Dear me, Staples, how often have I said that I am not to be disturbed in my hours of study?”</p>\n\n<p>There came a gentle flow of soothing explanation from the butler.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, I won’t see him, Staples. I can’t have my work interrupted like this. I am not at home. Say so. Tell him to come in the morning if he really must see me.”</p>\n\n<p>Again the gentle murmur.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, well, give him that message. He can come in the morning, or he can stay away. My work must not be hindered.”</p>\n\n<p>I thought of Holmes tossing upon his bed of sickness and counting the minutes, perhaps, until I could bring help to him. It was not a time to stand upon ceremony. His life depended upon my promptness. Before the apologetic butler had delivered his message I had pushed past him and was in the room.</p>\n\n<p>With a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chair beside the fire. I saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained and greasy, with heavy, double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyes which glared at me from under tufted and sandy brows. A high bald head had a small velvet smoking-cap poised coquettishly upon one side of its pink curve. The skull was of enormous capacity, and yet as I looked down I saw to my amazement that the figure of the man was small and frail, twisted in the shoulders and back like one who has suffered from rickets in his childhood.</p>\n\n<p>“What’s this?” he cried in a high, screaming voice. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? Didn’t I send you word that I would see you to-morrow morning?”</p>\n\n<p>“I am sorry,” said I, “but the matter cannot be delayed. Mr. Sherlock Holmes—”</p>\n\n<p>The mention of my friend’s name had an extraordinary effect upon the little man. The look of anger passed in an instant from his face. His features became tense and alert.</p>\n\n<p>“Have you come from Holmes?” he asked.</p>\n\n<p>“I have just left him.”</p>\n\n<p>“What about Holmes? How is he?”</p>\n\n<p>“He is desperately ill. That is why I have come.”</p>\n\n<p>The man motioned me to a chair, and turned to resume his own. As he did so I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I could have sworn that it was set in a malicious and abominable smile. Yet I persuaded myself that it must have been some nervous contraction which I had surprised, for he turned to me an instant later with genuine concern upon his features.</p>\n\n<p>“I am sorry to hear this,” said he. “I only know Mr. Holmes through some business dealings which we have had, but I have every respect for his talents and his character. He is an amateur of crime, as I am of disease. For him the villain, for me the microbe. There are my prisons,” he continued, pointing to a row of bottles and jars which stood upon a side table. “Among those gelatine cultivations some of the very worst offenders in the world are now doing time.”</p>\n\n<p>“It was on account of your special knowledge that Mr. Holmes desired to see you. He has a high opinion of you and thought that you were the one man in London who could help him.”</p>\n\n<p>The little man started, and the jaunty smoking-cap slid to the floor.</p>\n\n<p>“Why?” he asked. “Why should Mr. Homes think that I could help him in his trouble?”</p>\n\n<p>“Because of your knowledge of Eastern diseases.”</p>\n\n<p>“But why should he think that this disease which he has contracted is Eastern?”</p>\n\n<p>“Because, in some professional inquiry, he has been working among Chinese sailors down in the docks.”</p>\n\n<p>Mr. Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and picked up his smoking-cap.</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, that’s it—is it?” said he. “I trust the matter is not so grave as you suppose. How long has he been ill?”</p>\n\n<p>“About three days.”</p>\n\n<p>“Is he delirious?”</p>\n\n<p>“Occasionally.”</p>\n\n<p>“Tut, tut! This sounds serious. It would be inhuman not to answer his call. I very much resent any interruption to my work, Dr. Watson, but this case is certainly exceptional. I will come with you at once.”</p>\n\n<p>I remembered Holmes’s injunction.</p>\n\n<p>“I have another appointment,” said I.</p>\n\n<p>“Very good. I will go alone. I have a note of Mr. Holmes’s address. You can rely upon my being there within half an hour at most.”</p>\n\n<p>It was with a sinking heart that I reentered Holmes’s bedroom. For all that I knew the worst might have happened in my absence. To my enormous relief, he had improved greatly in the interval. His appearance was as ghastly as ever, but all trace of delirium had left him and he spoke in a feeble voice, it is true, but with even more than his usual crispness and lucidity.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, did you see him, Watson?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes; he is coming.”</p>\n\n<p>“Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the best of messengers.”</p>\n\n<p>“He wished to return with me.”</p>\n\n<p>“That would never do, Watson. That would be obviously impossible. Did he ask what ailed me?”</p>\n\n<p>“I told him about the Chinese in the East End.”</p>\n\n<p>“Exactly! Well, Watson, you have done all that a good friend could. You can now disappear from the scene.”</p>\n\n<p>“I must wait and hear his opinion, Holmes.”</p>\n\n<p>“Of course you must. But I have reasons to suppose that this opinion would be very much more frank and valuable if he imagines that we are alone. There is just room behind the head of my bed, Watson.”</p>\n\n<p>“My dear Holmes!”</p>\n\n<p>“I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The room does not lend itself to concealment, which is as well, as it is the less likely to arouse suspicion. But just there, Watson, I fancy that it could be done.” Suddenly he sat up with a rigid intentness upon his haggard face. “There are the wheels, Watson. Quick, man, if you love me! And don’t budge, whatever happens—whatever happens, do you hear? Don’t speak! Don’t move! Just listen with all your ears.” Then in an instant his sudden access of strength departed, and his masterful, purposeful talk droned away into the low, vague murmurings of a semi-delirious man.</p>\n\n<p>From the hiding-place into which I had been so swiftly hustled I heard the footfalls upon the stair, with the opening and the closing of the bedroom door. Then, to my surprise, there came a long silence, broken only by the heavy breathings and gaspings of the sick man. I could imagine that our visitor was standing by the bedside and looking down at the sufferer. At last that strange hush was broken.</p>\n\n<p>“Holmes!” he cried. “Holmes!” in the insistent tone of one who awakens a sleeper. “Can’t you hear me, Holmes?” There was a rustling, as if he had shaken the sick man roughly by the shoulder.</p>\n\n<p>“Is that you, Mr. Smith?” Holmes whispered. “I hardly dared hope that you would come.”</p>\n\n<p>The other laughed.</p>\n\n<p>“I should imagine not,” he said. “And yet, you see, I am here. Coals of fire, Holmes—coals of fire!”</p>\n\n<p>“It is very good of you—very noble of you. I appreciate your special knowledge.”</p>\n\n<p>Our visitor sniggered.</p>\n\n<p>“You do. You are, fortunately, the only man in London who does. Do you know what is the matter with you?”</p>\n\n<p>“The same,” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“Ah! You recognize the symptoms?”</p>\n\n<p>“Only too well.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised, Holmes. I shouldn’t be surprised if it were the same. A bad lookout for you if it is. Poor Victor was a dead man on the fourth day—a strong, hearty young fellow. It was certainly, as you said, very surprising that he should have contracted and out-of-the-way Asiatic disease in the heart of London—a disease, too, of which I had made such a very special study. Singular coincidence, Holmes. Very smart of you to notice it, but rather uncharitable to suggest that it was cause and effect.”</p>\n\n<p>“I knew that you did it.”