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    <h1>
      MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      Contents
    </h2>
    <table summary="">
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> Adventure I. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          Silver Blaze
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> Adventure II. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Yellow Face
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> Adventure III. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Stock-Broker's Clerk
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> Adventure IV. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The "<i>Gloria Scott</i>"
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> Adventure V. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Musgrave Ritual
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> Adventure VI. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Reigate Puzzle
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> Adventure VII. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Crooked Man
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> Adventure VIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Resident Patient
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> Adventure IX. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Greek Interpreter
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> Adventure X. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Naval Treaty
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
          <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> Adventure XI. </a>
        </td>
        <td>
          The Final Problem
        </td>
      </tr>
      <tr>
        <td>
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      Adventure I. Silver Blaze
    </h2>
    <p>
      "I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat
      down together to our breakfast one morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go! Where to?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the
      way," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Watson, you would confer a great favor upon me by coming. And I
      think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about the
      case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We have, I think,
      just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will go further into the
      matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with you your
      very excellent field-glass."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say."
    </p>
    <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&mdash;of absolute undeniable fact&mdash;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>
    <p>
      "Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday morning. Why didn't
      you go down yesterday?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson&mdash;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>
    <p>
      "You have formed a theory, then?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "'You are close to the King's Pyland training-stables,' said she.
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "'What business have you here?' asked the lad.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It's business that may put something into your pocket,' said the other.
      'You've two horses in for the Wessex Cup&mdash;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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "One moment," I asked. "Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the dog,
      leave the door unlocked behind him?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Is it not possible," I suggested, "that the incised wound upon Straker
      may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles which
      follow any brain injury?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "And yet," said I, "even now I fail to understand what the theory of the
      police can be."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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&mdash;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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Have there been any fresh developments?" asked Holmes.
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "How about Straker's knife?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his
      fall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. If so,
      it would tell against this man Simpson."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "What does he say about the cravat?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      Holmes pricked up his ears.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "It is certainly possible."
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of the
      Mapleton stables?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing at all."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime, Mr.
      Holmes?" said Gregory.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Yes; he lies upstairs. The inquest is to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have always found him an excellent servant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in his pockets at the
      time of his death, Inspector?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if you would care to
      see them."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "It is what we call a cataract knife," said I.
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Very possible. How about these papers?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Have you got them? Have you found them?" she panted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from London to help us,
      and we shall do all that is possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little time ago, Mrs.
      Straker?" said Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir; you are mistaken."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume of
      dove-colored silk with ostrich-feather trimming."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never had such a dress, sir," answered the lady.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "There was no wind that night, I understand," said Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "None; but very heavy rain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush, but
      placed there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, it was laid across the bush."
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all stood
      upon that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "I cannot think how I came to overlook it," said the Inspector, with an
      expression of annoyance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was looking
      for it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What! You expected to find it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought it not unlikely."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Certainly not," cried Holmes, with decision. "I should let the name
      stand."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Where is he, then?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "The horse was alone before," I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "We don't want any loiterers about here," said he.
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "What's this, Dawson!" he cried. "No gossiping! Go about your business!
      And you, what the devil do you want here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir," said Holmes in the sweetest of
      voices.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's ear. He
      started violently and flushed to the temples.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a lie!" he shouted, "an infernal lie!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in your
      parlor?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, come in if you wish to."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There must be no mistake," said Holmes, looking round at him. The other
      winced as he read the menace in his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change it
      first or not?"
    </p>
    <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&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!"
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "He has the horse, then?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "But his stables had been searched?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, an old horse-faker like him has many a dodge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he has
      every interest in injuring it?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show much
      mercy in any case."
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Certainly not without your permission."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the question of
      who killed John Straker."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you will devote yourself to that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night train."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      The Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel's lip curled in a sneer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker," said he.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      The Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him.
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "At least you have his assurance that your horse will run," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I have his assurance," said the Colonel, with a shrug of his
      shoulders. "I should prefer to have the horse."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he entered the
      room again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready for Tavistock."
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "Who attends to them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them have gone lame, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and rubbed
      his hands together.
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "You consider that to be important?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Exceedingly so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The dog did nothing in the night-time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock Holmes.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "I have seen nothing of my horse," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?" asked Holmes.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "How is the betting?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Hum!" said Holmes. "Somebody knows something, that is clear."
    </p>
    <p>
      As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand stand I glanced at the
      card to see the entries.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs each h ft with 1000 sovs added for four and
      five year olds. Second, L300. Third, L200. New course (one mile and five
      furlongs). Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket. Colonel
      Wardlaw's Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket. Lord Backwater's
      Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves. Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze. Black
      cap. Red jacket. Duke of Balmoral's Iris. Yellow and black stripes. Lord
      Singleford's Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your word," said the
      Colonel. "Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favorite?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "There are the numbers up," I cried. "They are all six there."
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Only five have passed. This must be he."
    </p>
    <p>
      As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing enclosure and
      cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red of the
      Colonel.
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "You take my breath away!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I found him in the hands of a faker, and took the liberty of running him
      just as he was sent over."
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "I have done so," said Holmes quietly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. "You have got him! Where is
      he, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here! Where?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In my company at the present moment."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "The horse!" cried both the Colonel and myself.
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "I confess," said the Colonel, "that even now I cannot see how it helps
      us."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Villain! Scoundrel!" cried the Colonel.
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "I have been blind!" cried the Colonel. "Of course that was why he needed
      the candle, and struck the match."
    </p>
    <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>
    <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&mdash;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>
    <p>
      "Wonderful!" cried the Colonel. "Wonderful! You might have been there!"
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "You have explained all but one thing," cried the Colonel. "Where was the
      horse?"
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure II. The Yellow Face
    </h2>
    <p>
      [In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous cases in which
      my companion's singular gifts have made us the listeners to, and
      eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that I
      should dwell rather upon his successes than upon his failures. And this
      not so much for the sake of his reputation&mdash;for, indeed, it was when
      he was at his wits' end that his energy and his versatility were most
      admirable&mdash;but because where he failed it happened too often that no
      one else succeeded, and that the tale was left forever without a
      conclusion. Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred,
      the truth was still discovered. I have noted of some half-dozen cases of
      the kind; the Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about
      to recount are the two which present the strongest features of interest.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise's sake.
      Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly
      one of the finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but he
      looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom
      bestirred himself save when there was some professional object to be
      served. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That he should
      have kept himself in training under such circumstances is remarkable, but
      his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the
      verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no
      vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of
      existence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting.
    </p>
    <p>
      One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk with me
      in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were breaking out upon
      the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were just beginning
      to burst into their five-fold leaves. For two hours we rambled about
      together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know each
      other intimately. It was nearly five before we were back in Baker Street
      once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Beg pardon, sir," said our page-boy, as he opened the door. "There's been
      a gentleman here asking for you, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. "So much for afternoon walks!" said
      he. "Has this gentleman gone, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Didn't you ask him in?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir; he came in."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How long did he wait?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman, sir, a-walkin' and
      a-stampin' all the time he was here. I was waitin' outside the door, sir,
      and I could hear him. At last he outs into the passage, and he cries, 'Is
      that man never goin' to come?' Those were his very words, sir. 'You'll
      only need to wait a little longer,' says I. 'Then I'll wait in the open
      air, for I feel half choked,' says he. 'I'll be back before long.' And
      with that he ups and he outs, and all I could say wouldn't hold him back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, you did your best," said Holmes, as we walked into our room.
      "It's very annoying, though, Watson. I was badly in need of a case, and
      this looks, from the man's impatience, as if it were of importance. Hullo!
      That's not your pipe on the table. He must have left his behind him. A
      nice old brier with a good long stem of what the tobacconists call amber.
      I wonder how many real amber mouthpieces there are in London? Some people
      think that a fly in it is a sign. Well, he must have been disturbed in his
      mind to leave a pipe behind him which he evidently values highly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you know that he values it highly?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at seven and sixpence.
      Now it has, you see, been twice mended, once in the wooden stem and once
      in the amber. Each of these mends, done, as you observe, with silver
      bands, must have cost more than the pipe did originally. The man must
      value the pipe highly when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a new
      one with the same money."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Anything else?" I asked, for Holmes was turning the pipe about in his
      hand, and staring at it in his peculiar pensive way.
    </p>
    <p>
      He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin fore-finger, as a
      professor might who was lecturing on a bone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest," said he. "Nothing has
      more individuality, save perhaps watches and bootlaces. The indications
      here, however, are neither very marked nor very important. The owner is
      obviously a muscular man, left-handed, with an excellent set of teeth,
      careless in his habits, and with no need to practise economy."
    </p>
    <p>
      My friend threw out the information in a very offhand way, but I saw that
      he cocked his eye at me to see if I had followed his reasoning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a seven-shilling pipe,"
      said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce," Holmes answered,
      knocking a little out on his palm. "As he might get an excellent smoke for
      half the price, he has no need to practise economy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the other points?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps and gas-jets. You
      can see that it is quite charred all down one side. Of course a match
      could not have done that. Why should a man hold a match to the side of his
      pipe? But you cannot light it at a lamp without getting the bowl charred.
      And it is all on the right side of the pipe. From that I gather that he is
      a left-handed man. You hold your own pipe to the lamp, and see how
      naturally you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the flame. You
      might do it once the other way, but not as a constancy. This has always
      been held so. Then he has bitten through his amber. It takes a muscular,
      energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to do that. But if I
      am not mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall have something more
      interesting than his pipe to study."
    </p>
    <p>
      An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered the room.
      He was well but quietly dressed in a dark-gray suit, and carried a brown
      wide-awake in his hand. I should have put him at about thirty, though he
      was really some years older.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I beg your pardon," said he, with some embarrassment; "I suppose I should
      have knocked. Yes, of course I should have knocked. The fact is that I am
      a little upset, and you must put it all down to that." He passed his hand
      over his forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then fell rather than
      sat down upon a chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can see that you have not slept for a night or two," said Holmes, in
      his easy, genial way. "That tries a man's nerves more than work, and more
      even than pleasure. May I ask how I can help you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wanted your advice, sir. I don't know what to do and my whole life
      seems to have gone to pieces."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious man&mdash;as a man of
      the world. I want to know what I ought to do next. I hope to God you'll be
      able to tell me."
    </p>
    <p>
      He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me that to
      speak at all was very painful to him, and that his will all through was
      overriding his inclinations.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a very delicate thing," said he. "One does not like to speak of
      one's domestic affairs to strangers. It seems dreadful to discuss the
      conduct of one's wife with two men whom I have never seen before. It's
      horrible to have to do it. But I've got to the end of my tether, and I
      must have advice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Mr. Grant Munro&mdash;" began Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our visitor sprang from his chair. "What!" he cried, "you know my name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you wish to preserve your incognito," said Holmes, smiling, "I would
      suggest that you cease to write your name upon the lining of your hat, or
      else that you turn the crown towards the person whom you are addressing. I
      was about to say that my friend and I have listened to a good many strange
      secrets in this room, and that we have had the good fortune to bring peace
      to many troubled souls. I trust that we may do as much for you. Might I
      beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to furnish me with the
      facts of your case without further delay?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if he found it
      bitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I could see that he was a
      reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his nature, more
      likely to hide his wounds than to expose them. Then suddenly, with a
      fierce gesture of his closed hand, like one who throws reserve to the
      winds, he began.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The facts are these, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am a married man, and have
      been so for three years. During that time my wife and I have loved each
      other as fondly and lived as happily as any two that ever were joined. We
      have not had a difference, not one, in thought or word or deed. And now,
      since last Monday, there has suddenly sprung up a barrier between us, and
      I find that there is something in her life and in her thought of which I
      know as little as if she were the woman who brushes by me in the street.
      We are estranged, and I want to know why.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon you before I go any
      further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me. Don't let there be any mistake about
      that. She loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more than now.
      I know it. I feel it. I don't want to argue about that. A man can tell
      easily enough when a woman loves him. But there's this secret between us,
      and we can never be the same until it is cleared."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro," said Holmes, with some
      impatience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll tell you what I know about Effie's history. She was a widow when I
      met her first, though quite young&mdash;only twenty-five. Her name then
      was Mrs. Hebron. She went out to America when she was young, and lived in
      the town of Atlanta, where she married this Hebron, who was a lawyer with
      a good practice. They had one child, but the yellow fever broke out badly
      in the place, and both husband and child died of it. I have seen his death
      certificate. This sickened her of America, and she came back to live with
      a maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention that her husband had
      left her comfortably off, and that she had a capital of about four
      thousand five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested by him that
      it returned an average of seven per cent. She had only been six months at
      Pinner when I met her; we fell in love with each other, and we married a
      few weeks afterwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of seven or eight
      hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off, and took a nice
      eighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little place was very
      countrified, considering that it is so close to town. We had an inn and
      two houses a little above us, and a single cottage at the other side of
      the field which faces us, and except those there were no houses until you
      got half way to the station. My business took me into town at certain
      seasons, but in summer I had less to do, and then in our country home my
      wife and I were just as happy as could be wished. I tell you that there
      never was a shadow between us until this accursed affair began.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's one thing I ought to tell you before I go further. When we
      married, my wife made over all her property to me&mdash;rather against my
      will, for I saw how awkward it would be if my business affairs went wrong.
      However, she would have it so, and it was done. Well, about six weeks ago
      she came to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Jack,' said she, 'when you took my money you said that if ever I wanted
      any I was to ask you for it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Certainly,' said I. 'It's all your own.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well,' said she, 'I want a hundred pounds.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it was simply a new
      dress or something of the kind that she was after.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What on earth for?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh,' said she, in her playful way, 'you said that you were only my
      banker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'If you really mean it, of course you shall have the money,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, yes, I really mean it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And you won't tell me what you want it for?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "So I had to be content with that, though it was the first time that there
      had ever been any secret between us. I gave her a check, and I never
      thought any more of the matter. It may have nothing to do with what came
      afterwards, but I thought it only right to mention it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not far from our house.
      There is just a field between us, but to reach it you have to go along the
      road and then turn down a lane. Just beyond it is a nice little grove of
      Scotch firs, and I used to be very fond of strolling down there, for trees
      are always a neighborly kind of things. The cottage had been standing
      empty this eight months, and it was a pity, for it was a pretty
      two-storied place, with an old-fashioned porch and honeysuckle about it. I
      have stood many a time and thought what a neat little homestead it would
      make.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down that way, when I met
      an empty van coming up the lane, and saw a pile of carpets and things
      lying about on the grass-plot beside the porch. It was clear that the
      cottage had at last been let. I walked past it, and wondered what sort of
      folk they were who had come to live so near us. And as I looked I suddenly
      became aware that a face was watching me out of one of the upper windows.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes, but it seemed to
      send a chill right down my back. I was some little way off, so that I
      could not make out the features, but there was something unnatural and
      inhuman about the face. That was the impression that I had, and I moved
      quickly forwards to get a nearer view of the person who was watching me.
      But as I did so the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it seemed
      to have been plucked away into the darkness of the room. I stood for five
      minutes thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my impressions.
      I could not tell if the face were that of a man or a woman. It had been
      too far from me for that. But its color was what had impressed me most. It
      was of a livid chalky white, and with something set and rigid about it
      which was shockingly unnatural. So disturbed was I that I determined to
      see a little more of the new inmates of the cottage. I approached and
      knocked at the door, which was instantly opened by a tall, gaunt woman
      with a harsh, forbidding face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What may you be wantin'?' she asked, in a Northern accent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I am your neighbor over yonder,' said I, nodding towards my house. 'I
      see that you have only just moved in, so I thought that if I could be of
      any help to you in any&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ay, we'll just ask ye when we want ye,' said she, and shut the door in
      my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff, I turned my back and walked home.
      All evening, though I tried to think of other things, my mind would still
      turn to the apparition at the window and the rudeness of the woman. I
      determined to say nothing about the former to my wife, for she is a
      nervous, highly strung woman, and I had no wish that she would share the
      unpleasant impression which had been produced upon myself. I remarked to
      her, however, before I fell asleep, that the cottage was now occupied, to
      which she returned no reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has been a standing jest in
      the family that nothing could ever wake me during the night. And yet
      somehow on that particular night, whether it may have been the slight
      excitement produced by my little adventure or not I know not, but I slept
      much more lightly than usual. Half in my dreams I was dimly conscious that
      something was going on in the room, and gradually became aware that my
      wife had dressed herself and was slipping on her mantle and her bonnet. My
      lips were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of surprise or
      remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly my half-opened
      eyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the candle-light, and astonishment
      held me dumb. She wore an expression such as I had never seen before&mdash;such
      as I should have thought her incapable of assuming. She was deadly pale
      and breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed as she fastened her
      mantle, to see if she had disturbed me. Then, thinking that I was still
      asleep, she slipped noiselessly from the room, and an instant later I
      heard a sharp creaking which could only come from the hinges of the front
      door. I sat up in bed and rapped my knuckles against the rail to make
      certain that I was truly awake. Then I took my watch from under the
      pillow. It was three in the morning. What on this earth could my wife be
      doing out on the country road at three in the morning?
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in my mind and
      trying to find some possible explanation. The more I thought, the more
      extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. I was still puzzling over it
      when I heard the door gently close again, and her footsteps coming up the
      stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where in the world have you been, Effie?' I asked as she entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when I spoke, and that
      cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for there was something
      indescribably guilty about them. My wife had always been a woman of a
      frank, open nature, and it gave me a chill to see her slinking into her
      own room, and crying out and wincing when her own husband spoke to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You awake, Jack!' she cried, with a nervous laugh. 'Why, I thought that
      nothing could awake you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where have you been?' I asked, more sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I don't wonder that you are surprised,' said she, and I could see that
      her fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings of her mantle.
      'Why, I never remember having done such a thing in my life before. The
      fact is that I felt as though I were choking, and had a perfect longing
      for a breath of fresh air. I really think that I should have fainted if I
      had not gone out. I stood at the door for a few minutes, and now I am
      quite myself again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "All the time that she was telling me this story she never once looked in
      my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual tones. It was
      evident to me that she was saying what was false. I said nothing in reply,
      but turned my face to the wall, sick at heart, with my mind filled with a
      thousand venomous doubts and suspicions. What was it that my wife was
      concealing from me? Where had she been during that strange expedition? I
      felt that I should have no peace until I knew, and yet I shrank from
      asking her again after once she had told me what was false. All the rest
      of the night I tossed and tumbled, framing theory after theory, each more
      unlikely than the last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should have gone to the City that day, but I was too disturbed in my
      mind to be able to pay attention to business matters. My wife seemed to be
      as upset as myself, and I could see from the little questioning glances
      which she kept shooting at me that she understood that I disbelieved her
      statement, and that she was at her wits' end what to do. We hardly
      exchanged a word during breakfast, and immediately afterwards I went out
      for a walk, that I might think the matter out in the fresh morning air.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in the grounds, and
      was back in Norbury by one o'clock. It happened that my way took me past
      the cottage, and I stopped for an instant to look at the windows, and to
      see if I could catch a glimpse of the strange face which had looked out at
      me on the day before. As I stood there, imagine my surprise, Mr. Holmes,
      when the door suddenly opened and my wife walked out.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of her; but my emotions
      were nothing to those which showed themselves upon her face when our eyes
      met. She seemed for an instant to wish to shrink back inside the house
      again; and then, seeing how useless all concealment must be, she came
      forward, with a very white face and frightened eyes which belied the smile
      upon her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, Jack,' she said, 'I have just been in to see if I can be of any
      assistance to our new neighbors. Why do you look at me like that, Jack?
      You are not angry with me?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'So,' said I, 'this is where you went during the night.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What do you mean?' she cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You came here. I am sure of it. Who are these people, that you should
      visit them at such an hour?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I have not been here before.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'How can you tell me what you know is false?' I cried. 'Your very voice
      changes as you speak. When have I ever had a secret from you? I shall
      enter that cottage, and I shall probe the matter to the bottom.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No, no, Jack, for God's sake!' she gasped, in uncontrollable emotion.
      Then, as I approached the door, she seized my sleeve and pulled me back
      with convulsive strength.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I implore you not to do this, Jack,' she cried. 'I swear that I will
      tell you everything some day, but nothing but misery can come of it if you
      enter that cottage.' Then, as I tried to shake her off, she clung to me in
      a frenzy of entreaty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Trust me, Jack!' she cried. 'Trust me only this once. You will never
      have cause to regret it. You know that I would not have a secret from you
      if it were not for your own sake. Our whole lives are at stake in this. If
      you come home with me, all will be well. If you force your way into that
      cottage, all is over between us.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner that her words
      arrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only,' said I at
      last. 'It is that this mystery comes to an end from now. You are at
      liberty to preserve your secret, but you must promise me that there shall
      be no more nightly visits, no more doings which are kept from my
      knowledge. I am willing to forget those which are passed if you will
      promise that there shall be no more in the future.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I was sure that you would trust me,' she cried, with a great sigh of
      relief. 'It shall be just as you wish. Come away&mdash;oh, come away up to
      the house.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage. As we went
      I glanced back, and there was that yellow livid face watching us out of
      the upper window. What link could there be between that creature and my
      wife? Or how could the coarse, rough woman whom I had seen the day before
      be connected with her? It was a strange puzzle, and yet I knew that my
      mind could never know ease again until I had solved it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife appeared to abide
      loyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know, she never stirred out of
      the house. On the third day, however, I had ample evidence that her solemn
      promise was not enough to hold her back from this secret influence which
      drew her away from her husband and her duty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by the 2.40 instead of
      the 3.36, which is my usual train. As I entered the house the maid ran
      into the hall with a startled face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where is your mistress?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I think that she has gone out for a walk,' she answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My mind was instantly filled with suspicion. I rushed upstairs to make
      sure that she was not in the house. As I did so I happened to glance out
      of one of the upper windows, and saw the maid with whom I had just been
      speaking running across the field in the direction of the cottage. Then of
      course I saw exactly what it all meant. My wife had gone over there, and
      had asked the servant to call her if I should return. Tingling with anger,
      I rushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter once and
      forever. I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back along the lane, but I
      did not stop to speak with them. In the cottage lay the secret which was
      casting a shadow over my life. I vowed that, come what might, it should be
      a secret no longer. I did not even knock when I reached it, but turned the
      handle and rushed into the passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor. In the kitchen a kettle
      was singing on the fire, and a large black cat lay coiled up in the
      basket; but there was no sign of the woman whom I had seen before. I ran
      into the other room, but it was equally deserted. Then I rushed up the
      stairs, only to find two other rooms empty and deserted at the top. There
      was no one at all in the whole house. The furniture and pictures were of
      the most common and vulgar description, save in the one chamber at the
      window of which I had seen the strange face. That was comfortable and
      elegant, and all my suspicions rose into a fierce bitter flame when I saw
      that on the mantelpiece stood a copy of a full-length photograph of my
      wife, which had been taken at my request only three months ago.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I stayed long enough to make certain that the house was absolutely empty.
      Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart such as I had never had
      before. My wife came out into the hall as I entered my house; but I was
      too hurt and angry to speak with her, and pushing past her, I made my way
      into my study. She followed me, however, before I could close the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,' said she; 'but if you knew
      all the circumstances I am sure that you would forgive me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tell me everything, then,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I cannot, Jack, I cannot,' she cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Until you tell me who it is that has been living in that cottage, and
      who it is to whom you have given that photograph, there can never be any
      confidence between us,' said I, and breaking away from her, I left the
      house. That was yesterday, Mr. Holmes, and I have not seen her since, nor
      do I know anything more about this strange business. It is the first
      shadow that has come between us, and it has so shaken me that I do not
      know what I should do for the best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to
      me that you were the man to advise me, so I have hurried to you now, and I
      place myself unreservedly in your hands. If there is any point which I
      have not made clear, pray question me about it. But, above all, tell me
      quickly what I am to do, for this misery is more than I can bear."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to this extraordinary
      statement, which had been delivered in the jerky, broken fashion of a man
      who is under the influence of extreme emotions. My companion sat silent
      for some time, with his chin upon his hand, lost in thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell me," said he at last, "could you swear that this was a man's face
      which you saw at the window?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it, so that it is
      impossible for me to say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed by it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It seemed to be of an unnatural color, and to have a strange rigidity
      about the features. When I approached, it vanished with a jerk."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How long is it since your wife asked you for a hundred pounds?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nearly two months."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly after his death, and
      all her papers were destroyed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet she had a certificate of death. You say that you saw it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; she got a duplicate after the fire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you ever meet any one who knew her in America?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or get letters from it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you. I should like to think over the matter a little now. If the
      cottage is now permanently deserted we may have some difficulty. If, on
      the other hand, as I fancy is more likely, the inmates were warned of your
      coming, and left before you entered yesterday, then they may be back now,
      and we should clear it all up easily. Let me advise you, then, to return
      to Norbury, and to examine the windows of the cottage again. If you have
      reason to believe that it is inhabited, do not force your way in, but send
      a wire to my friend and me. We shall be with you within an hour of
      receiving it, and we shall then very soon get to the bottom of the
      business."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if it is still empty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that case I shall come out to-morrow and talk it over with you.
      Good-by; and, above all, do not fret until you know that you really have a
      cause for it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson," said my companion, as
      he returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to the door. "What do you
      make of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It had an ugly sound," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes. There's blackmail in it, or I am much mistaken."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And who is the blackmailer?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, it must be the creature who lives in the only comfortable room in
      the place, and has her photograph above his fireplace. Upon my word,
      Watson, there is something very attractive about that livid face at the
      window, and I would not have missed the case for worlds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have a theory?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does not turn out
      to be correct. This woman's first husband is in that cottage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why do you think so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one should
      not enter it? The facts, as I read them, are something like this: This
      woman was married in America. Her husband developed some hateful
      qualities; or shall we say that he contracted some loathsome disease, and
      became a leper or an imbecile? She flies from him at last, returns to
      England, changes her name, and starts her life, as she thinks, afresh. She
      has been married three years, and believes that her position is quite
      secure, having shown her husband the death certificate of some man whose
      name she has assumed, when suddenly her whereabouts is discovered by her
      first husband; or, we may suppose, by some unscrupulous woman who has
      attached herself to the invalid. They write to the wife, and threaten to
      come and expose her. She asks for a hundred pounds, and endeavors to buy
      them off. They come in spite of it, and when the husband mentions casually
      to the wife that there are new-comers in the cottage, she knows in some
      way that they are her pursuers. She waits until her husband is asleep, and
      then she rushes down to endeavor to persuade them to leave her in peace.