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, you did, did you? Well, you couldn’t prove it, anyhow. But what do you think of yourself spreading reports about me like that, and then crawling to me for help the moment you are in trouble? What sort of a game is that—eh?”</p>\n\n<p>I heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the sick man. “Give me the water!” he gasped.</p>\n\n<p>“You’re precious near your end, my friend, but I don’t want you to go till I have had a word with you. That’s why I give you water. There, don’t slop it about! That’s right. Can you understand what I say?”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes groaned.</p>\n\n<p>“Do what you can for me. Let bygones be bygones,” he whispered. “I’ll put the words out of my head—I swear I will. Only cure me, and I’ll forget it.”</p>\n\n<p>“Forget what?”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, about Victor Savage’s death. You as good as admitted just now that you had done it. I’ll forget it.”</p>\n\n<p>“You can forget it or remember it, just as you like. I don’t see you in the witnessbox. Quite another shaped box, my good Holmes, I assure you. It matters nothing to me that you should know how my nephew died. It’s not him we are talking about. It’s you.”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, yes.”</p>\n\n<p>“The fellow who came for me—I’ve forgotten his name—said that you contracted it down in the East End among the sailors.”</p>\n\n<p>“I could only account for it so.”</p>\n\n<p>“You are proud of your brains, Holmes, are you not? Think yourself smart, don’t you? You came across someone who was smarter this time. Now cast your mind back, Holmes. Can you think of no other way you could have got this thing?”</p>\n\n<p>“I can’t think. My mind is gone. For heaven’s sake help me!”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, I will help you. I’ll help you to understand just where you are and how you got there. I’d like you to know before you die.”</p>\n\n<p>“Give me something to ease my pain.”</p>\n\n<p>“Painful, is it? Yes, the coolies used to do some squealing towards the end. Takes you as cramp, I fancy.”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, yes; it is cramp.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, you can hear what I say, anyhow. Listen now! Can you remember any unusual incident in your life just about the time your symptoms began?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, no; nothing.”</p>\n\n<p>“Think again.”</p>\n\n<p>“I’m too ill to think.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, then, I’ll help you. Did anything come by post?”</p>\n\n<p>“By post?”</p>\n\n<p>“A box by chance?”</p>\n\n<p>“I’m fainting—I’m gone!”</p>\n\n<p>“Listen, Holmes!” There was a sound as if he was shaking the dying man, and it was all that I could do to hold myself quiet in my hiding-place. “You must hear me. You shall hear me. Do you remember a box—an ivory box? It came on Wednesday. You opened it—do you remember?”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring inside it. Some joke—”</p>\n\n<p>“It was no joke, as you will find to your cost. You fool, you would have it and you have got it. Who asked you to cross my path? If you had left me alone I would not have hurt you.”</p>\n\n<p>“I remember,” Holmes gasped. “The spring! It drew blood. This box—this on the table.”</p>\n\n<p>“The very one, by George! And it may as well leave the room in my pocket. There goes your last shred of evidence. But you have the truth now, Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that I killed you. You knew too much of the fate of Victor Savage, so I have sent you to share it. You are very near your end, Holmes. I will sit here and I will watch you die.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes’s voice had sunk to an almost inaudible whisper.</p>\n\n<p>“What is that?” said Smith. “Turn up the gas? Ah, the shadows begin to fall, do they? Yes, I will turn it up, that I may see you the better.” He crossed the room and the light suddenly brightened. “Is there any other little service that I can do you, my friend?”</p>\n\n<p>“A match and a cigarette.”</p>\n\n<p>I nearly called out in my joy and my amazement. He was speaking in his natural voice—a little weak, perhaps, but the very voice I knew. There was a long pause, and I felt that Culverton Smith was standing in silent amazement looking down at his companion.</p>\n\n<p>“What’s the meaning of this?” I heard him say at last in a dry, rasping tone.</p>\n\n<p>“The best way of successfully acting a part is to be it,” said Holmes. “I give you my word that for three days I have tasted neither food nor drink until you were good enough to pour me out that glass of water. But it is the tobacco which I find most irksome. Ah, here are some cigarettes.” I heard the striking of a match. “That is very much better. Halloa! halloa! Do I hear the step of a friend?”</p>\n\n<p>There were footfalls outside, the door opened, and Inspector Morton appeared.</p>\n\n<p>“All is in order and this is your man,” said Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>The officer gave the usual cautions.</p>\n\n<p>“I arrest you on the charge of the murder of one Victor Savage,” he concluded.</p>\n\n<p>“And you might add of the attempted murder of one Sherlock Holmes,” remarked my friend with a chuckle. “To save an invalid trouble, Inspector, Mr. Culverton Smith was good enough to give our signal by turning up the gas. By the way, the prisoner has a small box in the right-hand pocket of his coat which it would be as well to remove. Thank you. I would handle it gingerly if I were you. Put it down here. It may play its part in the trial.”</p>\n\n<p>There was a sudden rush and a scuffle, followed by the clash of iron and a cry of pain.</p>\n\n<p>“You’ll only get yourself hurt,” said the inspector. “Stand still, will you?” There was the click of the closing handcuffs.</p>\n\n<p>“A nice trap!” cried the high, snarling voice. “It will bring you into the dock, Holmes, not me. He asked me to come here to cure him. I was sorry for him and I came. Now he will pretend, no doubt, that I have said anything which he may invent which will corroborate his insane suspicions. You can lie as you like, Holmes. My word is always as good as yours.”</p>\n\n<p>“Good heavens!” cried Holmes. “I had totally forgotten him. My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. Culverton Smith, since I understand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening. Have you the cab below? I will follow you when I am dressed, for I may be of some use at the station.</p>\n\n<p>“I never needed it more,” said Holmes as he refreshed himself with a glass of claret and some biscuits in the intervals of his toilet. “However, as you know, my habits are irregular, and such a feat means less to me than to most men. It was very essential that I should impress Mrs. Hudson with the reality of my condition, since she was to convey it to you, and you in turn to him. You won’t be offended, Watson? You will realize that among your many talents dissimulation finds no place, and that if you had shared my secret you would never have been able to impress Smith with the urgent necessity of his presence, which was the vital point of the whole scheme. Knowing his vindictive nature, I was perfectly certain that he would come to look upon his handiwork.”</p>\n\n<p>“But your appearance, Holmes—your ghastly face?”</p>\n\n<p>“Three days of absolute fast does not improve one’s beauty, Watson. For the rest, there is nothing which a sponge may not cure. With vaseline upon one’s forehead, belladonna in one’s eyes, rouge over the cheek-bones, and crusts of beeswax round one’s lips, a very satisfying effect can be produced. Malingering is a subject upon which I have sometimes thought of writing a monograph. A little occasional talk about half-crowns, oysters, or any other extraneous subject produces a pleasing effect of delirium.”</p>\n\n<p>“But why would you not let me near you, since there was in truth no infection?”</p>\n\n<p>“Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imagine that I have no respect for your medical talents? Could I fancy that your astute judgment would pass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise of pulse or temperature? At four yards, I could deceive you. If I failed to do so, who would bring my Smith within my grasp? No, Watson, I would not touch that box. You can just see if you look at it sideways where the sharp spring like a viper’s tooth emerges as you open it. I dare say it was by some such device that poor Savage, who stood between this monster and a reversion, was done to death. My correspondence, however, is, as you know, a varied one, and I am somewhat upon my guard against any packages which reach me. It was clear to me, however, that by pretending that he had really succeeded in his design I might surprise a confession. That pretence I have carried out with the thoroughness of the true artist. Thank you, Watson, you must help me on with my coat. When we have finished at the police-station I think that something nutritious at Simpson’s would not be out of place.”</p>\n\n<p><a href=\"http://sherlock-holm.es/stories/html/dyin.html\">Text taken from here</a></p>\n",
      "url": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2012/06/09/the-adventure-of-the-dying-detective.html",
      "date_published": "2012-06-09T00:00:00+00:00",
      "date_modified": "2012-06-09T00:00:00+00:00",
      "author": {
        "name": "Arthur Conan Doyle"
      }
    },
    {
      "id": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2011/11/11/the-adventure-of-the-cardboard-box.html",
      "title": "The Adventure of the Cardboard Box",
      "content_text": "In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes1, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the problem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events.\n\nIt was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these were the same walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very center of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country.\n\nFinding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had tossed side the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion’s voice broke in upon my thoughts:\n\n“You are right, Watson,” said he. “It does seem a most preposterous way of settling a dispute.”\n\n“Most preposterous!” I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.\n\n“What is this, Holmes?” I cried. “This is beyond anything which I could have imagined.”\n\nHe laughed heartily at my perplexity.\n\n“You remember,” said he, “that some little time ago when I read you the passage in one of Poe’s sketches in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of the author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity.”\n\n“Oh, no!”\n\n“Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport with you.”\n\nBut I was still far from satisfied. “In the example which you read to me,” said I, “the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues can I have given you?”\n\n“You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful servants.”\n\n“Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?”\n\n“Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?”\n\n“No, I cannot.”\n\n“Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon the top of your books. Then you glanced up at the wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with Gordon’s picture there.”\n\n“You have followed me wonderfully!” I exclaimed.\n\n“So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Beecher’s career. I was well aware that you could not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember your expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder, you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your own old wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous and was glad to find that all my deductions had been correct.”\n\n“Absolutely!” said I. “And now that you have explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as before.”\n\n“It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity the other day. But I have in my hands here a little problem which may prove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay I thought reading. Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to the remarkable contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss Cushing, of Cross Street, Croydon?”\n\n“No, I saw nothing.”\n\n“Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me. Here it is, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be good enough to read it aloud.”\n\nI picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read the paragraph indicated. It was headed, “A Gruesome Packet.”\n\n“Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been made the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practical joke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached to the incident. At two o’clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrapped in brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard box was inside, which was filled with coarse salt. On emptying this, Miss Cushing was horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed. The box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morning before. There is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the more mysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondents that it is a rare event for her to receive anything through the post. Some years ago, however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house to three young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion that this outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the theory by the fact that one of these students came from the north of Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing’s belief, from Belfast. In the meantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one of the very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case.”\n“So much for the Daily Chronicle,” said Holmes as I finished reading. “Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, in which he says:\n\n“I think that this case is very much in your line. We have every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything to work upon. We have, of course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but a large number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender. The box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us in any way. The medical student theory still appears to me to be the most feasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare I should be very happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in the police-station all day.\n“What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and run down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?”\n\n“I was longing for something to do.”\n\n“You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to order a cab. I’ll be back in a moment when I have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigar-case.”\n\nA shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.\n\nIt was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her.\n\n“They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things,” said she as Lestrade entered. “I wish that you would take them away altogether.”\n\n“So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your presence.”\n\n“Why in my presence, sir?”\n\n“In case he wished to ask any questions.”\n\n“What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know nothing whatever about it?”\n\n“Quite so, madam,” said Holmes in his soothing way. “I have no doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business.”\n\n“Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is something new for me to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. I won’t have those things I here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse.”\n\nIt was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the end of the path, and we all sat down while Homes examined one by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to him.\n\n“The string is exceedingly interesting,” he remarked, holding it up to the light and sniffing at it. “What do you make of this string, Lestrade?”\n\n“It has been tarred.”