      Having no success, she goes again next morning, and her husband meets her,
      as he has told us, as she comes out. She promises him then not to go there
      again, but two days afterwards the hope of getting rid of those dreadful
      neighbors was too strong for her, and she made another attempt, taking
      down with her the photograph which had probably been demanded from her. In
      the midst of this interview the maid rushed in to say that the master had
      come home, on which the wife, knowing that he would come straight down to
      the cottage, hurried the inmates out at the back door, into the grove of
      fir-trees, probably, which was mentioned as standing near. In this way he
      found the place deserted. I shall be very much surprised, however, if it
      is still so when he reconnoitres it this evening. What do you think of my
      theory?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is all surmise."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come to our
      knowledge which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough to
      reconsider it. We can do nothing more until we have a message from our
      friend at Norbury."
    </p>
    <p>
      But we had not a very long time to wait for that. It came just as we had
      finished our tea. "The cottage is still tenanted," it said. "Have seen the
      face again at the window. Will meet the seven o'clock train, and will take
      no steps until you arrive."
    </p>
    <p>
      He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could see in
      the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and quivering with
      agitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are still there, Mr. Holmes," said he, laying his hand hard upon my
      friend's sleeve. "I saw lights in the cottage as I came down. We shall
      settle it now once and for all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is your plan, then?" asked Holmes, as he walked down the dark
      tree-lined road.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in the house. I
      wish you both to be there as witnesses."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wife's warning that
      it is better that you should not solve the mystery?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I am determined."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I think that you are in the right. Any truth is better than
      indefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course, legally, we are
      putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but I think that it is worth
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as we turned from
      the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with hedges on either
      side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently forward, however, and we stumbled
      after him as best we could.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are the lights of my house," he murmured, pointing to a glimmer
      among the trees. "And here is the cottage which I am going to enter."
    </p>
    <p>
      We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the building
      close beside us. A yellow bar falling across the black foreground showed
      that the door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper story was
      brightly illuminated. As we looked, we saw a dark blur moving across the
      blind.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is that creature!" cried Grant Munro. "You can see for yourselves
      that some one is there. Now follow me, and we shall soon know all."
    </p>
    <p>
      We approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared out of the shadow
      and stood in the golden track of the lamp-light. I could not see her face
      in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in an attitude of entreaty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For God's sake, don't Jack!" she cried. "I had a presentiment that you
      would come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust me again, and you
      will never have cause to regret it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have trusted you too long, Effie," he cried, sternly. "Leave go of me!
      I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settle this matter once and
      forever!" He pushed her to one side, and we followed closely after him. As
      he threw the door open an old woman ran out in front of him and tried to
      bar his passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant afterwards we were
      all upon the stairs. Grant Munro rushed into the lighted room at the top,
      and we entered at his heels.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a cosey, well-furnished apartment, with two candles burning upon
      the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping over a
      desk, there sat what appeared to be a little girl. Her face was turned
      away as we entered, but we could see that she was dressed in a red frock,
      and that she had long white gloves on. As she whisked round to us, I gave
      a cry of surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards us was of
      the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely devoid of any
      expression. An instant later the mystery was explained. Holmes, with a
      laugh, passed his hand behind the child's ear, a mask peeled off from her
      countenance, and there was a little coal black negress, with all her white
      teeth flashing in amusement at our amazed faces. I burst out laughing, out
      of sympathy with her merriment; but Grant Munro stood staring, with his
      hand clutching his throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My God!" he cried. "What can be the meaning of this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will tell you the meaning of it," cried the lady, sweeping into the
      room with a proud, set face. "You have forced me, against my own judgment,
      to tell you, and now we must both make the best of it. My husband died at
      Atlanta. My child survived."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your child?"
    </p>
    <p>
      She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. "You have never seen this
      open."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understood that it did not open."
    </p>
    <p>
      She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a portrait
      within of a man strikingly handsome and intelligent-looking, but bearing
      unmistakable signs upon his features of his African descent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is John Hebron, of Atlanta," said the lady, "and a nobler man never
      walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in order to wed him, but
      never once while he lived did I for an instant regret it. It was our
      misfortune that our only child took after his people rather than mine. It
      is often so in such matches, and little Lucy is darker far than ever her
      father was. But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie, and her
      mother's pet." The little creature ran across at the words and nestled up
      against the lady's dress. "When I left her in America," she continued, "it
      was only because her health was weak, and the change might have done her
      harm. She was given to the care of a faithful Scotch woman who had once
      been our servant. Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as my
      child. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I learned to love
      you, I feared to tell you about my child. God forgive me, I feared that I
      should lose you, and I had not the courage to tell you. I had to choose
      between you, and in my weakness I turned away from my own little girl. For
      three years I have kept her existence a secret from you, but I heard from
      the nurse, and I knew that all was well with her. At last, however, there
      came an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. I struggled
      against it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger, I determined to have
      the child over, if it were but for a few weeks. I sent a hundred pounds to
      the nurse, and I gave her instructions about this cottage, so that she
      might come as a neighbor, without my appearing to be in any way connected
      with her. I pushed my precautions so far as to order her to keep the child
      in the house during the daytime, and to cover up her little face and hands
      so that even those who might see her at the window should not gossip about
      there being a black child in the neighborhood. If I had been less cautious
      I might have been more wise, but I was half crazy with fear that you
      should learn the truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. I should have
      waited for the morning, but I could not sleep for excitement, and so at
      last I slipped out, knowing how difficult it is to awake you. But you saw
      me go, and that was the beginning of my troubles. Next day you had my
      secret at your mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing your
      advantage. Three days later, however, the nurse and child only just
      escaped from the back door as you rushed in at the front one. And now
      to-night you at last know all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my
      child and me?" She clasped her hands and waited for an answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence, and when
      his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He lifted the little
      child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her, he held his other hand
      out to his wife and turned towards the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can talk it over more comfortably at home," said he. "I am not a very
      good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have given me
      credit for being."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked at my
      sleeve as we came out.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think," said he, "that we shall be of more use in London than in
      Norbury."
    </p>
    <p>
      Not another word did he say of the case until late that night, when he was
      turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Watson," said he, "if it should ever strike you that I am getting a
      little over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it
      deserves, kindly whisper 'Norbury' in my ear, and I shall be infinitely
      obliged to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure III. The Stock-Broker's Clerk
    </h2>
    <p>
      Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the Paddington
      district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased it, had at one time an
      excellent general practice; but his age, and an affliction of the nature
      of St. Vitus's dance from which he suffered, had very much thinned it. The
      public not unnaturally goes on the principle that he who would heal others
      must himself be whole, and looks askance at the curative powers of the man
      whose own case is beyond the reach of his drugs. Thus as my predecessor
      weakened his practice declined, until when I purchased it from him it had
      sunk from twelve hundred to little more than three hundred a year. I had
      confidence, however, in my own youth and energy, and was convinced that in
      a very few years the concern would be as flourishing as ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      For three months after taking over the practice I was kept very closely at
      work, and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for I was too busy to
      visit Baker Street, and he seldom went anywhere himself save upon
      professional business. I was surprised, therefore, when, one morning in
      June, as I sat reading the British Medical Journal after breakfast, I
      heard a ring at the bell, followed by the high, somewhat strident tones of
      my old companion's voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, my dear Watson," said he, striding into the room, "I am very
      delighted to see you! I trust that Mrs. Watson has entirely recovered from
      all the little excitements connected with our adventure of the Sign of
      Four."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you, we are both very well," said I, shaking him warmly by the
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I hope, also," he continued, sitting down in the rocking-chair, "that
      the cares of medical practice have not entirely obliterated the interest
      which you used to take in our little deductive problems."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the contrary," I answered, "it was only last night that I was looking
      over my old notes, and classifying some of our past results."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust that you don't consider your collection closed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not at all. I should wish nothing better than to have some more of such
      experiences."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To-day, for example?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, to-day, if you like."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And as far off as Birmingham?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly, if you wish it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the practice?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do my neighbor's when he goes. He is always ready to work off the
      debt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha! Nothing could be better," said Holmes, leaning back in his chair and
      looking keenly at me from under his half closed lids. "I perceive that you
      have been unwell lately. Summer colds are always a little trying."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was confined to the house by a severe chill for three days last week. I
      thought, however, that I had cast off every trace of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So you have. You look remarkably robust."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How, then, did you know of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear fellow, you know my methods."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You deduced it, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And from what?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "From your slippers."
    </p>
    <p>
      I glanced down at the new patent leathers which I was wearing. "How on
      earth&mdash;" I began, but Holmes answered my question before it was
      asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your slippers are new," he said. "You could not have had them more than a
      few weeks. The soles which you are at this moment presenting to me are
      slightly scorched. For a moment I thought they might have got wet and been
      burned in the drying. But near the instep there is a small circular wafer
      of paper with the shopman's hieroglyphics upon it. Damp would of course
      have removed this. You had, then, been sitting with your feet outstretched
      to the fire, which a man would hardly do even in so wet a June as this if
      he were in his full health."
    </p>
    <p>
      Like all Holmes's reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itself when it was
      once explained. He read the thought upon my features, and his smile had a
      tinge of bitterness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid that I rather give myself away when I explain," said he.
      "Results without causes are much more impressive. You are ready to come to
      Birmingham, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly. What is the case?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You shall hear it all in the train. My client is outside in a
      four-wheeler. Can you come at once?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In an instant." I scribbled a note to my neighbor, rushed upstairs to
      explain the matter to my wife, and joined Holmes upon the door-step.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your neighbor is a doctor," said he, nodding at the brass plate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; he bought a practice as I did."
    </p>
    <p>
      "An old-established one?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just the same as mine. Both have been ever since the houses were built."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! Then you got hold of the best of the two."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think I did. But how do you know?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the steps, my boy. Yours are worn three inches deeper than his. But
      this gentleman in the cab is my client, Mr. Hall Pycroft. Allow me to
      introduce you to him. Whip your horse up, cabby, for we have only just
      time to catch our train."
    </p>
    <p>
      The man whom I found myself facing was a well built, fresh-complexioned
      young fellow, with a frank, honest face and a slight, crisp, yellow
      mustache. He wore a very shiny top hat and a neat suit of sober black,
      which made him look what he was&mdash;a smart young City man, of the class
      who have been labeled cockneys, but who give us our crack volunteer
      regiments, and who turn out more fine athletes and sportsmen than any body
      of men in these islands. His round, ruddy face was naturally full of
      cheeriness, but the corners of his mouth seemed to me to be pulled down in
      a half-comical distress. It was not, however, until we were all in a
      first-class carriage and well started upon our journey to Birmingham that
      I was able to learn what the trouble was which had driven him to Sherlock
      Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have a clear run here of seventy minutes," Holmes remarked. "I want
      you, Mr. Hall Pycroft, to tell my friend your very interesting experience
      exactly as you have told it to me, or with more detail if possible. It
      will be of use to me to hear the succession of events again. It is a case,
      Watson, which may prove to have something in it, or may prove to have
      nothing, but which, at least, presents those unusual and outré features
      which are as dear to you as they are to me. Now, Mr. Pycroft, I shall not
      interrupt you again."
    </p>
    <p>
      Our young companion looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The worst of the story is," said he, "that I show myself up as such a
      confounded fool. Of course it may work out all right, and I don't see that
      I could have done otherwise; but if I have lost my crib and get nothing in
      exchange I shall feel what a soft Johnnie I have been. I'm not very good
      at telling a story, Dr. Watson, but it is like this with me:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I used to have a billet at Coxon &amp; Woodhouse's, of Draper's Gardens,
      but they were let in early in the spring through the Venezuelan loan, as
      no doubt you remember, and came a nasty cropper. I had been with them five
      years, and old Coxon gave me a ripping good testimonial when the smash
      came, but of course we clerks were all turned adrift, the twenty-seven of
      us. I tried here and tried there, but there were lots of other chaps on
      the same lay as myself, and it was a perfect frost for a long time. I had
      been taking three pounds a week at Coxon's, and I had saved about seventy
      of them, but I soon worked my way through that and out at the other end. I
      was fairly at the end of my tether at last, and could hardly find the
      stamps to answer the advertisements or the envelopes to stick them to. I
      had worn out my boots paddling up office stairs, and I seemed just as far
      from getting a billet as ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson &amp; Williams's, the great
      stock-broking firm in Lombard Street. I dare say E. C. is not much in your
      line, but I can tell you that this is about the richest house in London.
      The advertisement was to be answered by letter only. I sent in my
      testimonial and application, but without the least hope of getting it.
      Back came an answer by return, saying that if I would appear next Monday I
      might take over my new duties at once, provided that my appearance was
      satisfactory. No one knows how these things are worked. Some people say
      that the manager just plunges his hand into the heap and takes the first
      that comes. Anyhow it was my innings that time, and I don't ever wish to
      feel better pleased. The screw was a pound a week rise, and the duties
      just about the same as at Coxon's.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now I come to the queer part of the business. I was in diggings out
      Hampstead way, 17 Potter's Terrace. Well, I was sitting doing a smoke that
      very evening after I had been promised the appointment, when up came my
      landlady with a card which had 'Arthur Pinner, Financial Agent,' printed
      upon it. I had never heard the name before and could not imagine what he
      wanted with me; but, of course, I asked her to show him up. In he walked,
      a middle-sized, dark-haired, dark-eyed, black-bearded man, with a touch of
      the Sheeny about his nose. He had a brisk kind of way with him and spoke
      sharply, like a man who knew the value of time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Mr. Hall Pycroft, I believe?'" said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes, sir,' I answered, pushing a chair towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Lately engaged at Coxon &amp; Woodhouse's?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes, sir.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And now on the staff of Mawson's.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Quite so.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well,' said he, 'the fact is that I have heard some really extraordinary
      stories about your financial ability. You remember Parker, who used to be
      Coxon's manager? He can never say enough about it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had always been pretty sharp in
      the office, but I had never dreamed that I was talked about in the City in
      this fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You have a good memory?' said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Pretty fair,' I answered, modestly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Have you kept in touch with the market while you have been out of work?'
      he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes. I read the stock exchange list every morning.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Now that shows real application!' he cried. 'That is the way to prosper!
      You won't mind my testing you, will you? Let me see. How are Ayrshires?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five and
      seven-eighths.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And New Zealand consolidated?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'A hundred and four.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And British Broken Hills?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Seven to seven-and-six.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Wonderful!' he cried, with his hands up. 'This quite fits in with all
      that I had heard. My boy, my boy, you are very much too good to be a clerk
      at Mawson's!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "This outburst rather astonished me, as you can think. 'Well,' said I,
      'other people don't think quite so much of me as you seem to do, Mr.
      Pinner. I had a hard enough fight to get this berth, and I am very glad to
      have it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are not in your true sphere.
      Now, I'll tell you how it stands with me. What I have to offer is little
      enough when measured by your ability, but when compared with Mawson's,
      it's light to dark. Let me see. When do you go to Mawson's?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'On Monday.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ha, ha! I think I would risk a little sporting flutter that you don't go
      there at all.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Not go to Mawson's?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No, sir. By that day you will be the business manager of the
      Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, with a hundred and thirty-four
      branches in the towns and villages of France, not counting one in Brussels
      and one in San Remo.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "This took my breath away. 'I never heard of it,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Very likely not. It has been kept very quiet, for the capital was all
      privately subscribed, and it's too good a thing to let the public into. My
      brother, Harry Pinner, is promoter, and joins the board after allotment as
      managing director. He knew I was in the swim down here, and asked me to
      pick up a good man cheap. A young, pushing man with plenty of snap about
      him. Parker spoke of you, and that brought me here to-night. We can only
      offer you a beggarly five hundred to start with.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Five hundred a year!' I shouted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Only that at the beginning; but you are to have an overriding commission
      of one per cent on all business done by your agents, and you may take my
      word for it that this will come to more than your salary.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'But I know nothing about hardware.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tut, my boy; you know about figures.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "My head buzzed, and I could hardly sit still in my chair. But suddenly a
      little chill of doubt came upon me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I must be frank with you,' said I. 'Mawson only gives me two hundred,
      but Mawson is safe. Now, really, I know so little about your company that&mdash;'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, smart, smart!' he cried, in a kind of ecstasy of delight. 'You are
      the very man for us. You are not to be talked over, and quite right, too.
      Now, here's a note for a hundred pounds, and if you think that we can do
      business you may just slip it into your pocket as an advance upon your
      salary.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That is very handsome,' said I. 'When should I take over my new duties?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Be in Birmingham to-morrow at one,' said he. 'I have a note in my pocket
      here which you will take to my brother. You will find him at 126b
      Corporation Street, where the temporary offices of the company are
      situated. Of course he must confirm your engagement, but between ourselves
      it will be all right.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude, Mr. Pinner,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Not at all, my boy. You have only got your deserts. There are one or two
      small things&mdash;mere formalities&mdash;which I must arrange with you.
      You have a bit of paper beside you there. Kindly write upon it "I am
      perfectly willing to act as business manager to the Franco-Midland
      Hardware Company, Limited, at a minimum salary of L500."'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did as he asked, and he put the paper in his pocket.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'There is one other detail,' said he. 'What do you intend to do about
      Mawson's?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had forgotten all about Mawson's in my joy. 'I'll write and resign,'
      said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Precisely what I don't want you to do. I had a row over you with
      Mawson's manager. I had gone up to ask him about you, and he was very
      offensive; accused me of coaxing you away from the service of the firm,
      and that sort of thing. At last I fairly lost my temper. "If you want good
      men you should pay them a good price," said I.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He would rather have our small price than your big one,' said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I'll lay you a fiver,' said I, 'that when he has my offer you'll never
      so much as hear from him again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Done!' said he. 'We picked him out of the gutter, and he won't leave us
      so easily.' Those were his very words."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The impudent scoundrel!' I cried. 'I've never so much as seen him in my
      life. Why should I consider him in any way? I shall certainly not write if
      you would rather I didn't.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Good! That's a promise,' said he, rising from his chair. 'Well, I'm
      delighted to have got so good a man for my brother. Here's your advance of
      a hundred pounds, and here is the letter. Make a note of the address, 126b
      Corporation Street, and remember that one o'clock to-morrow is your
      appointment. Good-night; and may you have all the fortune that you
      deserve!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's just about all that passed between us, as near as I can remember.
      You can imagine, Dr. Watson, how pleased I was at such an extraordinary
      bit of good fortune. I sat up half the night hugging myself over it, and
      next day I was off to Birmingham in a train that would take me in plenty
      time for my appointment. I took my things to a hotel in New Street, and
      then I made my way to the address which had been given me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a quarter of an hour before my time, but I thought that would make
      no difference. 126b was a passage between two large shops, which led to a
      winding stone stair, from which there were many flats, let as offices to
      companies or professional men. The names of the occupants were painted at
      the bottom on the wall, but there was no such name as the Franco-Midland
      Hardware Company, Limited. I stood for a few minutes with my heart in my
      boots, wondering whether the whole thing was an elaborate hoax or not,
      when up came a man and addressed me. He was very like the chap I had seen
      the night before, the same figure and voice, but he was clean shaven and
      his hair was lighter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Are you Mr. Hall Pycroft?' he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh! I was expecting you, but you are a trifle before your time. I had a
      note from my brother this morning in which he sang your praises very
      loudly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I was just looking for the offices when you came.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'We have not got our name up yet, for we only secured these temporary
      premises last week. Come up with me, and we will talk the matter over.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and there, right under
      the slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little rooms, uncarpeted and
      uncurtained, into which he led me. I had thought of a great office with
      shining tables and rows of clerks, such as I was used to, and I dare say I
      stared rather straight at the two deal chairs and one little table, which,
      with a ledger and a waste paper basket, made up the whole furniture.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Don't be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft,' said my new acquaintance, seeing
      the length of my face. 'Rome was not built in a day, and we have lots of
      money at our backs, though we don't cut much dash yet in offices. Pray sit
      down, and let me have your letter.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I gave it to him, and he read it over very carefully.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You seem to have made a vast impression upon my brother Arthur,' said
      he; 'and I know that he is a pretty shrewd judge. He swears by London, you
      know; and I by Birmingham; but this time I shall follow his advice. Pray
      consider yourself definitely engaged."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What are my duties?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which will pour a
      flood of English crockery into the shops of a hundred and thirty-four
      agents in France. The purchase will be completed in a week, and meanwhile
      you will remain in Birmingham and make yourself useful.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'How?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "For answer, he took a big red book out of a drawer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'This is a directory of Paris,' said he, 'with the trades after the names
      of the people. I want you to take it home with you, and to mark off all
      the hardware sellers, with their addresses. It would be of the greatest
      use to me to have them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Surely there are classified lists?' I suggested.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Not reliable ones. Their system is different from ours. Stick at it, and
      let me have the lists by Monday, at twelve. Good-day, Mr. Pycroft. If you
      continue to show zeal and intelligence you will find the company a good
      master.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, and with very
      conflicting feelings in my breast. On the one hand, I was definitely
      engaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket; on the other, the look of
      the offices, the absence of name on the wall, and other of the points
      which would strike a business man had left a bad impression as to the
      position of my employers. However, come what might, I had my money, so I
      settled down to my task. All Sunday I was kept hard at work, and yet by
      Monday I had only got as far as H. I went round to my employer, found him
      in the same dismantled kind of room, and was told to keep at it until
      Wednesday, and then come again. On Wednesday it was still unfinished, so I
      hammered away until Friday&mdash;that is, yesterday. Then I brought it
      round to Mr. Harry Pinner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Thank you very much,' said he; 'I fear that I underrated the difficulty
      of the task. This list will be of very material assistance to me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It took some time,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And now,' said he, 'I want you to make a list of the furniture shops,
      for they all sell crockery.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Very good.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And you can come up to-morrow evening, at seven, and let me know how you
      are getting on. Don't overwork yourself. A couple of hours at Day's Music
      Hall in the evening would do you no harm after your labors.' He laughed as
      he spoke, and I saw with a thrill that his second tooth upon the left-hand
      side had been very badly stuffed with gold."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and I stared with
      astonishment at our client.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may well look surprised, Dr. Watson; but it is this way," said he:
      "When I was speaking to the other chap in London, at the time that he
      laughed at my not going to Mawson's, I happened to notice that his tooth
      was stuffed in this very identical fashion. The glint of the gold in each
      case caught my eye, you see. When I put that with the voice and figure
      being the same, and only those things altered which might be changed by a
      razor or a wig, I could not doubt that it was the same man. Of course you
      expect two brothers to be alike, but not that they should have the same
      tooth stuffed in the same way. He bowed me out, and I found myself in the
      street, hardly knowing whether I was on my head or my heels. Back I went
      to my hotel, put my head in a basin of cold water, and tried to think it
      out. Why had he sent me from London to Birmingham? Why had he got there
      before me? And why had he written a letter from himself to himself? It was
      altogether too much for me, and I could make no sense of it. And then
      suddenly it struck me that what was dark to me might be very light to Mr.
      Sherlock Holmes. I had just time to get up to town by the night train to
      see him this morning, and to bring you both back with me to Birmingham."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a pause after the stock-broker's clerk had concluded his
      surprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me, leaning
      back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face, like a
      connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet vintage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rather fine, Watson, is it not?" said he. "There are points in it which
      please me. I think that you will agree with me that an interview with Mr.
      Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices of the Franco-Midland
      Hardware Company, Limited, would be a rather interesting experience for
      both of us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how can we do it?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, easily enough," said Hall Pycroft, cheerily. "You are two friends of
      mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be more natural than that
      I should bring you both round to the managing director?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite so, of course," said Holmes. "I should like to have a look at the
      gentleman, and see if I can make anything of his little game. What
      qualities have you, my friend, which would make your services so valuable?
      or is it possible that&mdash;" He began biting his nails and staring
      blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word from him until
      we were in New Street.
    </p>
    <p>
      At seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us, down
      Corporation Street to the company's offices.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is no use our being at all before our time," said our client. "He only
      comes there to see me, apparently, for the place is deserted up to the
      very hour he names."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is suggestive," remarked Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By Jove, I told you so!" cried the clerk. "That's he walking ahead of us
      there."
    </p>
    <p>
      He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was bustling along
      the other side of the road. As we watched him he looked across at a boy
      who was bawling out the latest edition of the evening paper, and running
      over among the cabs and busses, he bought one from him. Then, clutching it
      in his hand, he vanished through a door-way.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There he goes!" cried Hall Pycroft. "These are the company's offices into
      which he has gone. Come with me, and I'll fix it up as easily as
      possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      Following his lead, we ascended five stories, until we found ourselves
      outside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped. A voice within
      bade us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished room such as Hall
      Pycroft had described. At the single table sat the man whom we had seen in
      the street, with his evening paper spread out in front of him, and as he
      looked up at us it seemed to me that I had never looked upon a face which
      bore such marks of grief, and of something beyond grief&mdash;of a horror
      such as comes to few men in a lifetime. His brow glistened with
      perspiration, his cheeks were of the dull, dead white of a fish's belly,
      and his eyes were wild and staring. He looked at his clerk as though he
      failed to recognize him, and I could see by the astonishment depicted upon
      our conductor's face that this was by no means the usual appearance of his
      employer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You look ill, Mr. Pinner!" he exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I am not very well," answered the other, making obvious efforts to
      pull himself together, and licking his dry lips before he spoke. "Who are
      these gentlemen whom you have brought with you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr. Price, of this
      town," said our clerk, glibly. "They are friends of mine and gentlemen of
      experience, but they have been out of a place for some little time, and
      they hoped that perhaps you might find an opening for them in the
      company's employment."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very possibly! Very possibly!" cried Mr. Pinner with a ghastly smile.
      "Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able to do something for you. What
      is your particular line, Mr. Harris?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am an accountant," said Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah yes, we shall want something of the sort. And you, Mr. Price?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A clerk," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have every hope that the company may accommodate you. I will let you
      know about it as soon as we come to any conclusion. And now I beg that you
      will go. For God's sake leave me to myself!"
    </p>
    <p>
      These last words were shot out of him, as though the constraint which he
      was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly burst asunder.
      Holmes and I glanced at each other, and Hall Pycroft took a step towards
      the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by appointment to receive some
      directions from you," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly, Mr. Pycroft, certainly," the other resumed in a calmer tone.
      "You may wait here a moment; and there is no reason why your friends
      should not wait with you. I will be entirely at your service in three
      minutes, if I might trespass upon your patience so far." He rose with a
      very courteous air, and, bowing to us, he passed out through a door at the
      farther end of the room, which he closed behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What now?" whispered Holmes. "Is he giving us the slip?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Impossible," answered Pycroft.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That door leads into an inner room."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is no exit?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "None."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it furnished?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was empty yesterday."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then what on earth can he be doing? There is something which I don't
      understand in this manner. If ever a man was three parts mad with terror,
      that man's name is Pinner. What can have put the shivers on him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He suspects that we are detectives," I suggested.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's it," cried Pycroft.
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes shook his head. "He did not turn pale. He was pale when we entered
      the room," said he. "It is just possible that&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direction of the
      inner door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?" cried the clerk.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again and much louder came the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed expectantly at
      the closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his face turn rigid, and he
      leaned forward in intense excitement. Then suddenly came a low guggling,
      gargling sound, and a brisk drumming upon woodwork. Holmes sprang
      frantically across the room and pushed at the door. It was fastened on the
      inner side. Following his example, we threw ourselves upon it with all our
      weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and down came the door with a
      crash. Rushing over it, we found ourselves in the inner room. It was
      empty.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At one corner, the
      corner nearest the room which we had left, there was a second door. Holmes
      sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat and waistcoat were lying on the
      floor, and from a hook behind the door, with his own braces round his
      neck, was hanging the managing director of the Franco-Midland Hardware
      Company. His knees were drawn up, his head hung at a dreadful angle to his
      body, and the clatter of his heels against the door made the noise which
      had broken in upon our conversation. In an instant I had caught him round
      the waist, and held him up while Holmes and Pycroft untied the elastic
      bands which had disappeared between the livid creases of skin. Then we
      carried him into the other room, where he lay with a clay-colored face,
      puffing his purple lips in and out with every breath&mdash;a dreadful
      wreck of all that he had been but five minutes before.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you think of him, Watson?" asked Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      I stooped over him and examined him. His pulse was feeble and
      intermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a little
      shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball beneath.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It has been touch and go with him," said I, "but he'll live now. Just
      open that window, and hand me the water carafe." I undid his collar,
      poured the cold water over his face, and raised and sank his arms until he
      drew a long, natural breath. "It's only a question of time now," said I,
      as I turned away from him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trouser's pockets
      and his chin upon his breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suppose we ought to call the police in now," said he. "And yet I
      confess that I'd like to give them a complete case when they come."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a blessed mystery to me," cried Pycroft, scratching his head.
      "Whatever they wanted to bring me all the way up here for, and then&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pooh! All that is clear enough," said Holmes impatiently. "It is this
      last sudden move."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You understand the rest, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think that it is fairly obvious. What do you say, Watson?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I shrugged my shoulders. "I must confess that I am out of my depths," said
      I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh surely if you consider the events at first they can only point to one
      conclusion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you make of them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, the whole thing hinges upon two points. The first is the making of
      Pycroft write a declaration by which he entered the service of this
      preposterous company. Do you not see how very suggestive that is?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid I miss the point."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, why did they want him to do it? Not as a business matter, for these
      arrangements are usually verbal, and there was no earthly business reason
      why this should be an exception. Don't you see, my young friend, that they
      were very anxious to obtain a specimen of your handwriting, and had no
      other way of doing it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite so. Why? When we answer that we have made some progress with our
      little problem. Why? There can be only one adequate reason. Some one
      wanted to learn to imitate your writing, and had to procure a specimen of
      it first. And now if we pass on to the second point we find that each
      throws light upon the other. That point is the request made by Pinner that
      you should not resign your place, but should leave the manager of this
      important business in the full expectation that a Mr. Hall Pycroft, whom
      he had never seen, was about to enter the office upon the Monday morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My God!" cried our client, "what a blind beetle I have been!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now you see the point about the handwriting. Suppose that some one turned
      up in your place who wrote a completely different hand from that in which
      you had applied for the vacancy, of course the game would have been up.
      But in the interval the rogue had learned to imitate you, and his position
      was therefore secure, as I presume that nobody in the office had ever set
      eyes upon you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a soul," groaned Hall Pycroft.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very good. Of course it was of the utmost importance to prevent you from
      thinking better of it, and also to keep you from coming into contact with
      any one who might tell you that your double was at work in Mawson's
      office. Therefore they gave you a handsome advance on your salary, and ran
      you off to the Midlands, where they gave you enough work to do to prevent
      your going to London, where you might have burst their little game up.
      That is all plain enough."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why should this man pretend to be his own brother?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, that is pretty clear also. There are evidently only two of them in
      it. The other is impersonating you at the office. This one acted as your
      engager, and then found that he could not find you an employer without
      admitting a third person into his plot. That he was most unwilling to do.
      He changed his appearance as far as he could, and trusted that the
      likeness, which you could not fail to observe, would be put down to a
      family resemblance. But for the happy chance of the gold stuffing, your
      suspicions would probably never have been aroused."
    </p>
    <p>
      Hall Pycroft shook his clinched hands in the air. "Good Lord!" he cried,
      "while I have been fooled in this way, what has this other Hall Pycroft
      been doing at Mawson's? What should we do, Mr. Holmes? Tell me what to
      do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We must wire to Mawson's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They shut at twelve on Saturdays."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or attendant&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of the value of the
      securities that they hold. I remember hearing it talked of in the City."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very good; we shall wire to him, and see if all is well, and if a clerk
      of your name is working there. That is clear enough; but what is not so
      clear is why at sight of us one of the rogues should instantly walk out of
      the room and hang himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The paper!" croaked a voice behind us. The man was sitting up, blanched
      and ghastly, with returning reason in his eyes, and hands which rubbed
      nervously at the broad red band which still encircled his throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The paper! Of course!" yelled Holmes, in a paroxysm of excitement. "Idiot
      that I was! I thought so much of our visit that the paper never entered my
      head for an instant. To be sure, the secret must be there." He flattened
      it out upon the table, and a cry of triumph burst from his lips. "Look at
      this, Watson," he cried. "It is a London paper, an early edition of the
      Evening Standard. Here is what we want. Look at the headlines: 'Crime in
      the City. Murder at Mawson &amp; Williams's. Gigantic attempted Robbery.
      Capture of the Criminal.' Here, Watson, we are all equally anxious to hear
      it, so kindly read it aloud to us."
    </p>
    <p>
      It appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one event of
      importance in town, and the account of it ran in this way:
    </p>
    <p>
      "A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of one man and
      the capture of the criminal, occurred this afternoon in the City. For some
      time back Mawson &amp; Williams, the famous financial house, have been the
      guardians of securities which amount in the aggregate to a sum of
      considerably over a million sterling. So conscious was the manager of the
      responsibility which devolved upon him in consequence of the great
      interests at stake that safes of the very latest construction have been
      employed, and an armed watchman has been left day and night in the
      building. It appears that last week a new clerk named Hall Pycroft was
      engaged by the firm. This person appears to have been none other than
      Beddington, the famous forger and cracksman, who, with his brother, had
      only recently emerged from a five years' spell of penal servitude. By some
      means, which are not yet clear, he succeeded in winning, under a false
      name, this official position in the office, which he utilized in order to
      obtain moulding of various locks, and a thorough knowledge of the position
      of the strong room and the safes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is customary at Mawson's for the clerks to leave at midday on
      Saturday. Sergeant Tuson, of the City Police, was somewhat surprised,
      therefore to see a gentleman with a carpet bag come down the steps at
      twenty minutes past one. His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant
      followed the man, and with the aid of Constable Pollock succeeded, after a
      most desperate resistance, in arresting him. It was at once clear that a
      daring and gigantic robbery had been committed. Nearly a hundred thousand
      pounds' worth of American railway bonds, with a large amount of scrip in
      mines and other companies, was discovered in the bag. On examining the
      premises the body of the unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and
      thrust into the largest of the safes, where it would not have been
      discovered until Monday morning had it not been for the prompt action of
      Sergeant Tuson. The man's skull had been shattered by a blow from a poker
      delivered from behind. There could be no doubt that Beddington had
      obtained entrance by pretending that he had left something behind him, and
      having murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and then made
      off with his booty. His brother, who usually works with him, has not
      appeared in this job as far as can at present be ascertained, although the
      police are making energetic inquiries as to his whereabouts."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that direction," said
      Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the window. "Human
      nature is a strange mixture, Watson. You see that even a villain and
      murderer can inspire such affection that his brother turns to suicide when
      he learns that his neck is forfeited. However, we have no choice as to our
      action. The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr. Pycroft, if you will
      have the kindness to step out for the police."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure IV. The "<i>Gloria Scott</i>"
    </h2>
    <p>
      "I have some papers here," said my friend Sherlock Holmes, as we sat one
      winter's night on either side of the fire, "which I really think, Watson,
      that it would be worth your while to glance over. These are the documents
      in the extraordinary case of the Gloria Scott, and this is the message
      which struck Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with horror when he read
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and, undoing the
      tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slate-gray
      paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The supply of game for London is going steadily up," it ran. "Head-keeper
      Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper
      and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life."
    </p>
    <p>
      As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, I saw Holmes
      chuckling at the expression upon my face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You look a little bewildered," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror. It seems to
      me to be rather grotesque than otherwise."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust
      old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt end of a
      pistol."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You arouse my curiosity," said I. "But why did you say just now that
      there were very particular reasons why I should study this case?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because it was the first in which I was ever engaged."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had often endeavored to elicit from my companion what had first turned
      his mind in the direction of criminal research, but had never caught him
      before in a communicative humor. Now he sat forward in this arm-chair and
      spread out the documents upon his knees. Then he lit his pipe and sat for
      some time smoking and turning them over.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?" he asked. "He was the only
      friend I made during the two years I was at college. I was never a very
      sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and
      working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed much
      with the men of my year. Bar fencing and boxing I had few athletic tastes,
      and then my line of study was quite distinct from that of the other
      fellows, so that we had no points of contact at all. Trevor was the only
      man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier
      freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective. I was
      laid by the heels for ten days, but Trevor used to come in to inquire
      after me. At first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits
      lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends. He was a
      hearty, full-blooded fellow, full of spirits and energy, the very opposite
      to me in most respects, but we had some subjects in common, and it was a
      bond of union when I found that he was as friendless as I. Finally, he
      invited me down to his father's place at Donnithorpe, in Norfolk, and I
      accepted his hospitality for a month of the long vacation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and consideration, a J.P.,
      and a landed proprietor. Donnithorpe is a little hamlet just to the north
      of Langmere, in the country of the Broads. The house was an old-fashioned,
      wide-spread, oak-beamed brick building, with a fine lime-lined avenue
      leading up to it. There was excellent wild-duck shooting in the fens,
      remarkably good fishing, a small but select library, taken over, as I
      understood, from a former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that he would
      be a fastidious man who could not put in a pleasant month there.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trevor senior was a widower, and my friend his only son.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There had been a daughter, I heard, but she had died of diphtheria while
      on a visit to Birmingham. The father interested me extremely. He was a man
      of little culture, but with a considerable amount of rude strength, both
      physically and mentally. He knew hardly any books, but he had traveled
      far, had seen much of the world. And had remembered all that he had
      learned. In person he was a thick-set, burly man with a shock of grizzled
      hair, a brown, weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which were keen to the
      verge of fierceness. Yet he had a reputation for kindness and charity on
      the country-side, and was noted for the leniency of his sentences from the
      bench.
    </p>
    <p>
      "One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting over a glass of
      port after dinner, when young Trevor began to talk about those habits of
      observation and inference which I had already formed into a system,
      although I had not yet appreciated the part which they were to play in my
      life. The old man evidently thought that his son was exaggerating in his
      description of one or two trivial feats which I had performed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Come, now, Mr. Holmes,' said he, laughing good-humoredly. 'I'm an
      excellent subject, if you can deduce anything from me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I fear there is not very much,' I answered; 'I might suggest that you
      have gone about in fear of some personal attack within the last
      twelvemonth.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in great surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, that's true enough,' said he. 'You know, Victor,' turning to his
      son, 'when we broke up that poaching gang they swore to knife us, and Sir
      Edward Holly has actually been attacked. I've always been on my guard
      since then, though I have no idea how you know it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You have a very handsome stick,' I answered. 'By the inscription I
      observed that you had not had it more than a year. But you have taken some
      pains to bore the head of it and pour melted lead into the hole so as to
      make it a formidable weapon. I argued that you would not take such
      precautions unless you had some danger to fear.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Anything else?' he asked, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You have boxed a good deal in your youth.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Right again. How did you know it? Is my nose knocked a little out of the
      straight?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No,' said I. 'It is your ears. They have the peculiar flattening and
      thickening which marks the boxing man.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Anything else?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You have done a good deal of digging by your callosities.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Made all my money at the gold fields.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You have been in New Zealand.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Right again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You have visited Japan.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Quite true.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And you have been most intimately associated with some one whose
      initials were J. A., and whom you afterwards were eager to entirely
      forget.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes upon me with a
      strange wild stare, and then pitched forward, with his face among the
      nutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead faint.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both his son and I were. His attack
      did not last long, however, for when we undid his collar, and sprinkled
      the water from one of the finger-glasses over his face, he gave a gasp or
      two and sat up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, boys,' said he, forcing a smile, 'I hope I haven't frightened you.
      Strong as I look, there is a weak place in my heart, and it does not take
      much to knock me over. I don't know how you manage this, Mr. Holmes, but
      it seems to me that all the detectives of fact and of fancy would be
      children in your hands. That's your line of life, sir, and you may take
      the word of a man who has seen something of the world.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of my ability with
      which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me, Watson, the very first
      thing which ever made me feel that a profession might be made out of what
      had up to that time been the merest hobby. At the moment, however, I was
      too much concerned at the sudden illness of my host to think of anything
      else.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I hope that I have said nothing to pain you?' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender point. Might I ask how
      you know, and how much you know?' He spoke now in a half-jesting fashion,
      but a look of terror still lurked at the back of his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It is simplicity itself,' said I. 'When you bared your arm to draw that
      fish into the boat I saw that J. A. had been tattooed in the bend of the
      elbow. The letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear from
      their blurred appearance, and from the staining of the skin round them,
      that efforts had been made to obliterate them. It was obvious, then, that
      those initials had once been very familiar to you, and that you had
      afterwards wished to forget them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "What an eye you have!" he cried, with a sigh of relief. 'It is just as
      you say. But we won't talk of it. Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old
      lovers are the worst. Come into the billiard-room and have a quiet cigar.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a touch of
      suspicion in Mr. Trevor's manner towards me. Even his son remarked it.
      'You've given the governor such a turn,' said he, 'that he'll never be
      sure again of what you know and what you don't know.' He did not mean to
      show it, I am sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out
      at every action. At last I became so convinced that I was causing him
      uneasiness that I drew my visit to a close. On the very day, however,
      before I left, an incident occurred which proved in the sequel to be of
      importance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs, the three of us,
      basking in the sun and admiring the view across the Broads, when a maid
      came out to say that there was a man at the door who wanted to see Mr.
      Trevor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What is his name?' asked my host.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He would not give any.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What does he want, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He says that you know him, and that he only wants a moment's
      conversation.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Show him round here.' An instant afterwards there appeared a little
      wizened fellow with a cringing manner and a shambling style of walking. He
      wore an open jacket, with a splotch of tar on the sleeve, a red-and-black
      check shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly worn. His face was
      thin and brown and crafty, with a perpetual smile upon it, which showed an
      irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled hands were half closed in
      a way that is distinctive of sailors. As he came slouching across the lawn
      I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort of hiccoughing noise in his throat, and
      jumping out of his chair, he ran into the house. He was back in a moment,
      and I smelt a strong reek of brandy as he passed me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, my man,' said he. 'What can I do for you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes, and with the same
      loose-lipped smile upon his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You don't know me?' he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson,' said Mr. Trevor in a tone of
      surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Hudson it is, sir,' said the seaman. 'Why, it's thirty year and more
      since I saw you last. Here you are in your house, and me still picking my
      salt meat out of the harness cask.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tut, you will find that I have not forgotten old times,' cried Mr.
      Trevor, and, walking towards the sailor, he said something in a low voice.
      'Go into the kitchen,' he continued out loud, 'and you will get food and
      drink. I have no doubt that I shall find you a situation.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Thank you, sir,' said the seaman, touching his fore-lock. 'I'm just off
      a two-yearer in an eight-knot tramp, short-handed at that, and I wants a
      rest. I thought I'd get it either with Mr. Beddoes or with you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah!' cried Trevor. 'You know where Mr. Beddoes is?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends are,' said the fellow
      with a sinister smile, and he slouched off after the maid to the kitchen.
      Mr. Trevor mumbled something to us about having been shipmate with the man
      when he was going back to the diggings, and then, leaving us on the lawn,
      he went indoors. An hour later, when we entered the house, we found him
      stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa. The whole incident left a
      most ugly impression upon my mind, and I was not sorry next day to leave
      Donnithorpe behind me, for I felt that my presence must be a source of
      embarrassment to my friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      "All this occurred during the first month of the long vacation. I went up
      to my London rooms, where I spent seven weeks working out a few
      experiments in organic chemistry. One day, however, when the autumn was
      far advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, I received a telegram
      from my friend imploring me to return to Donnithorpe, and saying that he
      was in great need of my advice and assistance. Of course I dropped
      everything and set out for the North once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He met me with the dog-cart at the station, and I saw at a glance that
      the last two months had been very trying ones for him. He had grown thin
      and careworn, and had lost the loud, cheery manner for which he had been
      remarkable.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The governor is dying,' were the first words he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Impossible!' I cried. 'What is the matter?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Apoplexy. Nervous shock, He's been on the verge all day. I doubt if we
      shall find him alive.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was, as you may think, Watson, horrified at this unexpected news.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What has caused it?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, that is the point. Jump in and we can talk it over while we drive.
      You remember that fellow who came upon the evening before you left us?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Perfectly.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Do you know who it was that we let into the house that day?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I have no idea.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It was the devil, Holmes,' he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I stared at him in astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes, it was the devil himself. We have not had a peaceful hour since&mdash;not
      one. The governor has never held up his head from that evening, and now
      the life has been crushed out of him and his heart broken, all through
      this accursed Hudson.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What power had he, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, that is what I would give so much to know. The kindly, charitable,
      good old governor&mdash;how could he have fallen into the clutches of such
      a ruffian! But I am so glad that you have come, Holmes. I trust very much
      to your judgment and discretion, and I know that you will advise me for
      the best.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "We were dashing along the smooth white country road, with the long
      stretch of the Broads in front of us glimmering in the red light of the
      setting sun. From a grove upon our left I could already see the high
      chimneys and the flag-staff which marked the squire's dwelling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'My father made the fellow gardener,' said my companion, 'and then, as
      that did not satisfy him, he was promoted to be butler. The house seemed
      to be at his mercy, and he wandered about and did what he chose in it. The
      maids complained of his drunken habits and his vile language. The dad
      raised their wages all round to recompense them for the annoyance. The
      fellow would take the boat and my father's best gun and treat himself to
      little shooting trips. And all this with such a sneering, leering,
      insolent face that I would have knocked him down twenty times over if he
      had been a man of my own age. I tell you, Holmes, I have had to keep a
      tight hold upon myself all this time; and now I am asking myself whether,
      if I had let myself go a little more, I might not have been a wiser man.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and this animal Hudson
      became more and more intrusive, until at last, on making some insolent
      reply to my father in my presence one day, I took him by the shoulders and
      turned him out of the room. He slunk away with a livid face and two
      venomous eyes which uttered more threats than his tongue could do. I don't
      know what passed between the poor dad and him after that, but the dad came
      to me next day and asked me whether I would mind apologizing to Hudson. I
      refused, as you can imagine, and asked my father how he could allow such a
      wretch to take such liberties with himself and his household.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Ah, my boy," said he, "it is all very well to talk, but you don't know
      how I am placed. But you shall know, Victor. I'll see that you shall know,
      come what may. You wouldn't believe harm of your poor old father, would
      you, lad?" He was very much moved, and shut himself up in the study all
      day, where I could see through the window that he was writing busily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That evening there came what seemed to me to be a grand release, for
      Hudson told us that he was going to leave us. He walked into the
      dining-room as we sat after dinner, and announced his intention in the
      thick voice of a half-drunken man.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"I've had enough of Norfolk," said he. "I'll run down to Mr. Beddoes in
      Hampshire. He'll be as glad to see me as you were, I dare say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"You're not going away in an unkind spirit, Hudson, I hope," said my
      father, with a tameness which made my blood boil.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"I've not had my 'pology," said he sulkily, glancing in my direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Victor, you will acknowledge that you have used this worthy fellow
      rather roughly," said the dad, turning to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"On the contrary, I think that we have both shown extraordinary patience
      towards him," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Oh, you do, do you?" he snarls. "Very good, mate. We'll see about
      that!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He slouched out of the room, and half an hour afterwards left the house,
      leaving my father in a state of pitiable nervousness. Night after night I
      heard him pacing his room, and it was just as he was recovering his
      confidence that the blow did at last fall.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And how?' I asked eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'In a most extraordinary fashion. A letter arrived for my father
      yesterday evening, bearing the Fordingbridge post-mark. My father read it,
      clapped both his hands to his head, and began running round the room in
      little circles like a man who has been driven out of his senses. When I at
      last drew him down on to the sofa, his mouth and eyelids were all puckered
      on one side, and I saw that he had a stroke. Dr. Fordham came over at
      once. We put him to bed; but the paralysis has spread, he has shown no
      sign of returning consciousness, and I think that we shall hardly find him
      alive.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You horrify me, Trevor!' I cried. 'What then could have been in this
      letter to cause so dreadful a result?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Nothing. There lies the inexplicable part of it. The message was absurd
      and trivial. Ah, my God, it is as I feared!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "As he spoke we came round the curve of the avenue, and saw in the fading
      light that every blind in the house had been drawn down. As we dashed up
      to the door, my friend's face convulsed with grief, a gentleman in black
      emerged from it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'When did it happen, doctor?' asked Trevor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Almost immediately after you left.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Did he recover consciousness?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'For an instant before the end.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Any message for me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Only that the papers were in the back drawer of the Japanese cabinet.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "My friend ascended with the doctor to the chamber of death, while I
      remained in the study, turning the whole matter over and over in my head,
      and feeling as sombre as ever I had done in my life. What was the past of
      this Trevor, pugilist, traveler, and gold-digger, and how had he placed
      himself in the power of this acid-faced seaman? Why, too, should he faint
      at an allusion to the half-effaced initials upon his arm, and die of
      fright when he had a letter from Fordingham? Then I remembered that
      Fordingham was in Hampshire, and that this Mr. Beddoes, whom the seaman
      had gone to visit and presumably to blackmail, had also been mentioned as
      living in Hampshire. The letter, then, might either come from Hudson, the
      seaman, saying that he had betrayed the guilty secret which appeared to
      exist, or it might come from Beddoes, warning an old confederate that such
      a betrayal was imminent. So far it seemed clear enough. But then how could
      this letter be trivial and grotesque, as described by the son? He must
      have misread it. If so, it must have been one of those ingenious secret
      codes which mean one thing while they seem to mean another. I must see
      this letter. If there were a hidden meaning in it, I was confident that I
      could pluck it forth. For an hour I sat pondering over it in the gloom,
      until at last a weeping maid brought in a lamp, and close at her heels
      came my friend Trevor, pale but composed, with these very papers which lie
      upon my knee held in his grasp. He sat down opposite to me, drew the lamp
      to the edge of the table, and handed me a short note scribbled, as you
      see, upon a single sheet of gray paper. 'The supply of game for London is
      going steadily up,' it ran. 'Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now
      told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your
      hen-pheasant's life.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dare say my face looked as bewildered as yours did just now when first
      I read this message. Then I reread it very carefully. It was evidently as
      I had thought, and some secret meaning must lie buried in this strange
      combination of words. Or could it be that there was a prearranged
      significance to such phrases as 'fly-paper' and 'hen-pheasant'? Such a
      meaning would be arbitrary and could not be deduced in any way. And yet I
      was loath to believe that this was the case, and the presence of the word
      Hudson seemed to show that the subject of the message was as I had
      guessed, and that it was from Beddoes rather than the sailor. I tried it
      backwards, but the combination 'life pheasant's hen' was not encouraging.
      Then I tried alternate words, but neither 'the of for' nor 'supply game
      London' promised to throw any light upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And then in an instant the key of the riddle was in my hands, and I saw
      that every third word, beginning with the first, would give a message
      which might well drive old Trevor to despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was short and terse, the warning, as I now read it to my companion:
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly for your life.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Victor Trevor sank his face into his shaking hands. 'It must be that, I
      suppose,' said he. "This is worse than death, for it means disgrace as
      well. But what is the meaning of these "head-keepers" and
      "hen-pheasants"?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It means nothing to the message, but it might mean a good deal to us if
      we had no other means of discovering the sender. You see that he has begun
      by writing "The...game...is," and so on. Afterwards he had, to fulfill the
      prearranged cipher, to fill in any two words in each space. He would
      naturally use the first words which came to his mind, and if there were so
      many which referred to sport among them, you may be tolerably sure that he
      is either an ardent shot or interested in breeding. Do you know anything
      of this Beddoes?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why, now that you mention it,' said he, 'I remember that my poor father
      used to have an invitation from him to shoot over his preserves every
      autumn.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Then it is undoubtedly from him that the note comes,' said I. 'It only
      remains for us to find out what this secret was which the sailor Hudson
      seems to have held over the heads of these two wealthy and respected men.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Alas, Holmes, I fear that it is one of sin and shame!' cried my friend.