\n\n“Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt, remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance.”\n\n“I cannot see the importance,” said Lestrade.\n\n“The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this knot is of a peculiar character.”\n\n“It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect,” said Lestrade complacently.\n\n“So much for the string, then,” said Holmes, smiling, “now for the box wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed in rather straggling characters: ‘Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon.’ Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The word ‘Croydon’ has been originally spelled with an ‘i’, which has been changed to ‘y’. The parcel was directed, then, by a man—the printing is distinctly masculine—of limited education and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarser commercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singular enclosures.”\n\nHe took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation.\n\n“You have observed, of course,” said he at last, “that the ears are not a pair.”\n\n“Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send two odd ears as a pair.”\n\n“Precisely. But this is not a practical joke.”\n\n“You are sure of it?”\n\n“The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives which would suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt. I repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we are investigating a serious crime.”\n\nA vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion’s words and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror in the background. Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is only half convinced.\n\n“There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt,” said he, “but there are much stronger reasons against the other. We know that this woman has led a most quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for the last twenty years. She has hardly been away from her home for a day during that time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as little of the matter as we do?”\n\n“That is the problem which we have to solve,” Holmes answered, “and for my part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed. One of these ears is a woman’s, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other is a man’s, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. These two people are presumably dead, or we should have heard their story before now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursday morning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If the two people were murdered, who but their murderer would have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have some strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? It must have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her, perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is what she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is a tangle here which needs straightening to.” He had been talking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.\n\n“I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing,” said he.\n\n“In that case I may leave you here,” said Lestrade, “for I have another small business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police-station.”\n\n“We shall look in on our way to the train,” answered Holmes. A moment later he and I were back in the front room, where the impassive lady was still quietly working away at her antimacassar. She put it down on her lap as we entered and looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes.\n\n“I am convinced, sir,” she said, “that this matter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me. I have not an enemy in the world, as far as I know, so why should anyone play me such a trick?”\n\n“I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing,” said Holmes, taking a seat beside her. “I think that it is more than probable—” He paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady’s profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I could see nothing which could account for my companion’s evident excitement.\n\n“There were one or two questions—”\n\n“Oh, I am weary of questions!” cried Miss Cushing impatiently.\n\n“You have two sisters, I believe.”\n\n“How could you know that?”\n\n“I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have a portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that there could be no doubt of the relationship.”\n\n“Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary.”\n\n“And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at the time.”\n\n“You are very quick at observing.”\n\n“That is my trade.”\n\n“Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a few days afterwards. He was on the South American line when that was taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn’t abide to leave her for so long, and he got into the Liverpool and London boats.”\n\n“Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?”\n\n“No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don’t know how things are going with them.”\n\nIt was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on which she felt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy at first, but ended by becoming extremely communicative. She told us many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals. Holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing in a question from time to time.\n\n“About your second sister, Sarah,” said he. “I wonder, since you are both maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together.”\n\n“Ah! you don’t know Sarah’s temper or you would wonder no more. I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part. I don’t want to say a word against my own sister, but she was always meddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah.”\n\n“You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations.”\n\n“Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for Jim Browner. The last six months that she was here she would speak of nothing but his drinking and his ways. He had caught her meddling, I suspect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was the start of it.”\n\n“Thank you, Miss Cushing,” said Holmes, rising and bowing. “Your sister Sarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington? Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do.”\n\nThere was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it.\n\n“How far to Wallington?” he asked.\n\n“Only about a mile, sir.”\n\n“Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron is hot. Simple as the case is, there have been one or two very instructive details in connection with it. Just pull up at a telegraph office as you pass, cabby.”\n\nHolmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay back in the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his face. Our drive pulled up at a house which was not unlike the one which we had just quitted. My companion ordered him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when the door opened and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step.\n\n“Is Miss Cushing at home?” asked Holmes.\n\n“Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill,” said he. “She has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days.” He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street.\n\n“Well, if we can’t we can’t,” said Holmes, cheerfully.\n\n“Perhaps she could not or would not have told you much.”\n\n“I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her. However, I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us to some decent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch, and afterwards we shall drop down upon friend Lestrade at the police-station.”\n\nWe had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker’s in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him to Paganini, and we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon was far advanced and the hot glare had softened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves at the police-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at the door.