      'But from you I shall have no secrets. Here is the statement which was
      drawn up by my father when he knew that the danger from Hudson had become
      imminent. I found it in the Japanese cabinet, as he told the doctor. Take
      it and read it to me, for I have neither the strength nor the courage to
      do it myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "These are the very papers, Watson, which he handed to me, and I will read
      them to you, as I read them in the old study that night to him. They are
      endorsed outside, as you see, 'Some particulars of the voyage of the bark
      <i>Gloria Scott</i>, from her leaving Falmouth on the 8th October, 1855,
      to her destruction in N. Lat. 15 degrees 20', W. Long. 25 degrees 14' on
      Nov. 6th.' It is in the form of a letter, and runs in this way:
    </p>
    <p>
      "'My dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace begins to darken the
      closing years of my life, I can write with all truth and honesty that it
      is not the terror of the law, it is not the loss of my position in the
      county, nor is it my fall in the eyes of all who have known me, which cuts
      me to the heart; but it is the thought that you should come to blush for
      me&mdash;you who love me and who have seldom, I hope, had reason to do
      other than respect me. But if the blow falls which is forever hanging over
      me, then I should wish you to read this, that you may know straight from
      me how far I have been to blame. On the other hand, if all should go well
      (which may kind God Almighty grant!), then if by any chance this paper
      should be still undestroyed and should fall into your hands, I conjure
      you, by all you hold sacred, by the memory of your dear mother, and by the
      love which had been between us, to hurl it into the fire and to never give
      one thought to it again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'If then your eye goes on to read this line, I know that I shall already
      have been exposed and dragged from my home, or as is more likely, for you
      know that my heart is weak, by lying with my tongue sealed forever in
      death. In either case the time for suppression is past, and every word
      which I tell you is the naked truth, and this I swear as I hope for mercy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'My name, dear lad, is not Trevor. I was James Armitage in my younger
      days, and you can understand now the shock that it was to me a few weeks
      ago when your college friend addressed me in words which seemed to imply
      that he had surprised my secret. As Armitage it was that I entered a
      London banking-house, and as Armitage I was convicted of breaking my
      country's laws, and was sentenced to transportation. Do not think very
      harshly of me, laddie. It was a debt of honor, so called, which I had to
      pay, and I used money which was not my own to do it, in the certainty that
      I could replace it before there could be any possibility of its being
      missed. But the most dreadful ill-luck pursued me. The money which I had
      reckoned upon never came to hand, and a premature examination of accounts
      exposed my deficit. The case might have been dealt leniently with, but the
      laws were more harshly administered thirty years ago than now, and on my
      twenty-third birthday I found myself chained as a felon with thirty-seven
      other convicts in 'tween-decks of the bark <i>Gloria Scott</i>, bound for
      Australia.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It was the year '55 when the Crimean war was at its height, and the old
      convict ships had been largely used as transports in the Black Sea. The
      government was compelled, therefore, to use smaller and less suitable
      vessels for sending out their prisoners. The Gloria Scott had been in the
      Chinese tea-trade, but she was an old-fashioned, heavy-bowed, broad-beamed
      craft, and the new clippers had cut her out. She was a five-hundred-ton
      boat; and besides her thirty-eight jail-birds, she carried twenty-six of a
      crew, eighteen soldiers, a captain, three mates, a doctor, a chaplain, and
      four warders. Nearly a hundred souls were in her, all told, when we set
      sail from Falmouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The partitions between the cells of the convicts, instead of being of
      thick oak, as is usual in convict-ships, were quite thin and frail. The
      man next to me, upon the aft side, was one whom I had particularly noticed
      when we were led down the quay. He was a young man with a clear, hairless
      face, a long, thin nose, and rather nut-cracker jaws. He carried his head
      very jauntily in the air, had a swaggering style of walking, and was,
      above all else, remarkable for his extraordinary height. I don't think any
      of our heads would have come up to his shoulder, and I am sure that he
      could not have measured less than six and a half feet. It was strange
      among so many sad and weary faces to see one which was full of energy and
      resolution. The sight of it was to me like a fire in a snow-storm. I was
      glad, then, to find that he was my neighbor, and gladder still when, in
      the dead of the night, I heard a whisper close to my ear, and found that
      he had managed to cut an opening in the board which separated us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Hullo, chummy!" said he, "what's your name, and what are you here for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I answered him, and asked in turn who I was talking with.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"I'm Jack Prendergast," said he, "and by God! You'll learn to bless my
      name before you've done with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I remembered hearing of his case, for it was one which had made an
      immense sensation throughout the country some time before my own arrest.
      He was a man of good family and of great ability, but of incurably vicious
      habits, who had by an ingenious system of fraud obtained huge sums of
      money from the leading London merchants.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Ha, ha! You remember my case!" said he proudly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Very well, indeed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Then maybe you remember something queer about it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"What was that, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"I'd had nearly a quarter of a million, hadn't I?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"So it was said."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"But none was recovered, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"No."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Well, where d'ye suppose the balance is?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"I have no idea," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Right between my finger and thumb," he cried. "By God! I've got more
      pounds to my name than you've hairs on your head. And if you've money, my
      son, and know how to handle it and spread it, you can do anything. Now,
      you don't think it likely that a man who could do anything is going to
      wear his breeches out sitting in the stinking hold of a rat-gutted,
      beetle-ridden, mouldy old coffin of a China coaster. No, sir, such a man
      will look after himself and will look after his chums. You may lay to
      that! You hold on to him, and you may kiss the book that he'll haul you
      through."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That was his style of talk, and at first I thought it meant nothing; but
      after a while, when he had tested me and sworn me in with all possible
      solemnity, he let me understand that there really was a plot to gain
      command of the vessel. A dozen of the prisoners had hatched it before they
      came aboard, Prendergast was the leader, and his money was the motive
      power.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"I'd a partner," said he, "a rare good man, as true as a stock to a
      barrel. He's got the dibbs, he has, and where do you think he is at this
      moment? Why, he's the chaplain of this ship&mdash;the chaplain, no less!
      He came aboard with a black coat, and his papers right, and money enough
      in his box to buy the thing right up from keel to main-truck. The crew are
      his, body and soul. He could buy 'em at so much a gross with a cash
      discount, and he did it before ever they signed on. He's got two of the
      warders and Mereer, the second mate, and he'd get the captain himself, if
      he thought him worth it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"What are we to do, then?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"What do you think?" said he. "We'll make the coats of some of these
      soldiers redder than ever the tailor did."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"But they are armed," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"And so shall we be, my boy. There's a brace of pistols for every
      mother's son of us, and if we can't carry this ship, with the crew at our
      back, it's time we were all sent to a young misses' boarding-school. You
      speak to your mate upon the left to-night, and see if he is to be
      trusted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I did so, and found my other neighbor to be a young fellow in much the
      same position as myself, whose crime had been forgery. His name was Evans,
      but he afterwards changed it, like myself, and he is now a rich and
      prosperous man in the south of England. He was ready enough to join the
      conspiracy, as the only means of saving ourselves, and before we had
      crossed the Bay there were only two of the prisoners who were not in the
      secret. One of these was of weak mind, and we did not dare to trust him,
      and the other was suffering from jaundice, and could not be of any use to
      us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'From the beginning there was really nothing to prevent us from taking
      possession of the ship. The crew were a set of ruffians, specially picked
      for the job. The sham chaplain came into our cells to exhort us, carrying
      a black bag, supposed to be full of tracts, and so often did he come that
      by the third day we had each stowed away at the foot of our beds a file, a
      brace of pistols, a pound of powder, and twenty slugs. Two of the warders
      were agents of Prendergast, and the second mate was his right-hand man.
      The captain, the two mates, two warders, Lieutenant Martin, his eighteen
      soldiers, and the doctor were all that we had against us. Yet, safe as it
      was, we determined to neglect no precaution, and to make our attack
      suddenly by night. It came, however, more quickly than we expected, and in
      this way.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'One evening, about the third week after our start, the doctor had come
      down to see one of the prisoners who was ill, and putting his hand down on
      the bottom of his bunk he felt the outline of the pistols. If he had been
      silent he might have blown the whole thing, but he was a nervous little
      chap, so he gave a cry of surprise and turned so pale that the man knew
      what was up in an instant and seized him. He was gagged before he could
      give the alarm, and tied down upon the bed. He had unlocked the door that
      led to the deck, and we were through it in a rush. The two sentries were
      shot down, and so was a corporal who came running to see what was the
      matter. There were two more soldiers at the door of the state-room, and
      their muskets seemed not to be loaded, for they never fired upon us, and
      they were shot while trying to fix their bayonets. Then we rushed on into
      the captain's cabin, but as we pushed open the door there was an explosion
      from within, and there he lay with his brains smeared over the chart of
      the Atlantic which was pinned upon the table, while the chaplain stood
      with a smoking pistol in his hand at his elbow. The two mates had both
      been seized by the crew, and the whole business seemed to be settled.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The state-room was next the cabin, and we flocked in there and flopped
      down on the settees, all speaking together, for we were just mad with the
      feeling that we were free once more. There were lockers all round, and
      Wilson, the sham chaplain, knocked one of them in, and pulled out a dozen
      of brown sherry. We cracked off the necks of the bottles, poured the stuff
      out into tumblers, and were just tossing them off, when in an instant
      without warning there came the roar of muskets in our ears, and the saloon
      was so full of smoke that we could not see across the table. When it
      cleared again the place was a shambles. Wilson and eight others were
      wriggling on the top of each other on the floor, and the blood and the
      brown sherry on that table turn me sick now when I think of it. We were so
      cowed by the sight that I think we should have given the job up if it had
      not been for Prendergast. He bellowed like a bull and rushed for the door
      with all that were left alive at his heels. Out we ran, and there on the
      poop were the lieutenant and ten of his men. The swing skylights above the
      saloon table had been a bit open, and they had fired on us through the
      slit. We got on them before they could load, and they stood to it like
      men; but we had the upper hand of them, and in five minutes it was all
      over. My God! Was there ever a slaughter-house like that ship! Prendergast
      was like a raging devil, and he picked the soldiers up as if they had been
      children and threw them overboard alive or dead. There was one sergeant
      that was horribly wounded and yet kept on swimming for a surprising time,
      until some one in mercy blew out his brains. When the fighting was over
      there was no one left of our enemies except just the warders, the mates,
      and the doctor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It was over them that the great quarrel arose. There were many of us who
      were glad enough to win back our freedom, and yet who had no wish to have
      murder on our souls. It was one thing to knock the soldiers over with
      their muskets in their hands, and it was another to stand by while men
      were being killed in cold blood. Eight of us, five convicts and three
      sailors, said that we would not see it done. But there was no moving
      Prendergast and those who were with him. Our only chance of safety lay in
      making a clean job of it, said he, and he would not leave a tongue with
      power to wag in a witness-box. It nearly came to our sharing the fate of
      the prisoners, but at last he said that if we wished we might take a boat
      and go. We jumped at the offer, for we were already sick of these
      bloodthirsty doings, and we saw that there would be worse before it was
      done. We were given a suit of sailor togs each, a barrel of water, two
      casks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and a compass. Prendergast threw
      us over a chart, told us that we were shipwrecked mariners whose ship had
      foundered in Lat. 15 degrees and Long 25 degrees west, and then cut the
      painter and let us go.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And now I come to the most surprising part of my story, my dear son. The
      seamen had hauled the fore-yard aback during the rising, but now as we
      left them they brought it square again, and as there was a light wind from
      the north and east the bark began to draw slowly away from us. Our boat
      lay, rising and falling, upon the long, smooth rollers, and Evans and I,
      who were the most educated of the party, were sitting in the sheets
      working out our position and planning what coast we should make for. It
      was a nice question, for the Cape de Verdes were about five hundred miles
      to the north of us, and the African coast about seven hundred to the east.
      On the whole, as the wind was coming round to the north, we thought that
      Sierra Leone might be best, and turned our head in that direction, the
      bark being at that time nearly hull down on our starboard quarter.
      Suddenly as we looked at her we saw a dense black cloud of smoke shoot up
      from her, which hung like a monstrous tree upon the sky line. A few
      seconds later a roar like thunder burst upon our ears, and as the smoke
      thinned away there was no sign left of the <i>Gloria Scott</i>. In an
      instant we swept the boat's head round again and pulled with all our
      strength for the place where the haze still trailing over the water marked
      the scene of this catastrophe.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It was a long hour before we reached it, and at first we feared that we
      had come too late to save any one. A splintered boat and a number of
      crates and fragments of spars rising and falling on the waves showed us
      where the vessel had foundered; but there was no sign of life, and we had
      turned away in despair when we heard a cry for help, and saw at some
      distance a piece of wreckage with a man lying stretched across it. When we
      pulled him aboard the boat he proved to be a young seaman of the name of
      Hudson, who was so burned and exhausted that he could give us no account
      of what had happened until the following morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It seemed that after we had left, Prendergast and his gang had proceeded
      to put to death the five remaining prisoners. The two warders had been
      shot and thrown overboard, and so also had the third mate. Prendergast
      then descended into the 'tween-decks and with his own hands cut the throat
      of the unfortunate surgeon. There only remained the first mate, who was a
      bold and active man. When he saw the convict approaching him with the
      bloody knife in his hand he kicked off his bonds, which he had somehow
      contrived to loosen, and rushing down the deck he plunged into the
      after-hold. A dozen convicts, who descended with their pistols in search
      of him, found him with a match-box in his hand seated beside an open
      powder-barrel, which was one of a hundred carried on board, and swearing
      that he would blow all hands up if he were in any way molested. An instant
      later the explosion occurred, though Hudson thought it was caused by the
      misdirected bullet of one of the convicts rather than the mate's match. Be
      the cause what it may, it was the end of the <i>Gloria Scott</i> and of
      the rabble who held command of her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the history of this terrible
      business in which I was involved. Next day we were picked up by the brig
      <i>Hotspur</i>, bound for Australia, whose captain found no difficulty in
      believing that we were the survivors of a passenger ship which had
      foundered. The transport ship Gloria Scott was set down by the Admiralty
      as being lost at sea, and no word has ever leaked out as to her true fate.
      After an excellent voyage the <i>Hotspur</i> landed us at Sydney, where
      Evans and I changed our names and made our way to the diggings, where,
      among the crowds who were gathered from all nations, we had no difficulty
      in losing our former identities. The rest I need not relate. We prospered,
      we traveled, we came back as rich colonials to England, and we bought
      country estates. For more than twenty years we have led peaceful and
      useful lives, and we hoped that our past was forever buried. Imagine,
      then, my feelings when in the seaman who came to us I recognized instantly
      the man who had been picked off the wreck. He had tracked us down somehow,
      and had set himself to live upon our fears. You will understand now how it
      was that I strove to keep the peace with him, and you will in some measure
      sympathize with me in the fears which fill me, now that he has gone from
      me to his other victim with threats upon his tongue.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be hardly legible,
      'Beddoes writes in cipher to say H. has told all. Sweet Lord, have mercy
      on our souls!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was the narrative which I read that night to young Trevor, and I
      think, Watson, that under the circumstances it was a dramatic one. The
      good fellow was heart-broken at it, and went out to the Terai tea
      planting, where I hear that he is doing well. As to the sailor and
      Beddoes, neither of them was ever heard of again after that day on which
      the letter of warning was written. They both disappeared utterly and
      completely. No complaint had been lodged with the police, so that Beddoes
      had mistaken a threat for a deed. Hudson had been seen lurking about, and
      it was believed by the police that he had done away with Beddoes and had
      fled. For myself I believe that the truth was exactly the opposite. I
      think that it is most probable that Beddoes, pushed to desperation and
      believing himself to have been already betrayed, had revenged himself upon
      Hudson, and had fled from the country with as much money as he could lay
      his hands on. Those are the facts of the case, Doctor, and if they are of
      any use to your collection, I am sure that they are very heartily at your
      service."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure V. The Musgrave Ritual
    </h2>
    <p>
      An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock
      Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and
      most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet
      primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the
      most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I
      am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble
      work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of
      disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But
      with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in
      the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his
      unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre
      of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I
      have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an
      open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit
      in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and
      proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in
      bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the
      appearance of our room was improved by it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which
      had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the
      butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great
      crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were
      connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or
      two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have
      mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of
      passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his
      name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he
      would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the
      sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until
      every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were
      on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their
      owner. One winter's night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to
      suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his
      common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a
      little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so
      with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he
      returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in
      the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it,
      he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of
      bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are cases enough here, Watson," said he, looking at me with
      mischievous eyes. "I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you
      would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in."
    </p>
    <p>
      "These are the records of your early work, then?" I asked. "I have often
      wished that I had notes of those cases."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had
      come to glorify me." He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing
      sort of way. "They are not all successes, Watson," said he. "But there are
      some pretty little problems among them. Here's the record of the Tarleton
      murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of
      the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as
      well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable
      wife. And here&mdash;ah, now, this really is something a little
      recherché."
    </p>
    <p>
      He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small
      wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children's toys are kept in. From
      within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashioned brass key,
      a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old
      disks of metal.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?" he asked, smiling at my
      expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a curious collection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being
      more curious still."
    </p>
    <p>
      "These relics have a history then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "So much so that they are history."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you mean by that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of
      the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with
      a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "These," said he, "are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure
      of the Musgrave Ritual."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been
      able to gather the details. "I should be so glad," said I, "if you would
      give me an account of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And leave the litter as it is?" he cried, mischievously. "Your tidiness
      won't bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you
      should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make
      it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any
      other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be
      incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may remember how the affair of the <i>Gloria Scott</i>, and my
      conversation with the unhappy man whose fate I told you of, first turned
      my attention in the direction of the profession which has become my life's
      work. You see me now when my name has become known far and wide, and when
      I am generally recognized both by the public and by the official force as
      being a final court of appeal in doubtful cases. Even when you knew me
      first, at the time of the affair which you have commemorated in 'A Study
      in Scarlet,' I had already established a considerable, though not a very
      lucrative, connection. You can hardly realize, then, how difficult I found
      it at first, and how long I had to wait before I succeeded in making any
      headway.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When I first came up to London I had rooms in Montague Street, just round
      the corner from the British Museum, and there I waited, filling in my too
      abundant leisure time by studying all those branches of science which
      might make me more efficient. Now and again cases came in my way,
      principally through the introduction of old fellow-students, for during my
      last years at the University there was a good deal of talk there about
      myself and my methods. The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave
      Ritual, and it is to the interest which was aroused by that singular chain
      of events, and the large issues which proved to be at stake, that I trace
      my first stride towards the position which I now hold.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and I had some
      slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally popular among the
      undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that what was set down as
      pride was really an attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. In
      appearance he was a man of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin,
      high-nosed, and large-eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners. He was
      indeed a scion of one of the very oldest families in the kingdom, though
      his branch was a cadet one which had separated from the northern Musgraves
      some time in the sixteenth century, and had established itself in western
      Sussex, where the Manor House of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabited
      building in the county. Something of his birth place seemed to cling to
      the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face or the poise of his
      head without associating him with gray archways and mullioned windows and
      all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once or twice we drifted into
      talk, and I can remember that more than once he expressed a keen interest
      in my methods of observation and inference.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For four years I had seen nothing of him until one morning he walked into
      my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, was dressed like a
      young man of fashion&mdash;he was always a bit of a dandy&mdash;and
      preserved the same quiet, suave manner which had formerly distinguished
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'How has all gone with you Musgrave?' I asked, after we had cordially
      shaken hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You probably heard of my poor father's death,' said he; 'he was carried
      off about two years ago. Since then I have of course had the Hurlstone
      estates to manage, and as I am member for my district as well, my life has
      been a busy one. But I understand, Holmes, that you are turning to
      practical ends those powers with which you used to amaze us?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes,' said I, 'I have taken to living by my wits.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at present would be
      exceedingly valuable to me. We have had some very strange doings at
      Hurlstone, and the police have been able to throw no light upon the
      matter. It is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him, Watson, for the
      very chance for which I had been panting during all those months of
      inaction seemed to have come within my reach. In my inmost heart I
      believed that I could succeed where others failed, and now I had the
      opportunity to test myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Pray, let me have the details,' I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me, and lit the cigarette which I
      had pushed towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You must know,' said he, 'that though I am a bachelor, I have to keep up
      a considerable staff of servants at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old
      place, and takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve, too, and in the
      pheasant months I usually have a house-party, so that it would not do to
      be short-handed. Altogether there are eight maids, the cook, the butler,
      two footmen, and a boy. The garden and the stables of course have a
      separate staff.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Of these servants the one who had been longest in our service was
      Brunton the butler. He was a young school-master out of place when he was
      first taken up by my father, but he was a man of great energy and
      character, and he soon became quite invaluable in the household. He was a
      well-grown, handsome man, with a splendid forehead, and though he has been
      with us for twenty years he cannot be more than forty now. With his
      personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts&mdash;for he can speak
      several languages and play nearly every musical instrument&mdash;it is
      wonderful that he should have been satisfied so long in such a position,
      but I suppose that he was comfortable, and lacked energy to make any
      change. The butler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by
      all who visit us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan, and you can
      imagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficult part to play in
      a quiet country district. When he was married it was all right, but since
      he has been a widower we have had no end of trouble with him. A few months
      ago we were in hopes that he was about to settle down again for he became
      engaged to Rachel Howells, our second house-maid; but he has thrown her
      over since then and taken up with Janet Tregellis, the daughter of the
      head game-keeper. Rachel&mdash;who is a very good girl, but of an
      excitable Welsh temperament&mdash;had a sharp touch of brain-fever, and
      goes about the house now&mdash;or did until yesterday&mdash;like a
      black-eyed shadow of her former self. That was our first drama at
      Hurlstone; but a second one came to drive it from our minds, and it was
      prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of butler Brunton.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'This was how it came about. I have said that the man was intelligent,
      and this very intelligence has caused his ruin, for it seems to have led
      to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in the least concern
      him. I had no idea of the lengths to which this would carry him, until the
      merest accident opened my eyes to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I have said that the house is a rambling one. One day last week&mdash;on
      Thursday night, to be more exact&mdash;I found that I could not sleep,
      having foolishly taken a cup of strong café noir after my dinner. After
      struggling against it until two in the morning, I felt that it was quite
      hopeless, so I rose and lit the candle with the intention of continuing a
      novel which I was reading. The book, however, had been left in the
      billiard-room, so I pulled on my dressing-gown and started off to get it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'In order to reach the billiard-room I had to descend a flight of stairs
      and then to cross the head of a passage which led to the library and the
      gun-room. You can imagine my surprise when, as I looked down this
      corridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door of the
      library. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door before
      coming to bed. Naturally my first thought was of burglars. The corridors
      at Hurlstone have their walls largely decorated with trophies of old
      weapons. From one of these I picked a battle-axe, and then, leaving my
      candle behind me, I crept on tiptoe down the passage and peeped in at the
      open door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He was sitting, fully dressed,
      in an easy-chair, with a slip of paper which looked like a map upon his
      knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep thought. I stood
      dumb with astonishment, watching him from the darkness. A small taper on
      the edge of the table shed a feeble light which sufficed to show me that
      he was fully dressed. Suddenly, as I looked, he rose from his chair, and
      walking over to a bureau at the side, he unlocked it and drew out one of
      the drawers. From this he took a paper, and returning to his seat he
      flattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the table, and began to
      study it with minute attention. My indignation at this calm examination of
      our family documents overcame me so far that I took a step forward, and
      Brunton, looking up, saw me standing in the doorway. He sprang to his
      feet, his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust into his breast the
      chart-like paper which he had been originally studying.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"So!" said I. "This is how you repay the trust which we have reposed in
      you. You will leave my service to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He bowed with the look of a man who is utterly crushed, and slunk past
      me without a word. The taper was still on the table, and by its light I
      glanced to see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from the bureau.
      To my surprise it was nothing of any importance at all, but simply a copy
      of the questions and answers in the singular old observance called the
      Musgrave Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family, which
      each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through on his coming of age&mdash;a
      thing of private interest, and perhaps of some little importance to the
      archaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges, but of no practical
      use whatever.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'We had better come back to the paper afterwards,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'If you think it really necessary,' he answered, with some hesitation.
      'To continue my statement, however: I relocked the bureau, using the key
      which Brunton had left, and I had turned to go when I was surprised to
      find that the butler had returned, and was standing before me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Mr. Musgrave, sir," he cried, in a voice which was hoarse with emotion,
      "I can't bear disgrace, sir. I've always been proud above my station in
      life, and disgrace would kill me. My blood will be on your head, sir&mdash;it
      will, indeed&mdash;if you drive me to despair. If you cannot keep me after
      what has passed, then for God's sake let me give you notice and leave in a
      month, as if of my own free will. I could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but
      not to be cast out before all the folk that I know so well."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"You don't deserve much consideration, Brunton," I answered. "Your
      conduct has been most infamous. However, as you have been a long time in
      the family, I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you. A month,
      however is too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give what reason
      you like for going."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Only a week, sir?" he cried, in a despairing voice. "A fortnight&mdash;say
      at least a fortnight!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"A week," I repeated, "and you may consider yourself to have been very
      leniently dealt with."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a broken man, while I
      put out the light and returned to my room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"For two days after this Brunton was most assiduous in his attention to
      his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed, and waited with some
      curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. On the third morning,
      however he did not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast to receive
      my instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room I happened to meet
      Rachel Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had only recently
      recovered from an illness, and was looking so wretchedly pale and wan that
      I remonstrated with her for being at work.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"You should be in bed," I said. "Come back to your duties when you are
      stronger."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began to suspect
      that her brain was affected.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave," said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"We will see what the doctor says," I answered. "You must stop work now,
      and when you go downstairs just say that I wish to see Brunton."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"The butler is gone," said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Gone! Gone where?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"He is gone. No one has seen him. He is not in his room. Oh, yes, he is
      gone, he is gone!" She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek
      of laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack, rushed
      to the bell to summon help. The girl was taken to her room, still
      screaming and sobbing, while I made inquiries about Brunton. There was no
      doubt about it that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in, he
      had been seen by no one since he had retired to his room the night before,
      and yet it was difficult to see how he could have left the house, as both
      windows and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. His clothes,
      his watch, and even his money were in his room, but the black suit which
      he usually wore was missing. His slippers, too, were gone, but his boots
      were left behind. Where then could butler Brunton have gone in the night,
      and what could have become of him now?
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Of course we searched the house from cellar to garret, but there was no
      trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house,
      especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited; but we
      ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the least sign of the
      missing man. It was incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving
      all his property behind him, and yet where could he be? I called in the
      local police, but without success. Rain had fallen on the night before and
      we examined the lawn and the paths all round the house, but in vain.