\n\n“A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes,” said he.\n\n“Ha! It is the answer!” He tore it open, glanced his eyes over it, and crumpled it into his pocket. “That’s all right,” said he.\n\n“Have you found out anything?”\n\n“I have found out everything!”\n\n“What!” Lestrade stared at him in amazement. “You are joking.”\n\n“I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has been committed, and I think I have now laid bare every detail of it.”\n\n“And the criminal?”\n\nHolmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards and threw it over to Lestrade.\n\n“That is the name,” he said. “You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Watson.” We strode off together to the station, leaving Lestrade still staring with a delighted face at the card which Holmes had thrown him.\n\n“The case,” said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over or cigars that night in our rooms at Baker Street, “is one where, as in the investigations which you have chronicled under the names of ‘A Study in Scarlet’ and of ‘The Sign of Four,’ we have been compelled to reason backward from effects to causes. I have written to Lestrade asking him to supply us with the details which are now wanting, and which he will only get after he had secured his man. That he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and indeed, it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at Scotland Yard.”\n\n“Your case is not complete, then?” I asked.\n\n“It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions.”\n\n“I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?”\n\n“Oh! it is more than a suspicion.”\n\n“And yet I cannot see anything save very vague indications.”\n\n“On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear. Let me run over the principal steps. We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories. We were simply there to observe and to draw inferences from our observations. What did we see first? A very placid and respectable lady, who seemed quite innocent of any secret, and a portrait which showed me that she had two younger sisters. It instantly flashed across my mind that the box might have been meant for one of these. I set the idea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at our leisure. Then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we saw the very singular contents of the little yellow box.\n\n“The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes.\n\n“When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was ‘S’ it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely.\n\n“As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year’s Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear.\n\n“In the first place, her sister’s name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address.\n\n“And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions—you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife—subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man—presumably a seafaring man—had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet.\n\n“A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah.\n\n“I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet—for her illness dated from that time—had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her.\n\n“However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner’s house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in.”\n\nSherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap.\n\n“Lestrade has got him all right,” said Holmes, glancing up at me. “Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says.\n\n“My dear Mr. Holmes:\n“In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories” [“the ‘we’ is rather fine, Watson, is it not?”] “I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy—something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards,\n“Yours very truly,\n“G. Lestrade.\n“Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one,” remarked Holmes, “but I don’t think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim.”\n\n“‘Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don’t care a plug which you do. I tell you I’ve not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don’t believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it’s his face, but most generally it’s hers. I’m never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o’ surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before.\n\n“‘But it was Sarah’s fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It’s not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me—that’s the root of the business—she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife’s footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul.\n\n“‘There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves.\n\n“‘I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it?\n\n“‘I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God’s mercy.\n\n“‘It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. “Where’s Mary?” I asked. “Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts.” I was impatient and paced up and down the room. “Can’t you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?” says she. “It’s a bad compliment to me that you can’t be contented with my society for so short a time.” “That’s all right, my lass,” said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. “Steady old Jim!” said she, and with a kind o’ mocking laugh, she ran out of the room.\n\n“‘Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us—a besotted fool—but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife’s mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker.\n\n“‘It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won’t deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever.\n\n“‘It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife’s face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil’s light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. “Don’t, Jim, don’t!” says she. “Where’s Sarah?” I asked. “In the kitchen,” says she. “Sarah,” says I as I went in, “this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again.” “Why not?” says she. “Because I order it.” “Oh!” says she, “if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either.” “You can do what you like,” says I, “but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I’ll send you one of his ears for a keepsake.” She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house.\n\n“‘Well, I don’t know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don’t know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well.\n\n“‘Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin.\n\n“‘It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath.\n\n“‘I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There’s something throbbing in my head now, like a docker’s hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears.\n\n“‘Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water.\n\n“‘It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him “Alec.” I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and—well, there! I’ve said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast.\n\n“‘There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me—staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won’t put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity’s sake don’t, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.’\n\n“What is the meaning of it, Watson?2” said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. “What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever.”\n\nText taken from here\n\n\n  \n    \n      This is some text for a footnote. &#8617;\n    \n    \n      Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros. Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. &#8617;\n    \n  \n\n",
      "content_html": "<p>In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes<sup id=\"fnref:1\" role=\"doc-noteref\"><a href=\"#fn:1\" class=\"footnote\">1</a></sup>, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the problem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events.</p>\n\n<p>It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these were the same walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very center of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country.</p>\n\n<p>Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had tossed side the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion’s voice broke in upon my thoughts:</p>\n\n<p>“You are right, Watson,” said he. “It does seem a most preposterous way of settling a dispute.”</p>\n\n<p>“Most preposterous!” I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement.</p>\n\n<p>“What is this, Holmes?” I cried. “This is beyond anything which I could have imagined.”</p>\n\n<p>He laughed heartily at my perplexity.</p>\n\n<p>“You remember,” said he, “that some little time ago when I read you the passage in one of Poe’s sketches in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of the author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity.”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, no!”</p>\n\n<p>“Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport with you.”</p>\n\n<p>But I was still far from satisfied. “In the example which you read to me,” said I, “the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues can I have given you?”</p>\n\n<p>“You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful servants.”</p>\n\n<p>“Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?”</p>\n\n<p>“Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, I cannot.”</p>\n\n<p>“Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon the top of your books. Then you glanced up at the wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with Gordon’s picture there.”</p>\n\n<p>“You have followed me wonderfully!” I exclaimed.</p>\n\n<p>“So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Beecher’s career. I was well aware that you could not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember your expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder, you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your own old wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous and was glad to find that all my deductions had been correct.”</p>\n\n<p>“Absolutely!” said I. “And now that you have explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as before.”</p>\n\n<p>“It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity the other day. But I have in my hands here a little problem which may prove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay I thought reading. Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to the remarkable contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss Cushing, of Cross Street, Croydon?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, I saw nothing.”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me. Here it is, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be good enough to read it aloud.”</p>\n\n<p>I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read the paragraph indicated. It was headed, “A Gruesome Packet.”</p>\n\n<p>“Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been made the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practical joke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached to the incident. At two o’clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrapped in brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard box was inside, which was filled with coarse salt. On emptying this, Miss Cushing was horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed. The box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morning before. There is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the more mysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondents that it is a rare event for her to receive anything through the post. Some years ago, however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house to three young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion that this outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the theory by the fact that one of these students came from the north of Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing’s belief, from Belfast. In the meantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one of the very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case.”\n“So much for the Daily Chronicle,” said Holmes as I finished reading. “Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, in which he says:</p>\n\n<p>“I think that this case is very much in your line. We have every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything to work upon. We have, of course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but a large number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender. The box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us in any way. The medical student theory still appears to me to be the most feasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare I should be very happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in the police-station all day.\n“What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and run down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?”</p>\n\n<p>“I was longing for something to do.”</p>\n\n<p>“You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to order a cab. I’ll be back in a moment when I have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigar-case.”</p>\n\n<p>A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided.</p>\n\n<p>It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her.</p>\n\n<p>“They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things,” said she as Lestrade entered. “I wish that you would take them away altogether.”</p>\n\n<p>“So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your presence.”</p>\n\n<p>“Why in my presence, sir?”</p>\n\n<p>“In case he wished to ask any questions.”</p>\n\n<p>“What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know nothing whatever about it?”</p>\n\n<p>“Quite so, madam,” said Holmes in his soothing way. “I have no doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business.”</p>\n\n<p>“Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is something new for me to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. I won’t have those things I here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse.”</p>\n\n<p>It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the end of the path, and we all sat down while Homes examined one by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to him.</p>\n\n<p>“The string is exceedingly interesting,” he remarked, holding it up to the light and sniffing at it. “What do you make of this string, Lestrade?”</p>\n\n<p>“It has been tarred.”</p>\n\n<p>“Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt, remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance.”</p>\n\n<p>“I cannot see the importance,” said Lestrade.</p>\n\n<p>“The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this knot is of a peculiar character.”</p>\n\n<p>“It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect,” said Lestrade complacently.</p>\n\n<p>“So much for the string, then,” said Holmes, smiling, “now for the box wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed in rather straggling characters: ‘Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon.’ Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The word ‘Croydon’ has been originally spelled with an ‘i’, which has been changed to ‘y’. The parcel was directed, then, by a man—the printing is distinctly masculine—of limited education and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarser commercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singular enclosures.”</p>\n\n<p>He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation.</p>\n\n<p>“You have observed, of course,” said he at last, “that the ears are not a pair.”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send two odd ears as a pair.”