      Matters were in this state, when a new development quite drew our
      attention away from the original mystery.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious,
      sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to sit up with her at
      night. On the third night after Brunton's disappearance, the nurse,
      finding her patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the
      arm-chair, when she woke in the early morning to find the bed empty, the
      window open, and no signs of the invalid. I was instantly aroused, and,
      with the two footmen, started off at once in search of the missing girl.
      It was not difficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for,
      starting from under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily
      across the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they vanished close to the
      gravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet
      deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the trail of the
      poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Of course, we had the drags at once, and set to work to recover the
      remains, but no trace of the body could we find. On the other hand, we
      brought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. It was a linen
      bag which contained within it a mass of old rusted and discolored metal
      and several dull-colored pieces of pebble or glass. This strange find was
      all that we could get from the mere, and, although we made every possible
      search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of Rachel
      Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are at their wits' end,
      and I have come up to you as a last resource.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I listened to this
      extraordinary sequence of events, and endeavored to piece them together,
      and to devise some common thread upon which they might all hang. The
      butler was gone. The maid was gone. The maid had loved the butler, but had
      afterwards had cause to hate him. She was of Welsh blood, fiery and
      passionate. She had been terribly excited immediately after his
      disappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing some curious
      contents. These were all factors which had to be taken into consideration,
      and yet none of them got quite to the heart of the matter. What was the
      starting-point of this chain of events? There lay the end of this tangled
      line.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I must see that paper, Musgrave,' said I, 'which this butler of yours
      thought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of his
      place.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,' he answered. 'But
      it has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy
      of the questions and answers here if you care to run your eye over them.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and this is the
      strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came to
      man's estate. I will read you the questions and answers as they stand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Whose was it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'His who is gone.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Who shall have it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He who will come.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where was the sun?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Over the oak.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where was the shadow?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Under the elm.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "How was it stepped?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by
      two, west by one and by one, and so under.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What shall we give for it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'All that is ours.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why should we give it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'For the sake of the trust.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The original has no date, but is in the spelling of the middle of the
      seventeenth century,' remarked Musgrave. 'I am afraid, however, that it
      can be of little help to you in solving this mystery.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'At least,' said I, 'it gives us another mystery, and one which is even
      more interesting than the first. It may be that the solution of the one
      may prove to be the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave,
      if I say that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man,
      and to have had a clearer insight than ten generations of his masters.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I hardly follow you,' said Musgrave. 'The paper seems to me to be of no
      practical importance.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy that Brunton took
      the same view. He had probably seen it before that night on which you
      caught him.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It is very possible. We took no pains to hide it.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory upon that last
      occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart which he was
      comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his pocket when
      you appeared.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That is true. But what could he have to do with this old family custom
      of ours, and what does this rigmarole mean?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I don't think that we should have much difficulty in determining that,'
      said I; 'with your permission we will take the first train down to Sussex,
      and go a little more deeply into the matter upon the spot.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. Possibly you have seen
      pictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, so I will
      confine my account of it to saying that it is built in the shape of an L,
      the long arm being the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancient
      nucleus, from which the other had developed. Over the low,
      heavily-lintelled door, in the centre of this old part, is chiseled the
      date, 1607, but experts are agreed that the beams and stone-work are
      really much older than this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows
      of this part had in the last century driven the family into building the
      new wing, and the old one was used now as a store-house and a cellar, when
      it was used at all. A splendid park with fine old timber surrounds the
      house, and the lake, to which my client had referred, lay close to the
      avenue, about two hundred yards from the building.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that there were not three
      separate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I could read the
      Musgrave Ritual aright I should hold in my hand the clue which would lead
      me to the truth concerning both the butler Brunton and the maid Howells.
      To that then I turned all my energies. Why should this servant be so
      anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he saw something in
      it which had escaped all those generations of country squires, and from
      which he expected some personal advantage. What was it then, and how had
      it affected his fate?
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the ritual, that the
      measurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of the document
      alluded, and that if we could find that spot, we should be in a fair way
      towards finding what the secret was which the old Musgraves had thought it
      necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion. There were two guides given
      us to start with, an oak and an elm. As to the oak there could be no
      question at all. Right in front of the house, upon the left-hand side of
      the drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most magnificent
      trees that I have ever seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That was there when your ritual was drawn up,' said I, as we drove past
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It was there at the Norman Conquest in all probability,' he answered.
      'It has a girth of twenty-three feet.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Have you any old elms?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'There used to be a very old one over yonder but it was struck by
      lightning ten years ago, and we cut down the stump.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You can see where it used to be?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, yes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'There are no other elms?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No old ones, but plenty of beeches.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I should like to see where it grew.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "We had driven up in a dog-cart, and my client led me away at once,
      without our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm had
      stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and the house. My
      investigation seemed to be progressing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the elm was?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four feet.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'How do you come to know it?' I asked, in surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'When my old tutor used to give me an exercise in trigonometry, it always
      took the shape of measuring heights. When I was a lad I worked out every
      tree and building in the estate.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "This was an unexpected piece of luck. My data were coming more quickly
      than I could have reasonably hoped.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tell me,' I asked, 'did your butler ever ask you such a question?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Reginald Musgrave looked at me in astonishment. 'Now that you call it to
      my mind,' he answered, 'Brunton did ask me about the height of the tree
      some months ago, in connection with some little argument with the groom.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was on the right
      road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and I calculated
      that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of
      the old oak. One condition mentioned in the Ritual would then be
      fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end of the
      shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. I had,
      then, to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the sun was
      just clear of the oak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no longer there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I could also. Besides,
      there was no real difficulty. I went with Musgrave to his study and
      whittled myself this peg, to which I tied this long string with a knot at
      each yard. Then I took two lengths of a fishing-rod, which came to just
      six feet, and I went back with my client to where the elm had been. The
      sun was just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod on end, marked
      out the direction of the shadow, and measured it. It was nine feet in
      length.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod of six feet
      threw a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throw one of
      ninety-six, and the line of the one would of course be the line of the
      other. I measured out the distance, which brought me almost to the wall of
      the house, and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can imagine my
      exultation, Watson, when within two inches of my peg I saw a conical
      depression in the ground. I knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in
      his measurements, and that I was still upon his trail.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From this starting-point I proceeded to step, having first taken the
      cardinal points by my pocket-compass. Ten steps with each foot took me
      along parallel with the wall of the house, and again I marked my spot with
      a peg. Then I carefully paced off five to the east and two to the south.
      It brought me to the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to the west
      meant now that I was to go two paces down the stone-flagged passage, and
      this was the place indicated by the Ritual.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never have I felt such a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a
      moment is seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in my
      calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the passage floor, and I
      could see that the old, foot-worn gray stones with which it was paved were
      firmly cemented together, and had certainly not been moved for many a long
      year. Brunton had not been at work here. I tapped upon the floor, but it
      sounded the same all over, and there was no sign of any crack or crevice.
      But, fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of my
      proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, took out his manuscript
      to check my calculation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And under,' he cried. 'You have omitted the "and under."'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now, of course, I
      saw at once that I was wrong. 'There is a cellar under this then?' I
      cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes, and as old as the house. Down here, through this door.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion, striking a match,
      lit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an instant
      it was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place, and that we
      had not been the only people to visit the spot recently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets, which had
      evidently been littered over the floor, were now piled at the sides, so as
      to leave a clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large and heavy
      flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre to which a thick
      shepherd's-check muffler was attached.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'By Jove!' cried my client. 'That's Brunton's muffler. I have seen it on
      him, and could swear to it. What has the villain been doing here?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "At my suggestion a couple of the county police were summoned to be
      present, and I then endeavored to raise the stone by pulling on the
      cravat. I could only move it slightly, and it was with the aid of one of
      the constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it to one side. A
      black hole yawned beneath into which we all peered, while Musgrave,
      kneeling at the side, pushed down the lantern.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square lay open to
      us. At one side of this was a squat, brass-bound wooden box, the lid of
      which was hinged upwards, with this curious old-fashioned key projecting
      from the lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp
      and worms had eaten through the wood, so that a crop of livid fungi was
      growing on the inside of it. Several discs of metal, old coins apparently,
      such as I hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box, but it
      contained nothing else.
    </p>
    <p>
      "At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest, for our eyes
      were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was the figure of a
      man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hams with his
      forehead sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms thrown out on each
      side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and
      no man could have recognized that distorted liver-colored countenance; but
      his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show my client,
      when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his missing butler. He
      had been dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise upon his person
      to show how he had met his dreadful end. When his body had been carried
      from the cellar we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which
      was almost as formidable as that with which we had started.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in my
      investigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I had
      found the place referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there, and was
      apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family had
      concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had thrown a
      light upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that fate
      had come upon him, and what part had been played in the matter by the
      woman who had disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner and thought
      the whole matter carefully over.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man's
      place and, having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I
      should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this case
      the matter was simplified by Brunton's intelligence being quite
      first-rate, so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for the
      personal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He knew that
      something valuable was concealed. He had spotted the place. He found that
      the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to move unaided.
      What would he do next? He could not get help from outside, even if he had
      some one whom he could trust, without the unbarring of doors and
      considerable risk of detection. It was better, if he could, to have his
      helpmate inside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl had been
      devoted to him. A man always finds it hard to realize that he may have
      finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. He
      would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girl Howells, and
      then would engage her as his accomplice. Together they would come at night
      to the cellar, and their united force would suffice to raise the stone. So
      far I could follow their actions as if I had actually seen them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have been heavy work the
      raising of that stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I had found it no
      light job. What would they do to assist them? Probably what I should have
      done myself. I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood
      which were scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came upon what I
      expected. One piece, about three feet in length, had a very marked
      indentation at one end, while several were flattened at the sides as if
      they had been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently, as they
      had dragged the stone up they had thrust the chunks of wood into the
      chink, until at last, when the opening was large enough to crawl through,
      they would hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might very
      well become indented at the lower end, since the whole weight of the stone
      would press it down on to the edge of this other slab. So far I was still
      on safe ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnight drama? Clearly,
      only one could fit into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl must
      have waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed up the contents
      presumably&mdash;since they were not to be found&mdash;and then&mdash;and
      then what happened?
    </p>
    <p>
      "What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this
      passionate Celtic woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged her&mdash;wronged
      her, perhaps, far more than we suspected&mdash;in her power? Was it a
      chance that the wood had slipped, and that the stone had shut Brunton into
      what had become his sepulchre? Had she only been guilty of silence as to
      his fate? Or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed the support away
      and sent the slab crashing down into its place? Be that as it might, I
      seemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at her treasure trove
      and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her ears ringing perhaps with
      the muffled screams from behind her and with the drumming of frenzied
      hands against the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's
      life out.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves, her peals of
      hysterical laughter on the next morning. But what had been in the box?
      What had she done with that? Of course, it must have been the old metal
      and pebbles which my client had dragged from the mere. She had thrown them
      in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matter out.
      Musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his lantern and
      peering down into the hole.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'These are coins of Charles the First,' said he, holding out the few
      which had been in the box; 'you see we were right in fixing our date for
      the Ritual.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'We may find something else of Charles the First,' I cried, as the
      probable meaning of the first two questions of the Ritual broke suddenly
      upon me. 'Let me see the contents of the bag which you fished from the
      mere.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. I could
      understand his regarding it as of small importance when I looked at it,
      for the metal was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull. I
      rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards like a
      spark in the dark hollow of my hand. The metal work was in the form of a
      double ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its original shape.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You must bear in mind,' said I, 'that the royal party made head in
      England even after the death of the king, and that when they at last fled
      they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behind
      them, with the intention of returning for them in more peaceful times.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent Cavalier and the
      right-hand man of Charles the Second in his wanderings,' said my friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, indeed!' I answered. 'Well now, I think that really should give us
      the last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into the
      possession, though in rather a tragic manner of a relic which is of great
      intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as an historical
      curiosity.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What is it, then?' he gasped in astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings of England.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The crown!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Precisely. Consider what the Ritual says: How does it run? "Whose was
      it?" "His who is gone." That was after the execution of Charles. Then,
      "Who shall have it?" "He who will come." That was Charles the Second,
      whose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be no doubt that
      this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal
      Stuarts.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And how came it in the pond?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer.' And with
      that I sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof
      which I had constructed. The twilight had closed in and the moon was
      shining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And how was it then that Charles did not get his crown when he
      returned?' asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which we shall probably
      never be able to clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who held the
      secret died in the interval, and by some oversight left this guide to his
      descendant without explaining the meaning of it. From that day to this it
      has been handed down from father to son, until at last it came within
      reach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his life in the
      venture.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "And that's the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson. They have the crown
      down at Hurlstone&mdash;though they had some legal bother and a
      considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. I am sure
      that if you mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to you. Of
      the woman nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she got away
      out of England and carried herself and the memory of her crime to some
      land beyond the seas."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure VI. The Reigate Puzzle
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes
      recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the spring of
      '87. The whole question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the
      colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are too recent in the minds of the
      public, and are too intimately concerned with politics and finance to be
      fitting subjects for this series of sketches. They led, however, in an
      indirect fashion to a singular and complex problem which gave my friend an
      opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the many
      with which he waged his life-long battle against crime.
    </p>
    <p>
      On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the 14th of April that I
      received a telegram from Lyons which informed me that Holmes was lying ill
      in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in his sick-room, and
      was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms.
      Even his iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of
      an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period
      he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once,
      as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch. Even the
      triumphant issue of his labors could not save him from reaction after so
      terrible an exertion, and at a time when Europe was ringing with his name
      and when his room was literally ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams I
      found him a prey to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he
      had succeeded where the police of three countries had failed, and that he
      had outmanoeuvred at every point the most accomplished swindler in Europe,
      was insufficient to rouse him from his nervous prostration.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but it was evident
      that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the thought of a
      week of spring time in the country was full of attractions to me also. My
      old friend, Colonel Hayter, who had come under my professional care in
      Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate in Surrey, and had
      frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On the last occasion
      he had remarked that if my friend would only come with me he would be glad
      to extend his hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was needed, but
      when Holmes understood that the establishment was a bachelor one, and that
      he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with my plans and a
      week after our return from Lyons we were under the Colonel's roof. Hayter
      was a fine old soldier who had seen much of the world, and he soon found,
      as I had expected, that Holmes and he had much in common.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the Colonel's gun-room
      after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I looked
      over his little armory of Eastern weapons.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I'll take one of these pistols
      upstairs with me in case we have an alarm."
    </p>
    <p>
      "An alarm!" said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one of our
      county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No great damage
      done, but the fellows are still at large."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the Colonel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "None as yet. But the affair is a petty one, one of our little country
      crimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after
      this great international affair."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had
      pleased him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was there any feature of interest?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got very little for
      their pains. The whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open,
      and presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of Pope's
      'Homer,' two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a small oak
      barometer, and a ball of twine are all that have vanished."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything they could get."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes grunted from the sofa.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The county police ought to make something of that," said he; "why, it is
      surely obvious that&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      But I held up a warning finger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven's sake don't get
      started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards
      the Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was destined, however, that all my professional caution should be
      wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a way
      that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a turn
      which neither of us could have anticipated. We were at breakfast when the
      Colonel's butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the Cunningham's sir!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee-cup in mid-air.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Murder!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he. "Who's killed, then? The J.P. or
      his son?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot through the heart, sir,
      and never spoke again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who shot him, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away. He'd just
      broke in at the pantry window when William came on him and met his end in
      saving his master's property."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What time?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, then, we'll step over afterwards," said the Colonel, coolly settling
      down to his breakfast again. "It's a baddish business," he added when the
      butler had gone; "he's our leading man about here, is old Cunningham, and
      a very decent fellow too. He'll be cut up over this, for the man has been
      in his service for years and was a good servant. It's evidently the same
      villains who broke into Acton's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And stole that very singular collection," said Holmes, thoughtfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Precisely."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the world, but all the same at
      first glance this is just a little curious, is it not? A gang of burglars
      acting in the country might be expected to vary the scene of their
      operations, and not to crack two cribs in the same district within a few
      days. When you spoke last night of taking precautions I remember that it
      passed through my mind that this was probably the last parish in England
      to which the thief or thieves would be likely to turn their attention&mdash;which
      shows that I have still much to learn."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fancy it's some local practitioner," said the Colonel. "In that case,
      of course, Acton's and Cunningham's are just the places he would go for,
      since they are far the largest about here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And richest?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, they ought to be, but they've had a lawsuit for some years which
      has sucked the blood out of both of them, I fancy. Old Acton has some
      claim on half Cunningham's estate, and the lawyers have been at it with
      both hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it's a local villain there should not be much difficulty in running
      him down," said Holmes with a yawn. "All right, Watson, I don't intend to
      meddle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler, throwing open the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, stepped into the room.
      "Good-morning, Colonel," said he; "I hope I don't intrude, but we hear
      that Mr. Holmes of Baker Street is here."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the Inspector bowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We thought that perhaps you would care to step across, Mr. Holmes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The fates are against you, Watson," said he, laughing. "We were chatting
      about the matter when you came in, Inspector. Perhaps you can let us have
      a few details." As he leaned back in his chair in the familiar attitude I
      knew that the case was hopeless.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we have plenty to go on, and
      there's no doubt it is the same party in each case. The man was seen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after the shot that killed poor
      William Kirwan was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroom window,
      and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. It was quarter to
      twelve when the alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham had just got into bed, and
      Mr. Alec was smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown. They both heard William
      the coachman calling for help, and Mr. Alec ran down to see what was the
      matter. The back door was open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs
      he saw two men wrestling together outside. One of them fired a shot, the
      other dropped, and the murderer rushed across the garden and over the
      hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of his bedroom, saw the fellow as he
      gained the road, but lost sight of him at once. Mr. Alec stopped to see if
      he could help the dying man, and so the villain got clean away. Beyond the
      fact that he was a middle-sized man and dressed in some dark stuff, we
      have no personal clue; but we are making energetic inquiries, and if he is
      a stranger we shall soon find him out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What was this William doing there? Did he say anything before he died?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother, and as he was a very
      faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to the house with the
      intention of seeing that all was right there. Of course this Acton
      business has put every one on their guard. The robber must have just burst
      open the door&mdash;the lock has been forced&mdash;when William came upon
      him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did William say anything to his mother before going out?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is very old and deaf, and we can get no information from her. The
      shock has made her half-witted, but I understand that she was never very
      bright. There is one very important circumstance, however. Look at this!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He took a small piece of torn paper from a note-book and spread it out
      upon his knee.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. It appears
      to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. You will observe that the hour
      mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor fellow met his fate.
      You see that his murderer might have torn the rest of the sheet from him
      or he might have taken this fragment from the murderer. It reads almost as
      though it were an appointment."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a fac-simile of which is here
      reproduced.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     d at quarter to twelve learn what maybe
</pre>
    <p>
      "Presuming that it is an appointment," continued the Inspector, "it is of
      course a conceivable theory that this William Kirwan&mdash;though he had
      the reputation of being an honest man, may have been in league with the
      thief. He may have met him there, may even have helped him to break in the
      door, and then they may have fallen out between themselves."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This writing is of extraordinary interest," said Holmes, who had been
      examining it with intense concentration. "These are much deeper waters
      than I had thought." He sank his head upon his hands, while the Inspector
      smiled at the effect which his case had had upon the famous London
      specialist.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your last remark," said Holmes, presently, "as to the possibility of
      there being an understanding between the burglar and the servant, and this
      being a note of appointment from one to the other, is an ingenious and not
      entirely impossible supposition. But this writing opens up&mdash;" He sank
      his head into his hands again and remained for some minutes in the deepest
      thought. When he raised his face again, I was surprised to see that his
      cheek was tinged with color, and his eyes as bright as before his illness.
      He sprang to his feet with all his old energy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll tell you what," said he, "I should like to have a quiet little
      glance into the details of this case. There is something in it which
      fascinates me extremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, I will leave my
      friend Watson and you, and I will step round with the Inspector to test
      the truth of one or two little fancies of mine. I will be with you again
      in half an hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      An hour and half had elapsed before the Inspector returned alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside," said he. "He
      wants us all four to go up to the house together."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Mr. Cunningham's?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. "I don't quite know, sir. Between
      ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes had not quite got over his illness yet. He's
      been behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I. "I have usually found
      that there was method in his madness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some folks might say there was madness in his method," muttered the
      Inspector. "But he's all on fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go out
      if you are ready."
    </p>
    <p>
      We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunk upon his
      breast, and his hands thrust into his trousers pockets.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The matter grows in interest," said he. "Watson, your country-trip has
      been a distinct success. I have had a charming morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand," said the
      Colonel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a little reconnaissance
      together."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any success?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we have seen some very interesting things. I'll tell you what we
      did as we walk. First of all, we saw the body of this unfortunate man. He
      certainly died from a revolver wound as reported."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had you doubted it, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not wasted. We
      then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son, who were able to
      point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken through the
      garden-hedge in his flight. That was of great interest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Naturally."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. We could get no
      information from her, however, as she is very old and feeble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what is the result of your investigations?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhaps our visit
      now may do something to make it less obscure. I think that we are both
      agreed, Inspector that the fragment of paper in the dead man's hand,
      bearing, as it does, the very hour of his death written upon it, is of
      extreme importance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man who brought
      William Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But where is the rest of that
      sheet of paper?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it," said the
      Inspector.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was some one so anxious to
      get possession of it? Because it incriminated him. And what would he do
      with it? Thrust it into his pocket, most likely, never noticing that a
      corner of it had been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could get the
      rest of that sheet it is obvious that we should have gone a long way
      towards solving the mystery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before we catch the
      criminal?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is another obvious
      point. The note was sent to William. The man who wrote it could not have
      taken it; otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his own message by
      word of mouth. Who brought the note, then? Or did it come through the
      post?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have made inquiries," said the Inspector. "William received a letter by
      the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspector on the back. "You've
      seen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well, here is the
      lodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of the
      crime."
    </p>
    <p>
      We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived, and walked
      up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne house, which bears the
      date of Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and the Inspector
      led us round it until we came to the side gate, which is separated by a
      stretch of garden from the hedge which lines the road. A constable was
      standing at the kitchen door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes. "Now, it was on those stairs
      that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling just where
      we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at that window&mdash;the second on the left&mdash;and
      he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that bush. Then Mr. Alec
      ran out and knelt beside the wounded man. The ground is very hard, you
      see, and there are no marks to guide us." As he spoke two men came down
      the garden path, from round the angle of the house. The one was an elderly
      man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the other a dashing young
      fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy dress were in strange
      contrast with the business which had brought us there.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I thought you Londoners were
      never at fault. You don't seem to be so very quick, after all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, you must give us a little time," said Holmes good-humoredly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham. "Why, I don't see that we
      have any clue at all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's only one," answered the Inspector. "We thought that if we could
      only find&mdash;Good heavens, Mr. Holmes! What is the matter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful expression.
      His eyes rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony, and with a
      suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the ground. Horrified at the
      suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried him into the kitchen,
      where he lay back in a large chair, and breathed heavily for some minutes.
      Finally, with a shamefaced apology for his weakness, he rose once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from a severe
      illness," he explained. "I am liable to these sudden nervous attacks."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old Cunningham.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I should like to feel
      sure. We can very easily verify it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What was it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrival of this
      poor fellow William was not before, but after, the entrance of the burglar
      into the house. You appear to take it for granted that, although the door
      was forced, the robber never got in."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr. Cunningham, gravely. "Why, my
      son Alec had not yet gone to bed, and he would certainly have heard any
      one moving about."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where was he sitting?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was smoking in my dressing-room."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which window is that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The last on the left next my father's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Both of your lamps were lit, of course?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Undoubtedly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are some very singular points here," said Holmes, smiling. "Is it
      not extraordinary that a burglar&mdash;and a burglar who had had some
      previous experience&mdash;should deliberately break into a house at a time
      when he could see from the lights that two of the family were still
      afoot?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He must have been a cool hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, of course, if the case were not an odd one we should not have been
      driven to ask you for an explanation," said young Mr. Alec. "But as to
      your ideas that the man had robbed the house before William tackled him, I
      think it a most absurd notion. Wouldn't we have found the place
      disarranged, and missed the things which he had taken?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It depends on what the things were," said Holmes. "You must remember that
      we are dealing with a burglar who is a very peculiar fellow, and who
      appears to work on lines of his own. Look, for example, at the queer lot
      of things which he took from Acton's&mdash;what was it?&mdash;a ball of
      string, a letter-weight, and I don't know what other odds and ends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes," said old Cunningham.
      "Anything which you or the Inspector may suggest will most certainly be
      done."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the first place," said Holmes, "I should like you to offer a reward&mdash;coming
      from yourself, for the officials may take a little time before they would
      agree upon the sum, and these things cannot be done too promptly. I have
      jotted down the form here, if you would not mind signing it. Fifty pounds
      was quite enough, I thought."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would willingly give five hundred," said the J.P., taking the slip of
      paper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him. "This is not quite
      correct, however," he added, glancing over the document.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wrote it rather hurriedly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see you begin, 'Whereas, at about a quarter to one on Tuesday morning
      an attempt was made,' and so on. It was at a quarter to twelve, as a
      matter of fact."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes would feel any
      slip of the kind. It was his specialty to be accurate as to fact, but his
      recent illness had shaken him, and this one little incident was enough to
      show me that he was still far from being himself. He was obviously
      embarrassed for an instant, while the Inspector raised his eyebrows, and
      Alec Cunningham burst into a laugh. The old gentleman corrected the
      mistake, however, and handed the paper back to Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get it printed as soon as possible," he said; "I think your idea is an
      excellent one."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his pocket-book.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now," said he, "it really would be a good thing that we should all go
      over the house together and make certain that this rather erratic burglar
      did not, after all, carry anything away with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the door which had been
      forced. It was evident that a chisel or strong knife had been thrust in,
      and the lock forced back with it. We could see the marks in the wood where
      it had been pushed in.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You don't use bars, then?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have never found it necessary."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You don't keep a dog?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When do the servants go to bed?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "About ten."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understand that William was usually in bed also at that hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is singular that on this particular night he should have been up. Now,
      I should be very glad if you would have the kindness to show us over the
      house, Mr. Cunningham."