</p>\n\n<p>“Precisely. But this is not a practical joke.”</p>\n\n<p>“You are sure of it?”</p>\n\n<p>“The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives which would suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt. I repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we are investigating a serious crime.”</p>\n\n<p>A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion’s words and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror in the background. Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is only half convinced.</p>\n\n<p>“There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt,” said he, “but there are much stronger reasons against the other. We know that this woman has led a most quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for the last twenty years. She has hardly been away from her home for a day during that time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as little of the matter as we do?”</p>\n\n<p>“That is the problem which we have to solve,” Holmes answered, “and for my part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed. One of these ears is a woman’s, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other is a man’s, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. These two people are presumably dead, or we should have heard their story before now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursday morning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If the two people were murdered, who but their murderer would have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have some strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? It must have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her, perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is what she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is a tangle here which needs straightening to.” He had been talking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house.</p>\n\n<p>“I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“In that case I may leave you here,” said Lestrade, “for I have another small business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police-station.”</p>\n\n<p>“We shall look in on our way to the train,” answered Holmes. A moment later he and I were back in the front room, where the impassive lady was still quietly working away at her antimacassar. She put it down on her lap as we entered and looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes.</p>\n\n<p>“I am convinced, sir,” she said, “that this matter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me. I have not an enemy in the world, as far as I know, so why should anyone play me such a trick?”</p>\n\n<p>“I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing,” said Holmes, taking a seat beside her. “I think that it is more than probable—” He paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady’s profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I could see nothing which could account for my companion’s evident excitement.</p>\n\n<p>“There were one or two questions—”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh, I am weary of questions!” cried Miss Cushing impatiently.</p>\n\n<p>“You have two sisters, I believe.”</p>\n\n<p>“How could you know that?”</p>\n\n<p>“I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have a portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that there could be no doubt of the relationship.”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary.”</p>\n\n<p>“And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at the time.”</p>\n\n<p>“You are very quick at observing.”</p>\n\n<p>“That is my trade.”</p>\n\n<p>“Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a few days afterwards. He was on the South American line when that was taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn’t abide to leave her for so long, and he got into the Liverpool and London boats.”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?”</p>\n\n<p>“No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don’t know how things are going with them.”</p>\n\n<p>It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on which she felt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy at first, but ended by becoming extremely communicative. She told us many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals. Holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing in a question from time to time.</p>\n\n<p>“About your second sister, Sarah,” said he. “I wonder, since you are both maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together.”</p>\n\n<p>“Ah! you don’t know Sarah’s temper or you would wonder no more. I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part. I don’t want to say a word against my own sister, but she was always meddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah.”</p>\n\n<p>“You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations.”</p>\n\n<p>“Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for Jim Browner. The last six months that she was here she would speak of nothing but his drinking and his ways. He had caught her meddling, I suspect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was the start of it.”</p>\n\n<p>“Thank you, Miss Cushing,” said Holmes, rising and bowing. “Your sister Sarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington? Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do.”</p>\n\n<p>There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it.</p>\n\n<p>“How far to Wallington?” he asked.</p>\n\n<p>“Only about a mile, sir.”</p>\n\n<p>“Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron is hot. Simple as the case is, there have been one or two very instructive details in connection with it. Just pull up at a telegraph office as you pass, cabby.”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay back in the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his face. Our drive pulled up at a house which was not unlike the one which we had just quitted. My companion ordered him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when the door opened and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step.</p>\n\n<p>“Is Miss Cushing at home?” asked Holmes.</p>\n\n<p>“Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill,” said he. “She has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days.” He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street.</p>\n\n<p>“Well, if we can’t we can’t,” said Holmes, cheerfully.</p>\n\n<p>“Perhaps she could not or would not have told you much.”</p>\n\n<p>“I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her. However, I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us to some decent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch, and afterwards we shall drop down upon friend Lestrade at the police-station.”</p>\n\n<p>We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker’s in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him to Paganini, and we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon was far advanced and the hot glare had softened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves at the police-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at the door.</p>\n\n<p>“A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“Ha! It is the answer!” He tore it open, glanced his eyes over it, and crumpled it into his pocket. “That’s all right,” said he.</p>\n\n<p>“Have you found out anything?”</p>\n\n<p>“I have found out everything!”</p>\n\n<p>“What!” Lestrade stared at him in amazement. “You are joking.”</p>\n\n<p>“I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has been committed, and I think I have now laid bare every detail of it.”</p>\n\n<p>“And the criminal?”</p>\n\n<p>Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards and threw it over to Lestrade.</p>\n\n<p>“That is the name,” he said. “You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Watson.” We strode off together to the station, leaving Lestrade still staring with a delighted face at the card which Holmes had thrown him.</p>\n\n<p>“The case,” said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over or cigars that night in our rooms at Baker Street, “is one where, as in the investigations which you have chronicled under the names of ‘A Study in Scarlet’ and of ‘The Sign of Four,’ we have been compelled to reason backward from effects to causes. I have written to Lestrade asking him to supply us with the details which are now wanting, and which he will only get after he had secured his man. That he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and indeed, it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at Scotland Yard.”</p>\n\n<p>“Your case is not complete, then?” I asked.</p>\n\n<p>“It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions.”</p>\n\n<p>“I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?”</p>\n\n<p>“Oh! it is more than a suspicion.”</p>\n\n<p>“And yet I cannot see anything save very vague indications.”</p>\n\n<p>“On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear. Let me run over the principal steps. We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories. We were simply there to observe and to draw inferences from our observations. What did we see first? A very placid and respectable lady, who seemed quite innocent of any secret, and a portrait which showed me that she had two younger sisters. It instantly flashed across my mind that the box might have been meant for one of these. I set the idea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at our leisure. Then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we saw the very singular contents of the little yellow box.</p>\n\n<p>“The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes.</p>\n\n<p>“When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was ‘S’ it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely.</p>\n\n<p>“As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year’s Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear.</p>\n\n<p>“In the first place, her sister’s name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address.</p>\n\n<p>“And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions—you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife—subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man—presumably a seafaring man—had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet.</p>\n\n<p>“A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah.</p>\n\n<p>“I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet—for her illness dated from that time—had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her.</p>\n\n<p>“However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner’s house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in.”</p>\n\n<p>Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap.</p>\n\n<p>“Lestrade has got him all right,” said Holmes, glancing up at me. “Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says.</p>\n\n<p>“My dear Mr. Holmes:\n“In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories” [“the ‘we’ is rather fine, Watson, is it not?”] “I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy—something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards,\n“Yours very truly,\n“G. Lestrade.\n“Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one,” remarked Holmes, “but I don’t think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim.”</p>\n\n<p>“‘Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don’t care a plug which you do. I tell you I’ve not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don’t believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it’s his face, but most generally it’s hers. I’m never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o’ surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before.</p>\n\n<p>“‘But it was Sarah’s fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It’s not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me—that’s the root of the business—she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife’s footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul.</p>\n\n<p>“‘There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves.</p>\n\n<p>“‘I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it?</p>\n\n<p>“‘I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God’s mercy.</p>\n\n<p>“‘It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. “Where’s Mary?” I asked. “Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts.” I was impatient and paced up and down the room. “Can’t you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?” says she. “It’s a bad compliment to me that you can’t be contented with my society for so short a time.” “That’s all right, my lass,” said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. “Steady old Jim!” said she, and with a kind o’ mocking laugh, she ran out of the room.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us—a besotted fool—but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife’s mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker.</p>\n\n<p>“‘It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won’t deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever.</p>\n\n<p>“‘It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife’s face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil’s light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. “Don’t, Jim, don’t!” says she. “Where’s Sarah?” I asked. “In the kitchen,” says she. “Sarah,” says I as I went in, “this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again.” “Why not?” says she. “Because I order it.” “Oh!” says she, “if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either.” “You can do what you like,” says I, “but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I’ll send you one of his ears for a keepsake.” She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Well, I don’t know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don’t know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin.</p>\n\n<p>“‘It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath.</p>\n\n<p>“‘I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There’s something throbbing in my head now, like a docker’s hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears.</p>\n\n<p>“‘Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water.</p>\n\n<p>“‘It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him “Alec.” I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and—well, there! I’ve said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast.</p>\n\n<p>“‘There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me—staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won’t put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity’s sake don’t, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.’</p>\n\n<p>“What is the meaning of it, Watson?<sup id=\"fnref:2\" role=\"doc-noteref\"><a href=\"#fn:2\" class=\"footnote\">2</a></sup>” said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. “What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever.”</p>\n\n<p><a href=\"http://sherlock-holm.es/stories/html/card.html\">Text taken from here</a></p>\n\n<div class=\"footnotes\" role=\"doc-endnotes\">\n  <ol>\n    <li id=\"fn:1\" role=\"doc-endnote\">\n      <p>This is some text for a footnote. <a href=\"#fnref:1\" class=\"reversefootnote\" role=\"doc-backlink\">&#8617;</a></p>\n    </li>\n    <li id=\"fn:2\" role=\"doc-endnote\">\n      <p>Maecenas faucibus mollis interdum. Morbi leo risus, porta ac consectetur ac, vestibulum at eros. Duis mollis, est non commodo luctus, nisi erat porttitor ligula, eget lacinia odio sem nec elit. Integer posuere erat a ante venenatis dapibus posuere velit aliquet. Donec ullamcorper nulla non metus auctor fringilla. <a href=\"#fnref:2\" class=\"reversefootnote\" role=\"doc-backlink\">&#8617;</a></p>\n    </li>\n  </ol>\n</div>\n",
      "url": "https://patdryburgh.github.io/hitchens/literature/2011/11/11/the-adventure-of-the-cardboard-box.html",
      "date_published": "2011-11-11T00:00:00+00:00",
      "date_modified": "2011-11-11T00:00:00+00:00",
      "author": {
        "name": "Arthur Conan Doyle"
      }
    }
  ]
}