    </p>
    <p>
      A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away from it, led by
      a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the house. It came out
      upon the landing opposite to a second more ornamental stair which came up
      from the front hall. Out of this landing opened the drawing-room and
      several bedrooms, including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son. Holmes
      walked slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of the house. I could
      tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet I could not
      in the least imagine in what direction his inferences were leading him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My good sir," said Mr. Cunningham with some impatience, "this is surely
      very unnecessary. That is my room at the end of the stairs, and my son's
      is the one beyond it. I leave it to your judgment whether it was possible
      for the thief to have come up here without disturbing us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy," said the son with
      a rather malicious smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still, I must ask you to humor me a little further. I should like, for
      example, to see how far the windows of the bedrooms command the front.
      This, I understand is your son's room"&mdash;he pushed open the door&mdash;"and
      that, I presume, is the dressing-room in which he sat smoking when the
      alarm was given. Where does the window of that look out to?" He stepped
      across the bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round the other
      chamber.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hope that you are satisfied now?" said Mr. Cunningham, tartly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then if it is really necessary we can go into my room."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it is not too much trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      The J. P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into his own chamber,
      which was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. As we moved across it
      in the direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he and I were the
      last of the group. Near the foot of the bed stood a dish of oranges and a
      carafe of water. As we passed it Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment,
      leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over.
      The glass smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into
      every corner of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You've done it now, Watson," said he, coolly. "A pretty mess you've made
      of the carpet."
    </p>
    <p>
      I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit, understanding
      for some reason my companion desired me to take the blame upon myself. The
      others did the same, and set the table on its legs again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hullo!" cried the Inspector, "where's he got to?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes had disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cunningham. "The fellow is off his
      head, in my opinion. Come with me, father, and see where he has got to!"
    </p>
    <p>
      They rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector, the Colonel, and me
      staring at each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master Alec," said the
      official. "It may be the effect of this illness, but it seems to me that&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help! Help! Murder!" With
      a thrill I recognized the voice of that of my friend. I rushed madly from
      the room on to the landing. The cries, which had sunk down into a hoarse,
      inarticulate shouting, came from the room which we had first visited. I
      dashed in, and on into the dressing-room beyond. The two Cunninghams were
      bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes, the younger
      clutching his throat with both hands, while the elder seemed to be
      twisting one of his wrists. In an instant the three of us had torn them
      away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, very pale and evidently
      greatly exhausted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Arrest these men, Inspector," he gasped.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On what charge?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan."
    </p>
    <p>
      The Inspector stared about him in bewilderment. "Oh, come now, Mr.
      Holmes," said he at last, "I'm sure you don't really mean to&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tut, man, look at their faces!" cried Holmes, curtly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Never certainly have I seen a plainer confession of guilt upon human
      countenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed with a heavy, sullen
      expression upon his strongly-marked face. The son, on the other hand, had
      dropped all that jaunty, dashing style which had characterized him, and
      the ferocity of a dangerous wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes and
      distorted his handsome features. The Inspector said nothing, but, stepping
      to the door, he blew his whistle. Two of his constables came at the call.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham," said he. "I trust that this may
      all prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can see that&mdash;Ah, would
      you? Drop it!" He struck out with his hand, and a revolver which the
      younger man was in the act of cocking clattered down upon the floor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Keep that," said Holmes, quietly putting his foot upon it; "you will find
      it useful at the trial. But this is what we really wanted." He held up a
      little crumpled piece of paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The remainder of the sheet!" cried the Inspector.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Precisely."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And where was it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where I was sure it must be. I'll make the whole matter clear to you
      presently. I think, Colonel, that you and Watson might return now, and I
      will be with you again in an hour at the furthest. The Inspector and I
      must have a word with the prisoners, but you will certainly see me back at
      luncheon time."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one o'clock he rejoined
      us in the Colonel's smoking-room. He was accompanied by a little elderly
      gentleman, who was introduced to me as the Mr. Acton whose house had been
      the scene of the original burglary.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated this small matter
      to you," said Holmes, "for it is natural that he should take a keen
      interest in the details. I am afraid, my dear Colonel, that you must
      regret the hour that you took in such a stormy petrel as I am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the contrary," answered the Colonel, warmly, "I consider it the
      greatest privilege to have been permitted to study your methods of
      working. I confess that they quite surpass my expectations, and that I am
      utterly unable to account for your result. I have not yet seen the vestige
      of a clue."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you but it has always
      been my habit to hide none of my methods, either from my friend Watson or
      from any one who might take an intelligent interest in them. But, first,
      as I am rather shaken by the knocking about which I had in the
      dressing-room, I think that I shall help myself to a dash of your brandy,
      Colonel. My strength had been rather tried of late."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust that you had no more of those nervous attacks."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily. "We will come to that in its turn," said
      he. "I will lay an account of the case before you in its due order,
      showing you the various points which guided me in my decision. Pray
      interrupt me if there is any inference which is not perfectly clear to
      you.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be able to
      recognize, out of a number of facts, which are incidental and which vital.
      Otherwise your energy and attention must be dissipated instead of being
      concentrated. Now, in this case there was not the slightest doubt in my
      mind from the first that the key of the whole matter must be looked for in
      the scrap of paper in the dead man's hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Before going into this, I would draw your attention to the fact that, if
      Alec Cunningham's narrative was correct, and if the assailant, after
      shooting William Kirwan, had instantly fled, then it obviously could not
      be he who tore the paper from the dead man's hand. But if it was not he,
      it must have been Alec Cunningham himself, for by the time that the old
      man had descended several servants were upon the scene. The point is a
      simple one, but the Inspector had overlooked it because he had started
      with the supposition that these county magnates had had nothing to do with
      the matter. Now, I make a point of never having any prejudices, and of
      following docilely wherever fact may lead me, and so, in the very first
      stage of the investigation, I found myself looking a little askance at the
      part which had been played by Mr. Alec Cunningham.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now I made a very careful examination of the corner of paper which
      the Inspector had submitted to us. It was at once clear to me that it
      formed part of a very remarkable document. Here it is. Do you not now
      observe something very suggestive about it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It has a very irregular look," said the Colonel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear sir," cried Holmes, "there cannot be the least doubt in the world
      that it has been written by two persons doing alternate words. When I draw
      your attention to the strong t's of 'at' and 'to', and ask you to compare
      them with the weak ones of 'quarter' and 'twelve,' you will instantly
      recognize the fact. A very brief analysis of these four words would enable
      you to say with the utmost confidence that the 'learn' and the 'maybe' are
      written in the stronger hand, and the 'what' in the weaker."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By Jove, it's as clear as day!" cried the Colonel. "Why on earth should
      two men write a letter in such a fashion?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Obviously the business was a bad one, and one of the men who distrusted
      the other was determined that, whatever was done, each should have an
      equal hand in it. Now, of the two men, it is clear that the one who wrote
      the 'at' and 'to' was the ringleader."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you get at that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We might deduce it from the mere character of the one hand as compared
      with the other. But we have more assured reasons than that for supposing
      it. If you examine this scrap with attention you will come to the
      conclusion that the man with the stronger hand wrote all his words first,
      leaving blanks for the other to fill up. These blanks were not always
      sufficient, and you can see that the second man had a squeeze to fit his
      'quarter' in between the 'at' and the 'to,' showing that the latter were
      already written. The man who wrote all his words first is undoubtedly the
      man who planned the affair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But very superficial," said Holmes. "We come now, however, to a point
      which is of importance. You may not be aware that the deduction of a man's
      age from his writing is one which has been brought to considerable
      accuracy by experts. In normal cases one can place a man in his true
      decade with tolerable confidence. I say normal cases, because ill-health
      and physical weakness reproduce the signs of old age, even when the
      invalid is a youth. In this case, looking at the bold, strong hand of the
      one, and the rather broken-backed appearance of the other, which still
      retains its legibility although the t's have begun to lose their crossing,
      we can say that the one was a young man and the other was advanced in
      years without being positively decrepit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is a further point, however, which is subtler and of greater
      interest. There is something in common between these hands. They belong to
      men who are blood-relatives. It may be most obvious to you in the Greek
      e's, but to me there are many small points which indicate the same thing.
      I have no doubt at all that a family mannerism can be traced in these two
      specimens of writing. I am only, of course, giving you the leading results
      now of my examination of the paper. There were twenty-three other
      deductions which would be of more interest to experts than to you. They
      all tend to deepen the impression upon my mind that the Cunninghams,
      father and son, had written this letter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Having got so far, my next step was, of course, to examine into the
      details of the crime, and to see how far they would help us. I went up to
      the house with the Inspector, and saw all that was to be seen. The wound
      upon the dead man was, as I was able to determine with absolute
      confidence, fired from a revolver at the distance of something over four
      yards. There was no powder-blackening on the clothes. Evidently,
      therefore, Alec Cunningham had lied when he said that the two men were
      struggling when the shot was fired. Again, both father and son agreed as
      to the place where the man escaped into the road. At that point, however,
      as it happens, there is a broadish ditch, moist at the bottom. As there
      were no indications of bootmarks about this ditch, I was absolutely sure
      not only that the Cunninghams had again lied, but that there had never
      been any unknown man upon the scene at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now I have to consider the motive of this singular crime. To get at
      this, I endeavored first of all to solve the reason of the original
      burglary at Mr. Acton's. I understood, from something which the Colonel
      told us, that a lawsuit had been going on between you, Mr. Acton, and the
      Cunninghams. Of course, it instantly occurred to me that they had broken
      into your library with the intention of getting at some document which
      might be of importance in the case."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Precisely so," said Mr. Acton. "There can be no possible doubt as to
      their intentions. I have the clearest claim upon half of their present
      estate, and if they could have found a single paper&mdash;which,
      fortunately, was in the strong-box of my solicitors&mdash;they would
      undoubtedly have crippled our case."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There you are," said Holmes, smiling. "It was a dangerous, reckless
      attempt, in which I seem to trace the influence of young Alec. Having
      found nothing they tried to divert suspicion by making it appear to be an
      ordinary burglary, to which end they carried off whatever they could lay
      their hands upon. That is all clear enough, but there was much that was
      still obscure. What I wanted above all was to get the missing part of that
      note. I was certain that Alec had torn it out of the dead man's hand, and
      almost certain that he must have thrust it into the pocket of his
      dressing-gown. Where else could he have put it? The only question was
      whether it was still there. It was worth an effort to find out, and for
      that object we all went up to the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Cunninghams joined us, as you doubtless remember, outside the kitchen
      door. It was, of course, of the very first importance that they should not
      be reminded of the existence of this paper, otherwise they would naturally
      destroy it without delay. The Inspector was about to tell them the
      importance which we attached to it when, by the luckiest chance in the
      world, I tumbled down in a sort of fit and so changed the conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good heavens!" cried the Colonel, laughing, "do you mean to say all our
      sympathy was wasted and your fit an imposture?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Speaking professionally, it was admirably done," cried I, looking in
      amazement at this man who was forever confounding me with some new phase
      of his astuteness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is an art which is often useful," said he. "When I recovered I
      managed, by a device which had perhaps some little merit of ingenuity, to
      get old Cunningham to write the word 'twelve,' so that I might compare it
      with the 'twelve' upon the paper."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, what an ass I have been!" I exclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could see that you were commiserating me over my weakness," said
      Holmes, laughing. "I was sorry to cause you the sympathetic pain which I
      know that you felt. We then went upstairs together, and having entered the
      room and seen the dressing-gown hanging up behind the door, I contrived,
      by upsetting a table, to engage their attention for the moment, and
      slipped back to examine the pockets. I had hardly got the paper, however&mdash;which
      was, as I had expected, in one of them&mdash;when the two Cunninghams were
      on me, and would, I verily believe, have murdered me then and there but
      for your prompt and friendly aid. As it is, I feel that young man's grip
      on my throat now, and the father has twisted my wrist round in the effort
      to get the paper out of my hand. They saw that I must know all about it,
      you see, and the sudden change from absolute security to complete despair
      made them perfectly desperate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as to the motive of
      the crime. He was tractable enough, though his son was a perfect demon,
      ready to blow out his own or anybody else's brains if he could have got to
      his revolver. When Cunningham saw that the case against him was so strong
      he lost all heart and made a clean breast of everything. It seems that
      William had secretly followed his two masters on the night when they made
      their raid upon Mr. Acton's, and having thus got them into his power,
      proceeded, under threats of exposure, to levy blackmail upon them. Mr.
      Alec, however, was a dangerous man to play games of that sort with. It was
      a stroke of positive genius on his part to see in the burglary scare which
      was convulsing the country side an opportunity of plausibly getting rid of
      the man whom he feared. William was decoyed up and shot, and had they only
      got the whole of the note and paid a little more attention to detail in
      the accessories, it is very possible that suspicion might never have been
      aroused."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the note?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper before us.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     If you will only come around to the east gate it will
     very much surprise you and be of the greatest service to you
     and also to Annie Morrison. But say nothing to anyone upon
     the matter.
</pre>
    <p>
      "It is very much the sort of thing that I expected," said he. "Of course,
      we do not yet know what the relations may have been between Alec
      Cunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie Morrison. The results shows that the
      trap was skillfully baited. I am sure that you cannot fail to be delighted
      with the traces of heredity shown in the p's and in the tails of the g's.
      The absence of the i-dots in the old man's writing is also most
      characteristic. Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has been a
      distinct success, and I shall certainly return much invigorated to Baker
      Street to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure VII. The Crooked Man
    </h2>
    <p>
      One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seated by my own
      hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my day's work had
      been an exhausting one. My wife had already gone upstairs, and the sound
      of the locking of the hall door some time before told me that the servants
      had also retired. I had risen from my seat and was knocking out the ashes
      of my pipe when I suddenly heard the clang of the bell.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This could not be a
      visitor at so late an hour. A patient, evidently, and possibly an
      all-night sitting. With a wry face I went out into the hall and opened the
      door. To my astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes who stood upon my step.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Watson," said he, "I hoped that I might not be too late to catch
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear fellow, pray come in."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You look surprised, and no wonder! Relieved, too, I fancy! Hum! You still
      smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor days then! There's no mistaking
      that fluffy ash upon your coat. It's easy to tell that you have been
      accustomed to wear a uniform, Watson. You'll never pass as a pure-bred
      civilian as long as you keep that habit of carrying your handkerchief in
      your sleeve. Could you put me up to-night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "With pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You told me that you had bachelor quarters for one, and I see that you
      have no gentleman visitor at present. Your hat-stand proclaims as much."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall be delighted if you will stay."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you. I'll fill the vacant peg then. Sorry to see that you've had
      the British workman in the house. He's a token of evil. Not the drains, I
      hope?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, the gas."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah! He has left two nail-marks from his boot upon your linoleum just
      where the light strikes it. No, thank you, I had some supper at Waterloo,
      but I'll smoke a pipe with you with pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      I handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite to me and smoked for
      some time in silence. I was well aware that nothing but business of
      importance would have brought him to me at such an hour, so I waited
      patiently until he should come round to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see that you are professionally rather busy just now," said he,
      glancing very keenly across at me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I've had a busy day," I answered. "It may seem very foolish in your
      eyes," I added, "but really I don't know how you deduced it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes chuckled to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson," said he.
      "When your round is a short one you walk, and when it is a long one you
      use a hansom. As I perceive that your boots, although used, are by no
      means dirty, I cannot doubt that you are at present busy enough to justify
      the hansom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent!" I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Elementary," said he. "It is one of those instances where the reasoner
      can produce an effect which seems remarkable to his neighbor, because the
      latter has missed the one little point which is the basis of the
      deduction. The same may be said, my dear fellow, for the effect of some of
      these little sketches of yours, which is entirely meretricious, depending
      as it does upon your retaining in your own hands some factors in the
      problem which are never imparted to the reader. Now, at present I am in
      the position of these same readers, for I hold in this hand several
      threads of one of the strangest cases which ever perplexed a man's brain,
      and yet I lack the one or two which are needful to complete my theory. But
      I'll have them, Watson, I'll have them!" His eyes kindled and a slight
      flush sprang into his thin cheeks. For an instant only. When I glanced
      again his face had resumed that red-Indian composure which had made so
      many regard him as a machine rather than a man.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The problem presents features of interest," said he. "I may even say
      exceptional features of interest. I have already looked into the matter,
      and have come, as I think, within sight of my solution. If you could
      accompany me in that last step you might be of considerable service to
      me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should be delighted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Could you go as far as Aldershot to-morrow?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no doubt Jackson would take my practice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very good. I want to start by the 11.10 from Waterloo."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That would give me time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, if you are not too sleepy, I will give you a sketch of what has
      happened, and of what remains to be done."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was sleepy before you came. I am quite wakeful now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will compress the story as far as may be done without omitting anything
      vital to the case. It is conceivable that you may even have read some
      account of the matter. It is the supposed murder of Colonel Barclay, of
      the Royal Munsters, at Aldershot, which I am investigating."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have heard nothing of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It has not excited much attention yet, except locally. The facts are only
      two days old. Briefly they are these:
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of the most famous Irish
      regiments in the British army. It did wonders both in the Crimea and the
      Mutiny, and has since that time distinguished itself upon every possible
      occasion. It was commanded up to Monday night by James Barclay, a gallant
      veteran, who started as a full private, was raised to commissioned rank
      for his bravery at the time of the Mutiny, and so lived to command the
      regiment in which he had once carried a musket.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Colonel Barclay had married at the time when he was a sergeant, and his
      wife, whose maiden name was Miss Nancy Devoy, was the daughter of a former
      color-sergeant in the same corps. There was, therefore, as can be
      imagined, some little social friction when the young couple (for they were
      still young) found themselves in their new surroundings. They appear,
      however, to have quickly adapted themselves, and Mrs. Barclay has always,
      I understand, been as popular with the ladies of the regiment as her
      husband was with his brother officers. I may add that she was a woman of
      great beauty, and that even now, when she has been married for upwards of
      thirty years, she is still of a striking and queenly appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Colonel Barclay's family life appears to have been a uniformly happy one.
      Major Murphy, to whom I owe most of my facts, assures me that he has never
      heard of any misunderstanding between the pair. On the whole, he thinks
      that Barclay's devotion to his wife was greater than his wife's to
      Barclay. He was acutely uneasy if he were absent from her for a day. She,
      on the other hand, though devoted and faithful, was less obtrusively
      affectionate. But they were regarded in the regiment as the very model of
      a middle-aged couple. There was absolutely nothing in their mutual
      relations to prepare people for the tragedy which was to follow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had some singular traits in his
      character. He was a dashing, jovial old soldier in his usual mood, but
      there were occasions on which he seemed to show himself capable of
      considerable violence and vindictiveness. This side of his nature,
      however, appears never to have been turned towards his wife. Another fact,
      which had struck Major Murphy and three out of five of the other officers
      with whom I conversed, was the singular sort of depression which came upon
      him at times. As the major expressed it, the smile had often been struck
      from his mouth, as if by some invisible hand, when he has been joining the
      gayeties and chaff of the mess-table. For days on end, when the mood was
      on him, he has been sunk in the deepest gloom. This and a certain tinge of
      superstition were the only unusual traits in his character which his
      brother officers had observed. The latter peculiarity took the form of a
      dislike to being left alone, especially after dark. This puerile feature
      in a nature which was conspicuously manly had often given rise to comment
      and conjecture.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The first battalion of the Royal Munsters (which is the old 117th) has
      been stationed at Aldershot for some years. The married officers live out
      of barracks, and the Colonel has during all this time occupied a villa
      called Lachine, about half a mile from the north camp. The house stands in
      its own grounds, but the west side of it is not more than thirty yards
      from the high-road. A coachman and two maids form the staff of servants.
      These with their master and mistress were the sole occupants of Lachine,
      for the Barclays had no children, nor was it usual for them to have
      resident visitors.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on the evening of last
      Monday."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, and
      had interested herself very much in the establishment of the Guild of St.
      George, which was formed in connection with the Watt Street Chapel for the
      purpose of supplying the poor with cast-off clothing. A meeting of the
      Guild had been held that evening at eight, and Mrs. Barclay had hurried
      over her dinner in order to be present at it. When leaving the house she
      was heard by the coachman to make some commonplace remark to her husband,
      and to assure him that she would be back before very long. She then called
      for Miss Morrison, a young lady who lives in the next villa, and the two
      went off together to their meeting. It lasted forty minutes, and at a
      quarter-past nine Mrs. Barclay returned home, having left Miss Morrison at
      her door as she passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is a room which is used as a morning-room at Lachine. This faces
      the road and opens by a large glass folding-door on to the lawn. The lawn
      is thirty yards across, and is only divided from the highway by a low wall
      with an iron rail above it. It was into this room that Mrs. Barclay went
      upon her return. The blinds were not down, for the room was seldom used in
      the evening, but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and then rang the bell,
      asking Jane Stewart, the house-maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was
      quite contrary to her usual habits. The Colonel had been sitting in the
      dining-room, but hearing that his wife had returned he joined her in the
      morning-room. The coachman saw him cross the hall and enter it. He was
      never seen again alive.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the end of ten minutes;
      but the maid, as she approached the door, was surprised to hear the voices
      of her master and mistress in furious altercation. She knocked without
      receiving any answer, and even turned the handle, but only to find that
      the door was locked upon the inside. Naturally enough she ran down to tell
      the cook, and the two women with the coachman came up into the hall and
      listened to the dispute which was still raging. They all agreed that only
      two voices were to be heard, those of Barclay and of his wife. Barclay's
      remarks were subdued and abrupt, so that none of them were audible to the
      listeners. The lady's, on the other hand, were most bitter, and when she
      raised her voice could be plainly heard. 'You coward!' she repeated over
      and over again. 'What can be done now? What can be done now? Give me back
      my life. I will never so much as breathe the same air with you again! You
      coward! You coward!' Those were scraps of her conversation, ending in a
      sudden dreadful cry in the man's voice, with a crash, and a piercing
      scream from the woman. Convinced that some tragedy had occurred, the
      coachman rushed to the door and strove to force it, while scream after
      scream issued from within. He was unable, however, to make his way in, and
      the maids were too distracted with fear to be of any assistance to him. A
      sudden thought struck him, however, and he ran through the hall door and
      round to the lawn upon which the long French windows open. One side of the
      window was open, which I understand was quite usual in the summer-time,
      and he passed without difficulty into the room. His mistress had ceased to
      scream and was stretched insensible upon a couch, while with his feet
      tilted over the side of an arm-chair, and his head upon the ground near
      the corner of the fender, was lying the unfortunate soldier stone dead in
      a pool of his own blood.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Naturally, the coachman's first thought, on finding that he could do
      nothing for his master, was to open the door. But here an unexpected and
      singular difficulty presented itself. The key was not in the inner side of
      the door, nor could he find it anywhere in the room. He went out again,
      therefore, through the window, and having obtained the help of a policeman
      and of a medical man, he returned. The lady, against whom naturally the
      strongest suspicion rested, was removed to her room, still in a state of
      insensibility. The Colonel's body was then placed upon the sofa, and a
      careful examination made of the scene of the tragedy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The injury from which the unfortunate veteran was suffering was found to
      be a jagged cut some two inches long at the back part of his head, which
      had evidently been caused by a violent blow from a blunt weapon. Nor was
      it difficult to guess what that weapon may have been. Upon the floor,
      close to the body, was lying a singular club of hard carved wood with a
      bone handle. The Colonel possessed a varied collection of weapons brought
      from the different countries in which he had fought, and it is conjectured
      by the police that his club was among his trophies. The servants deny
      having seen it before, but among the numerous curiosities in the house it
      is possible that it may have been overlooked. Nothing else of importance
      was discovered in the room by the police, save the inexplicable fact that
      neither upon Mrs. Barclay's person nor upon that of the victim nor in any
      part of the room was the missing key to be found. The door had eventually
      to be opened by a locksmith from Aldershot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was the state of things, Watson, when upon the Tuesday morning I, at
      the request of Major Murphy, went down to Aldershot to supplement the
      efforts of the police. I think that you will acknowledge that the problem
      was already one of interest, but my observations soon made me realize that
      it was in truth much more extraordinary than would at first sight appear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Before examining the room I cross-questioned the servants, but only
      succeeded in eliciting the facts which I have already stated. One other
      detail of interest was remembered by Jane Stewart, the housemaid. You will
      remember that on hearing the sound of the quarrel she descended and
      returned with the other servants. On that first occasion, when she was
      alone, she says that the voices of her master and mistress were sunk so
      low that she could hear hardly anything, and judged by their tones rather
      than their words that they had fallen out. On my pressing her, however,
      she remembered that she heard the word David uttered twice by the lady.
      The point is of the utmost importance as guiding us towards the reason of
      the sudden quarrel. The Colonel's name, you remember, was James.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was one thing in the case which had made the deepest impression
      both upon the servants and the police. This was the contortion of the
      Colonel's face. It had set, according to their account, into the most
      dreadful expression of fear and horror which a human countenance is
      capable of assuming. More than one person fainted at the mere sight of
      him, so terrible was the effect. It was quite certain that he had foreseen
      his fate, and that it had caused him the utmost horror. This, of course,
      fitted in well enough with the police theory, if the Colonel could have
      seen his wife making a murderous attack upon him. Nor was the fact of the
      wound being on the back of his head a fatal objection to this, as he might
      have turned to avoid the blow. No information could be got from the lady
      herself, who was temporarily insane from an acute attack of brain-fever.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From the police I learned that Miss Morrison, who you remember went out
      that evening with Mrs. Barclay, denied having any knowledge of what it was
      which had caused the ill-humor in which her companion had returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoked several pipes over them,
      trying to separate those which were crucial from others which were merely
      incidental. There could be no question that the most distinctive and
      suggestive point in the case was the singular disappearance of the
      door-key. A most careful search had failed to discover it in the room.
      Therefore it must have been taken from it. But neither the Colonel nor the
      Colonel's wife could have taken it. That was perfectly clear. Therefore a
      third person must have entered the room. And that third person could only
      have come in through the window. It seemed to me that a careful
      examination of the room and the lawn might possibly reveal some traces of
      this mysterious individual. You know my methods, Watson. There was not one
      of them which I did not apply to the inquiry. And it ended by my
      discovering traces, but very different ones from those which I had
      expected. There had been a man in the room, and he had crossed the lawn
      coming from the road. I was able to obtain five very clear impressions of
      his foot-marks: one in the roadway itself, at the point where he had
      climbed the low wall, two on the lawn, and two very faint ones upon the
      stained boards near the window where he had entered. He had apparently
      rushed across the lawn, for his toe-marks were much deeper than his heels.
      But it was not the man who surprised me. It was his companion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His companion!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper out of his pocket and
      carefully unfolded it upon his knee.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you make of that?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      The paper was covered with the tracings of the foot-marks of some small
      animal. It had five well-marked foot-pads, an indication of long nails,
      and the whole print might be nearly as large as a dessert-spoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a dog," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you ever hear of a dog running up a curtain? I found distinct traces
      that this creature had done so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A monkey, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But it is not the print of a monkey."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What can it be, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Neither dog nor cat nor monkey nor any creature that we are familiar
      with. I have tried to reconstruct it from the measurements. Here are four
      prints where the beast has been standing motionless. You see that it is no
      less than fifteen inches from fore-foot to hind. Add to that the length of
      neck and head, and you get a creature not much less than two feet long&mdash;probably
      more if there is any tail. But now observe this other measurement. The
      animal has been moving, and we have the length of its stride. In each case
      it is only about three inches. You have an indication, you see, of a long
      body with very short legs attached to it. It has not been considerate
      enough to leave any of its hair behind it. But its general shape must be
      what I have indicated, and it can run up a curtain, and it is
      carnivorous."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you deduce that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because it ran up the curtain. A canary's cage was hanging in the window,
      and its aim seems to have been to get at the bird."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then what was the beast?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, if I could give it a name it might go a long way towards solving the
      case. On the whole, it was probably some creature of the weasel and stoat
      tribe&mdash;and yet it is larger than any of these that I have seen."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what had it to do with the crime?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That, also, is still obscure. But we have learned a good deal, you
      perceive. We know that a man stood in the road looking at the quarrel
      between the Barclays&mdash;the blinds were up and the room lighted. We
      know, also, that he ran across the lawn, entered the room, accompanied by
      a strange animal, and that he either struck the Colonel or, as is equally
      possible, that the Colonel fell down from sheer fright at the sight of
      him, and cut his head on the corner of the fender. Finally, we have the
      curious fact that the intruder carried away the key with him when he
      left."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your discoveries seem to have left the business more obscure that it was
      before," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite so. They undoubtedly showed that the affair was much deeper than
      was at first conjectured. I thought the matter over, and I came to the
      conclusion that I must approach the case from another aspect. But really,
      Watson, I am keeping you up, and I might just as well tell you all this on
      our way to Aldershot to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay left the house at half-past
      seven she was on good terms with her husband. She was never, as I think I
      have said, ostentatiously affectionate, but she was heard by the coachman
      chatting with the Colonel in a friendly fashion. Now, it was equally
      certain that, immediately on her return, she had gone to the room in which
      she was least likely to see her husband, had flown to tea as an agitated
      woman will, and finally, on his coming in to her, had broken into violent
      recriminations. Therefore something had occurred between seven-thirty and
      nine o'clock which had completely altered her feelings towards him. But
      Miss Morrison had been with her during the whole of that hour and a half.
      It was absolutely certain, therefore, in spite of her denial, that she
      must know something of the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My first conjecture was, that possibly there had been some passages
      between this young lady and the old soldier, which the former had now
      confessed to the wife. That would account for the angry return, and also
      for the girl's denial that anything had occurred. Nor would it be entirely
      incompatible with most of the words overhead. But there was the reference
      to David, and there was the known affection of the Colonel for his wife,
      to weigh against it, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion of this other
      man, which might, of course, be entirely disconnected with what had gone
      before. It was not easy to pick one's steps, but, on the whole, I was
      inclined to dismiss the idea that there had been anything between the
      Colonel and Miss Morrison, but more than ever convinced that the young
      lady held the clue as to what it was which had turned Mrs. Barclay to
      hatred of her husband. I took the obvious course, therefore, of calling
      upon Miss M., of explaining to her that I was perfectly certain that she
      held the facts in her possession, and of assuring her that her friend,
      Mrs. Barclay, might find herself in the dock upon a capital charge unless
      the matter were cleared up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Miss Morrison is a little ethereal slip of a girl, with timid eyes and
      blond hair, but I found her by no means wanting in shrewdness and
      common-sense. She sat thinking for some time after I had spoken, and then,
      turning to me with a brisk air of resolution, she broke into a remarkable
      statement which I will condense for your benefit.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I promised my friend that I would say nothing of the matter, and a
      promise is a promise,' said she; 'but if I can really help her when so
      serious a charge is laid against her, and when her own mouth, poor
      darling, is closed by illness, then I think I am absolved from my promise.
      I will tell you exactly what happened upon Monday evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'We were returning from the Watt Street Mission about a quarter to nine
      o'clock. On our way we had to pass through Hudson Street, which is a very
      quiet thoroughfare. There is only one lamp in it, upon the left-hand side,
      and as we approached this lamp I saw a man coming towards us with his back
      very bent, and something like a box slung over one of his shoulders. He
      appeared to be deformed, for he carried his head low and walked with his
      knees bent. We were passing him when he raised his face to look at us in
      the circle of light thrown by the lamp, and as he did so he stopped and
      screamed out in a dreadful voice, "My God, it's Nancy!" Mrs. Barclay
      turned as white as death, and would have fallen down had the
      dreadful-looking creature not caught hold of her. I was going to call for
      the police, but she, to my surprise, spoke quite civilly to the fellow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"I thought you had been dead this thirty years, Henry," said she, in a
      shaking voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"So I have," said he, and it was awful to hear the tones that he said it
      in. He had a very dark, fearsome face, and a gleam in his eyes that comes
      back to me in my dreams. His hair and whiskers were shot with gray, and
      his face was all crinkled and puckered like a withered apple.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"Just walk on a little way, dear," said Mrs. Barclay; "I want to have a
      word with this man. There is nothing to be afraid of." She tried to speak
      boldly, but she was still deadly pale and could hardly get her words out
      for the trembling of her lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I did as she asked me, and they talked together for a few minutes. Then
      she came down the street with her eyes blazing, and I saw the crippled
      wretch standing by the lamp-post and shaking his clenched fists in the air
      as if he were mad with rage. She never said a word until we were at the
      door here, when she took me by the hand and begged me to tell no one what
      had happened.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'"It's an old acquaintance of mine who has come down in the world," said
      she. When I promised her I would say nothing she kissed me, and I have
      never seen her since. I have told you now the whole truth, and if I
      withheld it from the police it is because I did not realize then the
      danger in which my dear friend stood. I know that it can only be to her
      advantage that everything should be known.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was her statement, Watson, and to me, as you can imagine, it was
      like a light on a dark night. Everything which had been disconnected
      before began at once to assume its true place, and I had a shadowy
      presentiment of the whole sequence of events. My next step obviously was
      to find the man who had produced such a remarkable impression upon Mrs.
      Barclay. If he were still in Aldershot it should not be a very difficult
      matter. There are not such a very great number of civilians, and a
      deformed man was sure to have attracted attention. I spent a day in the
      search, and by evening&mdash;this very evening, Watson&mdash;I had run him
      down. The man's name is Henry Wood, and he lives in lodgings in this same
      street in which the ladies met him. He has only been five days in the
      place. In the character of a registration-agent I had a most interesting
      gossip with his landlady. The man is by trade a conjurer and performer,
      going round the canteens after nightfall, and giving a little
      entertainment at each. He carries some creature about with him in that
      box; about which the landlady seemed to be in considerable trepidation,
      for she had never seen an animal like it. He uses it in some of his tricks
      according to her account. So much the woman was able to tell me, and also
      that it was a wonder the man lived, seeing how twisted he was, and that he
      spoke in a strange tongue sometimes, and that for the last two nights she
      had heard him groaning and weeping in his bedroom. He was all right, as
      far as money went, but in his deposit he had given her what looked like a
      bad florin. She showed it to me, Watson, and it was an Indian rupee.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand and why it is I want
      you. It is perfectly plain that after the ladies parted from this man he
      followed them at a distance, that he saw the quarrel between husband and
      wife through the window, that he rushed in, and that the creature which he
      carried in his box got loose. That is all very certain. But he is the only
      person in this world who can tell us exactly what happened in that room."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you intend to ask him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Most certainly&mdash;but in the presence of a witness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I am the witness?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you will be so good. If he can clear the matter up, well and good. If
      he refuses, we have no alternative but to apply for a warrant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how do you know he'll be there when we return?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may be sure that I took some precautions. I have one of my Baker
      Street boys mounting guard over him who would stick to him like a burr, go
      where he might. We shall find him in Hudson Street to-morrow, Watson, and
      meanwhile I should be the criminal myself if I kept you out of bed any
      longer."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of the tragedy, and,
      under my companion's guidance, we made our way at once to Hudson Street.
      In spite of his capacity for concealing his emotions, I could easily see
      that Holmes was in a state of suppressed excitement, while I was myself
      tingling with that half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which I
      invariably experienced when I associated myself with him in his
      investigations.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is the street," said he, as we turned into a short thoroughfare
      lined with plain two-storied brick houses. "Ah, here is Simpson to
      report."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He's in all right, Mr. Holmes," cried a small street Arab, running up to
      us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good, Simpson!" said Holmes, patting him on the head. "Come along,
      Watson. This is the house." He sent in his card with a message that he had
      come on important business, and a moment later we were face to face with
      the man whom we had come to see. In spite of the warm weather he was
      crouching over a fire, and the little room was like an oven. The man sat
      all twisted and huddled in his chair in a way which gave an indescribable
      impression of deformity; but the face which he turned towards us, though
      worn and swarthy, must at some time have been remarkable for its beauty.
      He looked suspiciously at us now out of yellow-shot, bilious eyes, and,
      without speaking or rising, he waved towards two chairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe," said Holmes, affably. "I've
      come over this little matter of Colonel Barclay's death."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What should I know about that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's what I want to ascertain. You know, I suppose, that unless the
      matter is cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is an old friend of yours, will in
      all probability be tried for murder."
    </p>
    <p>
      The man gave a violent start.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know who you are," he cried, "nor how you come to know what you
      do know, but will you swear that this is true that you tell me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her senses to arrest her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My God! Are you in the police yourself?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What business is it of yours, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's every man's business to see justice done."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can take my word that she is innocent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you are guilty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I am not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who killed Colonel James Barclay, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a just providence that killed him. But, mind you this, that if I
      had knocked his brains out, as it was in my heart to do, he would have had
      no more than his due from my hands. If his own guilty conscience had not
      struck him down it is likely enough that I might have had his blood upon
      my soul. You want me to tell the story. Well, I don't know why I
      shouldn't, for there's no cause for me to be ashamed of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was in this way, sir. You see me now with my back like a camel and my
      ribs all awry, but there was a time when Corporal Henry Wood was the
      smartest man in the 117th foot. We were in India then, in cantonments, at
      a place we'll call Bhurtee. Barclay, who died the other day, was sergeant
      in the same company as myself, and the belle of the regiment, ay, and the
      finest girl that ever had the breath of life between her lips, was Nancy
      Devoy, the daughter of the color-sergeant. There were two men that loved
      her, and one that she loved, and you'll smile when you look at this poor
      thing huddled before the fire, and hear me say that it was for my good
      looks that she loved me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon her marrying
      Barclay. I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he had had an education,
      and was already marked for the sword-belt. But the girl held true to me,
      and it seemed that I would have had her when the Mutiny broke out, and all
      hell was loose in the country.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment of us with half a battery of
      artillery, a company of Sikhs, and a lot of civilians and women-folk.
      There were ten thousand rebels round us, and they were as keen as a set of
      terriers round a rat-cage. About the second week of it our water gave out,
      and it was a question whether we could communicate with General Neill's
      column, which was moving up country. It was our only chance, for we could
      not hope to fight our way out with all the women and children, so I
      volunteered to go out and to warn General Neill of our danger. My offer
      was accepted, and I talked it over with Sergeant Barclay, who was supposed
      to know the ground better than any other man, and who drew up a route by
      which I might get through the rebel lines. At ten o'clock the same night I
      started off upon my journey. There were a thousand lives to save, but it
      was of only one that I was thinking when I dropped over the wall that
      night.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we hoped would screen me
      from the enemy's sentries; but as I crept round the corner of it I walked
      right into six of them, who were crouching down in the dark waiting for
      me. In an instant I was stunned with a blow and bound hand and foot. But
      the real blow was to my heart and not to my head, for as I came to and
      listened to as much as I could understand of their talk, I heard enough to
      tell me that my comrade, the very man who had arranged the way that I was
      to take, had betrayed me by means of a native servant into the hands of
      the enemy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, there's no need for me to dwell on that part of it. You know now
      what James Barclay was capable of. Bhurtee was relieved by Neill next day,
      but the rebels took me away with them in their retreat, and it was many a
      long year before ever I saw a white face again. I was tortured and tried
      to get away, and was captured and tortured again. You can see for
      yourselves the state in which I was left. Some of them that fled into
      Nepaul took me with them, and then afterwards I was up past Darjeeling.
      The hill-folk up there murdered the rebels who had me, and I became their
      slave for a time until I escaped; but instead of going south I had to go
      north, until I found myself among the Afghans. There I wandered about for
      many a year, and at last came back to the Punjab, where I lived mostly
      among the natives and picked up a living by the conjuring tricks that I
      had learned. What use was it for me, a wretched cripple, to go back to
      England or to make myself known to my old comrades? Even my wish for
      revenge would not make me do that. I had rather that Nancy and my old pals
      should think of Harry Wood as having died with a straight back, than see
      him living and crawling with a stick like a chimpanzee. They never doubted
      that I was dead, and I meant that they never should. I heard that Barclay
      had married Nancy, and that he was rising rapidly in the regiment, but
      even that did not make me speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But when one gets old one has a longing for home. For years I've been
      dreaming of the bright green fields and the hedges of England. At last I
      determined to see them before I died. I saved enough to bring me across,
      and then I came here where the soldiers are, for I know their ways and how
      to amuse them and so earn enough to keep me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your narrative is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes. "I have
      already heard of your meeting with Mrs. Barclay, and your mutual
      recognition. You then, as I understand, followed her home and saw through
      the window an altercation between her husband and her, in which she
      doubtless cast his conduct to you in his teeth. Your own feelings overcame
      you, and you ran across the lawn and broke in upon them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as I have never seen a man
      look before, and over he went with his head on the fender. But he was dead
      before he fell. I read death on his face as plain as I can read that text
      over the fire. The bare sight of me was like a bullet through his guilty
      heart."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the key of the door from her hand,
      intending to unlock it and get help. But as I was doing it it seemed to me
      better to leave it alone and get away, for the thing might look black
      against me, and any way my secret would be out if I were taken. In my
      haste I thrust the key into my pocket, and dropped my stick while I was
      chasing Teddy, who had run up the curtain. When I got him into his box,
      from which he had slipped, I was off as fast as I could run."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who's Teddy?" asked Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The man leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind of hutch in the
      corner. In an instant out there slipped a beautiful reddish-brown
      creature, thin and lithe, with the legs of a stoat, a long, thin nose, and
      a pair of the finest red eyes that ever I saw in an animal's head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a mongoose," I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, some call them that, and some call them ichneumon," said the man.
      "Snake-catcher is what I call them, and Teddy is amazing quick on cobras.
      I have one here without the fangs, and Teddy catches it every night to
      please the folk in the canteen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any other point, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we may have to apply to you again if Mrs. Barclay should prove to
      be in serious trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that case, of course, I'd come forward."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But if not, there is no object in raking up this scandal against a dead
      man, foully as he has acted. You have at least the satisfaction of knowing
      that for thirty years of his life his conscience bitterly reproached him
      for this wicked deed. Ah, there goes Major Murphy on the other side of the
      street. Good-by, Wood. I want to learn if anything has happened since
      yesterday."
    </p>
    <p>
      We were in time to overtake the major before he reached the corner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Holmes," he said: "I suppose you have heard that all this fuss has
      come to nothing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The inquest is just over. The medical evidence showed conclusively that
      death was due to apoplexy. You see it was quite a simple case after all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, remarkably superficial," said Holmes, smiling. "Come, Watson, I don't
      think we shall be wanted in Aldershot any more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's one thing," said I, as we walked down to the station. "If the
      husband's name was James, and the other was Henry, what was this talk
      about David?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me the whole story had I
      been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond of depicting. It was
      evidently a term of reproach."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of reproach?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; David strayed a little occasionally, you know, and on one occasion
      in the same direction as Sergeant James Barclay. You remember the small
      affair of Uriah and Bathsheba? My biblical knowledge is a trifle rusty, I
      fear, but you will find the story in the first or second of Samuel."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure VIII. The Resident Patient
    </h2>
    <p>
      Glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs with which I have
      endeavored to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities of my friend
      Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty which I have
      experienced in picking out examples which shall in every way answer my
      purpose. For in those cases in which Holmes has performed some tour de
      force of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his
      peculiar methods of investigation, the facts themselves have often been so
      slight or so commonplace that I could not feel justified in laying them
      before the public. On the other hand, it has frequently happened that he
      has been concerned in some research where the facts have been of the most
      remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share which he has
      himself taken in determining their causes has been less pronounced than I,
      as his biographer, could wish. The small matter which I have chronicled
      under the heading of "A Study in Scarlet," and that other later one
      connected with the loss of the Gloria Scott, may serve as examples of this
      Scylla and Charybdis which are forever threatening the historian. It may
      be that in the business of which I am now about to write the part which my
      friend played is not sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole train of
      circumstances is so remarkable that I cannot bring myself to omit it
      entirely from this series.
    </p>
    <p>
      It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds were half-drawn, and
      Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he
      had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India
      had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer of 90 was
      no hardship. But the paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen.
      Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest
      or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to
      postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the
      sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very
      centre of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and
      running through them, responsive to every little rumor or suspicion of
      unsolved crime. Appreciation of Nature found no place among his many
      gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer
      of the town to track down his brother of the country.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation, I had tossed aside
      the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair, I fell into a brown study.
      Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a very preposterous way of
      settling a dispute."
    </p>
    <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>
    <p>
      "What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I could
      have imagined."
    </p>
    <p>
      He laughed heartily at my perplexity.
    </p>
    <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 thought of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter
      as a mere tour de force of the author. On my remarking that I was
      constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed
      incredulity."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, no!"
    </p>
    <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>
    <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>
    <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>
    <p>
      "Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your features, and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself
      recall how your reverie commenced?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I cannot."
    </p>
    <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
      turned across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands
      upon the top of your books. You then glanced up at the wall, and of course
      your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait were
      framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with Gordon's
      picture over there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed.
    </p>
    <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 you expressing your
      passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by the more
      turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knew you
      could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also. When a moment
      later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your
      mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when I observed that your lips
      set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clinched, I was positive that you
      were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in
      that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder; you shook
      your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste
      of life. Your hand stole towards your own old wound, and a smile quivered
      on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of
      settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this
      point I agreed with you that it was preposterous, and was glad to find
      that all my deductions had been correct."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confess that
      I am as amazed as before."
    </p>
    <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 the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do you say
      to a ramble through London?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. For three
      hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changing kaleidoscope
      of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet Street and the Strand. His
      characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail and subtle power
      of inference held me amused and enthralled. It was ten o'clock before we
      reached Baker Street again. A brougham was waiting at our door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hum! A doctor's&mdash;general practitioner, I perceive," said Holmes.
      "Not been long in practice, but has had a good deal to do. Come to consult
      us, I fancy! Lucky we came back!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be able to follow
      his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the various medical
      instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamplight inside the
      brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction. The light in our
      window above showed that this late visit was indeed intended for us. With
      some curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico to us at such
      an hour, I followed Holmes into our sanctum.
    </p>
    <p>
      A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by the
      fire as we entered. His age may not have been more than three or four and
      thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a life which
      has sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His manner was
      nervous and shy, like that of a sensitive gentleman, and the thin white
      hand which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist
      rather than of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre&mdash;a black
      frock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch of color about his necktie.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-evening, doctor," said Holmes, cheerily. "I am glad to see that you
      have only been waiting a very few minutes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You spoke to my coachman, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. Pray resume your
      seat and let me know how I can serve you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and I live at 403
      Brook Street."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?" I
      asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was known
      to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead," said he.
      "My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. You are
      yourself, I presume, a medical man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A retired army surgeon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish to make it an
      absolute specialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can get at
      first. This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I
      quite appreciate how valuable your time is. The fact is that a very
      singular train of events has occurred recently at my house in Brook
      Street, and to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quite
      impossible for me to wait another hour before asking for your advice and
      assistance."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. "You are very welcome to both,"
      said he. "Pray let me have a detailed account of what the circumstances
      are which have disturbed you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "One or two of them are so trivial," said Dr. Trevelyan, "that really I am
      almost ashamed to mention them. But the matter is so inexplicable, and the
      recent turn which it has taken is so elaborate, that I shall lay it all
      before you, and you shall judge what is essential and what is not.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own college career.
      I am a London University man, you know, and I am sure that you will not
      think that I am unduly singing my own praises if I say that my student
      career was considered by my professors to be a very promising one. After I
      had graduated I continued to devote myself to research, occupying a minor
      position in King's College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough to excite
      considerable interest by my research into the pathology of catalepsy, and
      finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize and medal by the monograph on
      nervous lesions to which your friend has just alluded. I should not go too
      far if I were to say that there was a general impression at that time that
      a distinguished career lay before me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As you will
      readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled to start in
      one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, all of which
      entail enormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides this preliminary
      outlay, he must be prepared to keep himself for some years, and to hire a
      presentable carriage and horse. To do this was quite beyond my power, and
      I could only hope that by economy I might in ten years' time save enough
      to enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly, however, an unexpected incident
      opened up quite a new prospect to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington, who was a
      complete stranger to me. He came up to my room one morning, and plunged
      into business in an instant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished a career
      and won a great prize lately?' said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I bowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it to your interest
      to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a successful man. Have
      you the tact?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could not help smiling at the abruptness of the question.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I trust that I have my share,' I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Any bad habits? Not drawn towards drink, eh?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Really, sir!' I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Quite right! That's all right! But I was bound to ask. With all these
      qualities, why are you not in practice?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shrugged my shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Come, come!' said he, in his bustling way. 'It's the old story. More in
      your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were to start
      you in Brook Street?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I stared at him in astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'I'll be perfectly frank
      with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have a few
      thousands to invest, d'ye see, and I think I'll sink them in you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'But why?' I gasped.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, it's just like any other speculation, and safer than most.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What am I to do, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I'll tell you. I'll take the house, furnish it, pay the maids, and run
      the whole place. All you have to do is just to wear out your chair in the
      consulting-room. I'll let you have pocket-money and everything. Then you
      hand over to me three quarters of what you earn, and you keep the other
      quarter for yourself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the man Blessington
      approached me. I won't weary you with the account of how we bargained and
      negotiated. It ended in my moving into the house next Lady-day, and
      starting in practice on very much the same conditions as he had suggested.
      He came himself to live with me in the character of a resident patient.
      His heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant medical
      supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor into a
      sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singular habits,
      shunning company and very seldom going out. His life was irregular, but in
      one respect he was regularity itself. Every evening, at the same hour, he
      walked into the consulting-room, examined the books, put down five and
      three-pence for every guinea that I had earned, and carried the rest off
      to the strong-box in his own room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I may say with confidence that he never had occasion to regret his
      speculation. From the first it was a success. A few good cases and the
      reputation which I had won in the hospital brought me rapidly to the
      front, and during the last few years I have made him a rich man.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations with Mr.
      Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you what has occurred to
      bring me here to-night.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it seemed to me, a
      state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglary which, he said,
      had been committed in the West End, and he appeared, I remember, to be
      quite unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a day should not pass
      before we should add stronger bolts to our windows and doors. For a week
      he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness, peering
      continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the short walk which
      had usually been the prelude to his dinner. From his manner it struck me
      that he was in mortal dread of something or somebody, but when I
      questioned him upon the point he became so offensive that I was compelled
      to drop the subject. Gradually, as time passed, his fears appeared to die
      away, and he had renewed his former habits, when a fresh event reduced him
      to the pitiable state of prostration in which he now lies.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What happened was this. Two days ago I received the letter which I now
      read to you. Neither address nor date is attached to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England,' it runs, 'would be
      glad to avail himself of the professional assistance of Dr. Percy
      Trevelyan. He has been for some years a victim to cataleptic attacks, on
      which, as is well known, Dr. Trevelyan is an authority. He proposes to
      call at about quarter past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Trevelyan will
      make it convenient to be at home.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "This letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficulty in the
      study of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. You may believe, then,
      that I was in my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the page
      showed in the patient.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and commonplace&mdash;by no means
      the conception one forms of a Russian nobleman. I was much more struck by
      the appearance of his companion. This was a tall young man, surprisingly
      handsome, with a dark, fierce face, and the limbs and chest of a Hercules.
      He had his hand under the other's arm as they entered, and helped him to a
      chair with a tenderness which one would hardly have expected from his
      appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You will excuse my coming in, doctor,' said he to me, speaking English
      with a slight lisp. 'This is my father, and his health is a matter of the
      most overwhelming importance to me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was touched by this filial anxiety. 'You would, perhaps, care to remain
      during the consultation?' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of horror. 'It is more
      painful to me than I can express. If I were to see my father in one of
      these dreadful seizures I am convinced that I should never survive it. My
      own nervous system is an exceptionally sensitive one. With your
      permission, I will remain in the waiting-room while you go into my
      father's case.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "To this, of course, I assented, and the young man withdrew. The patient
      and I then plunged into a discussion of his case, of which I took
      exhaustive notes. He was not remarkable for intelligence, and his answers
      were frequently obscure, which I attributed to his limited acquaintance
      with our language. Suddenly, however, as I sat writing, he ceased to give
      any answer at all to my inquiries, and on my turning towards him I was
      shocked to see that he was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring at
      me with a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again in the grip of his
      mysterious malady.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity and horror. My
      second, I fear, was rather one of professional satisfaction. I made notes
      of my patient's pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity of his muscles,
      and examined his reflexes. There was nothing markedly abnormal in any of
      these conditions, which harmonized with my former experiences. I had
      obtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of amyl,
      and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of testing its virtues.
      The bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so leaving my patient seated
      in his chair, I ran down to get it. There was some little delay in finding
      it&mdash;five minutes, let us say&mdash;and then I returned. Imagine my
      amazement to find the room empty and the patient gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room. The son had
      gone also. The hall door had been closed, but not shut. My page who admits
      patients is a new boy and by no means quick. He waits downstairs, and runs
      up to show patients out when I ring the consulting-room bell. He had heard
      nothing, and the affair remained a complete mystery. Mr. Blessington came
      in from his walk shortly afterwards, but I did not say anything to him
      upon the subject, for, to tell the truth, I have got in the way of late of
      holding as little communication with him as possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I never thought that I should see anything more of the Russian and
      his son, so you can imagine my amazement when, at the very same hour this
      evening, they both came marching into my consulting-room, just as they had
      done before.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my abrupt departure
      yesterday, doctor,' said my patient.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I confess that I was very much surprised at it,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, the fact is,' he remarked, 'that when I recover from these attacks
      my mind is always very clouded as to all that has gone before. I woke up
      in a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made my way out into the street
      in a sort of dazed way when you were absent.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'And I,' said the son, 'seeing my father pass the door of the
      waiting-room, naturally thought that the consultation had come to an end.
      It was not until we had reached home that I began to realize the true
      state of affairs.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well,' said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done except that you puzzled
      me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into the waiting-room I
      shall be happy to continue our consultation which was brought to so abrupt
      an ending.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'For half an hour or so I discussed that old gentleman's symptoms with
      him, and then, having prescribed for him, I saw him go off upon the arm of
      his son.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose this hour of the day
      for his exercise. He came in shortly afterwards and passed upstairs. An
      instant later I heard him running down, and he burst into my
      consulting-room like a man who is mad with panic.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Who has been in my room?' he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No one,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It's a lie! He yelled. 'Come up and look!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed half out of his
      mind with fear. When I went upstairs with him he pointed to several
      footprints upon the light carpet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'D'you mean to say those are mine?' he cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They were certainly very much larger than any which he could have made,
      and were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard this afternoon, as you
      know, and my patients were the only people who called. It must have been
      the case, then, that the man in the waiting-room had, for some unknown
      reason, while I was busy with the other, ascended to the room of my
      resident patient. Nothing had been touched or taken, but there were the
      footprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I should have
      thought possible, though of course it was enough to disturb anybody's
      peace of mind. He actually sat crying in an arm-chair, and I could hardly
      get him to speak coherently. It was his suggestion that I should come
      round to you, and of course I at once saw the propriety of it, for
      certainly the incident is a very singular one, though he appears to
      completely overrate its importance. If you would only come back with me in
      my brougham, you would at least be able to soothe him, though I can hardly
      hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable occurrence."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with an intentness
      which showed me that his interest was keenly aroused. His face was as
      impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily over his eyes,
      and his smoke had curled up more thickly from his pipe to emphasize each
      curious episode in the doctor's tale. As our visitor concluded, Holmes
      sprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his own from the table,
      and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarter of an hour we had
      been dropped at the door of the physician's residence in Brook Street, one
      of those sombre, flat-faced houses which one associates with a West-End
      practice. A small page admitted us, and we began at once to ascend the
      broad, well-carpeted stair.
    </p>
    <p>
      But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. The light at the
      top was suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy,
      quivering voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have a pistol," it cried. "I give you my word that I'll fire if you
      come any nearer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington," cried Dr. Trevelyan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with a great heave of
      relief. "But those other gentlemen, are they what they pretend to be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. "You can come up, and
      I am sorry if my precautions have annoyed you."
    </p>
    <p>
      He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a
      singular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice, testified to
      his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently at some time been
      much fatter, so that the skin hung about his face in loose pouches, like
      the cheeks of a blood-hound. He was of a sickly color, and his thin, sandy
      hair seemed to bristle up with the intensity of his emotion. In his hand
      he held a pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am sure I am very much obliged to
      you for coming round. No one ever needed your advice more than I do. I
      suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this most unwarrantable
      intrusion into my rooms."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite so," said Holmes. "Who are these two men Mr. Blessington, and why
      do they wish to molest you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well," said the resident patient, in a nervous fashion, "of course
      it is hard to say that. You can hardly expect me to answer that, Mr.
      Holmes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you mean that you don't know?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come in here, if you please. Just have the kindness to step in here."
    </p>
    <p>
      He led the way into his bedroom, which was large and comfortably
      furnished.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see that," said he, pointing to a big black box at the end of his
      bed. "I have never been a very rich man, Mr. Holmes&mdash;never made but
      one investment in my life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tell you. But I don't
      believe in bankers. I would never trust a banker, Mr. Holmes. Between
      ourselves, what little I have is in that box, so you can understand what
      it means to me when unknown people force themselves into my rooms."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I have told you everything."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. "Good-night, Dr.
      Trevelyan," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And no advice for me?" cried Blessington, in a breaking voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My advice to you, sir, is to speak the truth."
    </p>
    <p>
      A minute later we were in the street and walking for home. We had crossed
      Oxford Street and were half way down Harley Street before I could get a
      word from my companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand, Watson," he said at last.
      "It is an interesting case, too, at the bottom of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can make little of it," I confessed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, it is quite evident that there are two men&mdash;more, perhaps, but
      at least two&mdash;who are determined for some reason to get at this
      fellow Blessington. I have no doubt in my mind that both on the first and
      on the second occasion that young man penetrated to Blessington's room,
      while his confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor from
      interfering."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the catalepsy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare to hint as
      much to our specialist. It is a very easy complaint to imitate. I have
      done it myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion. Their reason
      for choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was obviously to insure
      that there should be no other patient in the waiting-room. It just
      happened, however, that this hour coincided with Blessington's
      constitutional, which seems to show that they were not very well
      acquainted with his daily routine. Of course, if they had been merely
      after plunder they would at least have made some attempt to search for it.
      Besides, I can read in a man's eye when it is his own skin that he is
      frightened for. It is inconceivable that this fellow could have made two
      such vindictive enemies as these appear to be without knowing of it. I
      hold it, therefore, to be certain that he does know who these men are, and
      that for reasons of his own he suppresses it. It is just possible that
      to-morrow may find him in a more communicative mood."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is there not one alternative," I suggested, "grotesquely improbable, no
      doubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole story of the cataleptic
      Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr. Trevelyan's, who has, for his
      own purposes, been in Blessington's rooms?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliant
      departure of mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first solutions which
      occurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate the doctor's tale. This
      young man has left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it quite
      superfluous for me to ask to see those which he had made in the room. When
      I tell you that his shoes were square-toed instead of being pointed like
      Blessington's, and were quite an inch and a third longer than the
      doctor's, you will acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to his
      individuality. But we may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if we
      do not hear something further from Brook Street in the morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramatic fashion.
      At half-past seven next morning, in the first glimmer of daylight, I found
      him standing by my bedside in his dressing-gown.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's the matter, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Brook Street business."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any fresh news?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up the blind. "Look at this&mdash;a
      sheet from a note-book, with 'For God's sake come at once&mdash;P. T.,'
      scrawled upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor, was hard put to it
      when he wrote this. Come along, my dear fellow, for it's an urgent call."
    </p>
    <p>
      In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician's house. He
      came running out to meet us with a face of horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, such a business!" he cried, with his hands to his temples.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Blessington has committed suicide!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes whistled.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, he hanged himself during the night."
    </p>
    <p>
      We had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what was evidently his
      waiting-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I really hardly know what I am doing," he cried. "The police are already
      upstairs. It has shaken me most dreadfully."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When did you find it out?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has a cup of tea taken in to him early every morning. When the maid
      entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging in the
      middle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hook on which the heavy
      lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of the very box that
      he showed us yesterday."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      "With your permission," said he at last, "I should like to go upstairs and
      look into the matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      We both ascended, followed by the doctor.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroom door. I
      have spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man Blessington
      conveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was exaggerated and intensified
      until he was scarce human in his appearance. The neck was drawn out like a
      plucked chicken's, making the rest of him seem the more obese and
      unnatural by the contrast. He was clad only in his long night-dress, and
      his swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath it.
      Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who was taking notes in
      a pocket-book.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he, heartily, as my friend entered, "I am delighted
      to see you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes; "you won't think me an intruder,
      I am sure. Have you heard of the events which led up to this affair?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I heard something of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you formed any opinion?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his senses by fright.
      The bed has been well slept in, you see. There's his impression deep
      enough. It's about five in the morning, you know, that suicides are most
      common. That would be about his time for hanging himself. It seems to have
      been a very deliberate affair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should say that he has been dead about three hours, judging by the
      rigidity of the muscles," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Noticed anything peculiar about the room?" asked Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand stand. Seems to
      have smoked heavily during the night, too. Here are four cigar-ends that I
      picked out of the fireplace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hum!" said Holmes, "have you got his cigar-holder?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I have seen none."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His cigar-case, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, it was in his coat-pocket."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it contained.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, this is an Havana, and these others are cigars of the peculiar sort
      which are imported by the Dutch from their East Indian colonies. They are
      usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are thinner for their length than
      any other brand." He picked up the four ends and examined them with his
      pocket-lens.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two without," said he.
      "Two have been cut by a not very sharp knife, and two have had the ends
      bitten off by a set of excellent teeth. This is no suicide, Mr. Lanner. It
      is a very deeply planned and cold-blooded murder."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Impossible!" cried the inspector.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And why?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why should any one murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as by hanging
      him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is what we have to find out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How could they get in?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Through the front door."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was barred in the morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then it was barred after them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you know?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I may be able to give you
      some further information about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it in his
      methodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on the inside, and
      inspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs the mantelpiece, the
      dead body, and the rope were each in turn examined, until at last he
      professed himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspector cut
      down the wretched object and laid it reverently under a sheet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How about this rope?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is cut off this," said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coil from under
      the bed. "He was morbidly nervous of fire, and always kept this beside
      him, so that he might escape by the window in case the stairs were
      burning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That must have saved them trouble," said Holmes, thoughtfully. "Yes, the
      actual facts are very plain, and I shall be surprised if by the afternoon
      I cannot give you the reasons for them as well. I will take this
      photograph of Blessington, which I see upon the mantelpiece, as it may
      help me in my inquiries."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you have told us nothing!" cried the doctor.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of events," said Holmes.
      "There were three of them in it: the young man, the old man, and a third,
      to whose identity I have no clue. The first two, I need hardly remark, are
      the same who masqueraded as the Russian count and his son, so we can give
      a very full description of them. They were admitted by a confederate
      inside the house. If I might offer you a word of advice, Inspector, it
      would be to arrest the page, who, as I understand, has only recently come
      into your service, Doctor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan; "the maid and the
      cook have just been searching for him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has played a not unimportant part in this drama," said he. "The three
      men having ascended the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the elder man
      first, the younger man second, and the unknown man in the rear&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Holmes!" I ejaculated.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, there could be no question as to the superimposing of the footmarks.
      I had the advantage of learning which was which last night. They ascended,
      then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the door of which they found to be
      locked. With the help of a wire, however, they forced round the key. Even
      without the lens you will perceive, by the scratches on this ward, where
      the pressure was applied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "On entering the room their first proceeding must have been to gag Mr.
      Blessington. He may have been asleep, or he may have been so paralyzed
      with terror as to have been unable to cry out. These walls are thick, and
      it is conceivable that his shriek, if he had time to utter one, was
      unheard.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of some sort
      was held. Probably it was something in the nature of a judicial
      proceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it was then that these
      cigars were smoked. The older man sat in that wicker chair; it was he who
      used the cigar-holder. The younger man sat over yonder; he knocked his ash
      off against the chest of drawers. The third fellow paced up and down.
      Blessington, I think, sat upright in the bed, but of that I cannot be
      absolutely certain.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. The matter
      was so prearranged that it is my belief that they brought with them some
      sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gallows. That screw-driver
      and those screws were, as I conceive, for fixing it up. Seeing the hook,
      however they naturally saved themselves the trouble. Having finished their
      work they made off, and the door was barred behind them by their
      confederate."
    </p>
    <p>
      We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of the
      night's doings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so subtle and minute
      that, even when he had pointed them out to us, we could scarcely follow
      him in his reasoning. The inspector hurried away on the instant to make
      inquiries about the page, while Holmes and I returned to Baker Street for
      breakfast.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll be back by three," said he, when we had finished our meal. "Both the
      inspector and the doctor will meet me here at that hour, and I hope by
      that time to have cleared up any little obscurity which the case may still
      present."
    </p>
    <p>
      Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarter to four
      before my friend put in an appearance. From his expression as he entered,
      however, I could see that all had gone well with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any news, Inspector?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have got the boy, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent, and I have got the men."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have got them!" we cried, all three.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, at least I have got their identity. This so-called Blessington is,
      as I expected, well known at headquarters, and so are his assailants.
      Their names are Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Worthingdon bank gang," cried the inspector.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Precisely," said Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then Blessington must have been Sutton."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Exactly," said Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, that makes it as clear as crystal," said the inspector.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Trevelyan and I looked at each other in bewilderment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must surely remember the great Worthingdon bank business," said
      Holmes. "Five men were in it&mdash;these four and a fifth called
      Cartwright. Tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got away
      with seven thousand pounds. This was in 1875. They were all five arrested,
      but the evidence against them was by no means conclusive. This Blessington
      or Sutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned informer. On his evidence
      Cartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteen years apiece. When
      they got out the other day, which was some years before their full term,
      they set themselves, as you perceive, to hunt down the traitor and to
      avenge the death of their comrade upon him. Twice they tried to get at him
      and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. Is there anything further
      which I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think you have made it all remarkably clear," said the doctor. "No
      doubt the day on which he was perturbed was the day when he had seen of
      their release in the newspapers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite so. His talk about a burglary was the merest blind."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why could he not tell you this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive character of his old
      associates, he was trying to hide his own identity from everybody as long
      as he could. His secret was a shameful one, and he could not bring himself
      to divulge it. However, wretch as he was, he was still living under the
      shield of British law, and I have no doubt, Inspector, that you will see
      that, though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of justice is still
      there to avenge."
    </p>
    <p>
      Such were the singular circumstances in connection with the Resident
      Patient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night nothing has been seen
      of the three murderers by the police, and it is surmised at Scotland Yard
      that they were among the passengers of the ill-fated steamer Norah Creina,
      which was lost some years ago with all hands upon the Portuguese coast,
      some leagues to the north of Oporto. The proceedings against the page
      broke down for want of evidence, and the Brook Street Mystery, as it was
      called, has never until now been fully dealt with in any public print.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure IX. The Greek Interpreter
    </h2>
    <p>
      During my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes I had
      never heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his own early
      life. This reticence upon his part had increased the somewhat inhuman
      effect which he produced upon me, until sometimes I found myself regarding
      him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart, as deficient in
      human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in intelligence. His aversion to
      women and his disinclination to form new friendships were both typical of
      his unemotional character, but not more so than his complete suppression
      of every reference to his own people. I had come to believe that he was an
      orphan with no relatives living, but one day, to my very great surprise,
      he began to talk to me about his brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which had
      roamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes of
      the change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at last to the
      question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. The point under discussion
      was, how far any singular gift in an individual was due to his ancestry
      and how far to his own early training.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In your own case," said I, "from all that you have told me, it seems
      obvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiar facility for
      deduction are due to your own systematic training."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To some extent," he answered, thoughtfully. "My ancestors were country
      squires, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural to their
      class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and may have
      come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, the French artist.
      Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how do you know that it is hereditary?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was news to me indeed. If there were another man with such singular
      powers in England, how was it that neither police nor public had heard of
      him? I put the question, with a hint that it was my companion's modesty
      which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior. Holmes laughed at
      my suggestion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Watson," said he, "I cannot agree with those who rank modesty
      among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as
      they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from
      truth as to exaggerate one's own powers. When I say, therefore, that
      Mycroft has better powers of observation than I, you may take it that I am
      speaking the exact and literal truth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is he your junior?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Seven years my senior."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How comes it that he is unknown?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, he is very well known in his own circle."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimed as
      much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one of the
      queerest men. He's always there from quarter to five to twenty to eight.
      It's six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shall
      be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities."
    </p>
    <p>
      Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards Regent's Circus.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You wonder," said my companion, "why it is that Mycroft does not use his
      powers for detective work. He is incapable of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I thought you said&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the art
      of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my
      brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has
      no ambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verify
      his own solutions, and would rather be considered wrong than take the
      trouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problem to
      him, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to be
      the correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the
      practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid
      before a judge or jury."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not his profession, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the merest
      hobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and
      audits the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodges in
      Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morning and
      back every evening. From year's end to year's end he takes no other
      exercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club,
      which is just opposite his rooms."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot recall the name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who, some from
      shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their
      fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest
      periodicals. It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club was
      started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubable men in
      town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one.
      Save in the Stranger's Room, no talking is, under any circumstances,
      allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee,
      render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the founders,
      and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere."
    </p>
    <p>
      We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it from the
      St. James's end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door some little distance
      from the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the way into the
      hall. Through the glass paneling I caught a glimpse of a large and
      luxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sitting about
      and reading papers, each in his own little nook. Holmes showed me into a
      small chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for a
      minute, he came back with a companion whom I knew could only be his
      brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock. His body
      was absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, had preserved
      something of the sharpness of expression which was so remarkable in that
      of his brother. His eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery gray,
      seemed to always retain that far-away, introspective look which I had only
      observed in Sherlock's when he was exerting his full powers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am glad to meet you, sir," said he, putting out a broad, fat hand like
      the flipper of a seal. "I hear of Sherlock everywhere since you became his
      chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see you round last week,
      to consult me over that Manor House case. I thought you might be a little
      out of your depth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I solved it," said my friend, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was Adams, of course."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, it was Adams."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was sure of it from the first." The two sat down together in the
      bow-window of the club. "To any one who wishes to study mankind this is
      the spot," said Mycroft. "Look at the magnificent types! Look at these two
      men who are coming towards us, for example."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The billiard-marker and the other?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Precisely. What do you make of the other?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marks over the
      waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which I could see in one
      of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hat pushed back
      and several packages under his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      "An old soldier, I perceive," said Sherlock.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And very recently discharged," remarked the brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Served in India, I see."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And a non-commissioned officer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Royal Artillery, I fancy," said Sherlock.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And a widower."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But with a child."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Children, my dear boy, children."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come," said I, laughing, "this is a little too much."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely," answered Holmes, "it is not hard to say that a man with that
      bearing, expression of authority, and sunbaked skin, is a soldier, is more
      than a private, and is not long from India."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing his
      ammunition boots, as they are called," observed Mycroft.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as is
      shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. His weight is against
      his being a sapper. He is in the artillery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lost some one
      very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks as though it
      were his wife. He has been buying things for children, you perceive. There
      is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very young. The wife probably
      died in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-book under his arm shows
      that there is another child to be thought of."
    </p>
    <p>
      I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that his brother
      possessed even keener faculties that he did himself. He glanced across at
      me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box, and brushed
      away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, red silk
      handkerchief.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the way, Sherlock," said he, "I have had something quite after your
      own heart&mdash;a most singular problem&mdash;submitted to my judgment. I
      really had not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete
      fashion, but it gave me a basis for some pleasing speculation. If you
      would care to hear the facts&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted."
    </p>
    <p>
      The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book, and, ringing
      the bell, he handed it to the waiter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have asked Mr. Melas to step across," said he. "He lodges on the floor
      above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him, which led him to
      come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction, as I
      understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. He earns his living partly as
      interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide to any wealthy
      Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. I think I will
      leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his own fashion."
    </p>
    <p>
      A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose olive face
      and coal-black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though his speech was
      that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands eagerly with Sherlock
      Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when he understood that
      the specialist was anxious to hear his story.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do not believe that the police credit me&mdash;on my word, I do not,"
      said he in a wailing voice. "Just because they have never heard of it
      before, they think that such a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall
      never be easy in my mind until I know what has become of my poor man with
      the sticking-plaster upon his face."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am all attention," said Sherlock Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is Wednesday evening," said Mr. Melas. "Well then, it was Monday
      night&mdash;only two days ago, you understand&mdash;that all this
      happened. I am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there has told you.
      I interpret all languages&mdash;or nearly all&mdash;but as I am a Greek by
      birth and with a Grecian name, it is with that particular tongue that I am
      principally associated. For many years I have been the chief Greek
      interpreter in London, and my name is very well known in the hotels.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hours by
      foreigners who get into difficulties, or by travelers who arrive late and
      wish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday night when a
      Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to my rooms and
      asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at the door. A Greek
      friend had come to see him upon business, he said, and as he could speak
      nothing but his own tongue, the services of an interpreter were
      indispensable. He gave me to understand that his house was some little
      distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry,
      bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended to the street.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether it was not a
      carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly more roomy than the
      ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings, though frayed,
      were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to me and we
      started off through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue. We had
      come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured some remark as to this
      being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words were arrested by the
      extraordinary conduct of my companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loaded with lead
      from his pocket, and switching it backward and forward several times, as
      if to test its weight and strength. Then he placed it without a word upon
      the seat beside him. Having done this, he drew up the windows on each
      side, and I found to my astonishment that they were covered with paper so
      as to prevent my seeing through them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'The fact is that
      I have no intention that you should see what the place is to which we are
      driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could find your
      way there again.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such an address. My
      companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apart from
      the weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in a struggle with
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,' I stammered. 'You must
      be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,' said he, 'but we'll make it up
      to you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time to-night
      you attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against my
      interests, you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you to remember
      that no one knows where you are, and that, whether you are in this
      carriage or in my house, you are equally in my power.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them which was
      very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earth could be his
      reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. Whatever it might
      be, it was perfectly clear that there was no possible use in my resisting,
      and that I could only wait to see what might befall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as to
      where we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a paved
      causeway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt; but,
      save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all which could in
      the remotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were. The paper
      over each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain was drawn
      across the glass work in front. It was a quarter-past seven when we left
      Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to nine when we
      at last came to a standstill. My companion let down the window, and I
      caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a lamp burning above it. As
      I was hurried from the carriage it swung open, and I found myself inside
      the house, with a vague impression of a lawn and trees on each side of me
      as I entered. Whether these were private grounds, however, or bona-fide
      country was more than I could possibly venture to say.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was a colored gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that I could
      see little save that the hall was of some size and hung with pictures. In
      the dim light I could make out that the person who had opened the door was
      a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with rounded shoulders. As he
      turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that he was wearing
      glasses.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?' said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but we could not
      get on without you. If you deal fair with us you'll not regret it, but if
      you try any tricks, God help you!' He spoke in a nervous, jerky fashion,
      and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he impressed me
      with fear more than the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What do you want with me?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us, and
      to let us have the answers. But say no more than you are told to say, or&mdash;'
      here came the nervous giggle again&mdash;'you had better never have been
      born.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room which
      appeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light was
      afforded by a single lamp half-turned down. The chamber was certainly
      large, and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as I stepped
      across it told me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a
      high white marble mantel-piece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese
      armor at one side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and the
      elderly man motioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left us, but
      he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him a gentleman
      clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly towards us. As
      he came into the circle of dim light which enables me to see him more
      clearly I was thrilled with horror at his appearance. He was deadly pale
      and terribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whose
      spirit was greater than his strength. But what shocked me more than any
      signs of physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely criss-crossed
      with sticking-plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastened over his
      mouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Have you the slate, Harold?' cried the older man, as this strange being
      fell rather than sat down into a chair. 'Are his hands loose? Now, then,
      give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and he will
      write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to sign the
      papers?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The man's eyes flashed fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Never!' he wrote in Greek upon the slate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'On no condition?' I asked, at the bidding of our tyrant.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom I know.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The man giggled in his venomous way.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You know what awaits you, then?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I care nothing for myself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "These are samples of the questions and answers which made up our strange
      half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had to ask him
      whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again and again I had the
      same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came to me. I took to
      adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent ones at
      first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything of the
      matter, and then, as I found that they showed no signs I played a more
      dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I care not. I am a stranger in London.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Your fate will be upon your own head. How long have you been here?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Let it be so. Three weeks.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The property can never be yours. What ails you?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It shall not go to villains. They are starving me.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I will never sign. I do not know.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You are not doing her any service. What is your name?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Let me hear her say so. Kratides.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Then I shall never see her. Athens.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wormed out the whole
      story under their very noses. My very next question might have cleared the
      matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a woman stepped into
      the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know more than that she
      was tall and graceful, with black hair, and clad in some sort of loose
      white gown.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Harold,' said she, speaking English with a broken accent. 'I could not
      stay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only&mdash;Oh, my God, it
      is Paul!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the man with a
      convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming out
      'Sophy! Sophy!' rushed into the woman's arms. Their embrace was but for an
      instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman and pushed her out
      of the room, while the elder easily overpowered his emaciated victim, and
      dragged him away through the other door. For a moment I was left alone in
      the room, and I sprang to my feet with some vague idea that I might in
      some way get a clue to what this house was in which I found myself.
      Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for looking up I saw that the older
      man was standing in the door-way with his eyes fixed upon me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That will do, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'You perceive that we have taken you
      into our confidence over some very private business. We should not have
      troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who began these
      negotiations has been forced to return to the East. It was quite necessary
      for us to find some one to take his place, and we were fortunate in
      hearing of your powers.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I bowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'There are five sovereigns here,' said he, walking up to me, 'which will,
      I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,' he added, tapping me lightly
      on the chest and giggling, 'if you speak to a human soul about this&mdash;one
      human soul, mind&mdash;well, may God have mercy upon your soul!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which this
      insignificant-looking man inspired me. I could see him better now as the
      lamp-light shone upon him. His features were peaky and sallow, and his
      little pointed beard was thready and ill-nourished. He pushed his face
      forward as he spoke and his lips and eyelids were continually twitching
      like a man with St. Vitus's dance. I could not help thinking that his
      strange, catchy little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady.
      The terror of his face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, and
      glistening coldly with a malignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'We shall know if you speak of this,' said he. 'We have our own means of
      information. Now you will find the carriage waiting, and my friend will
      see you on your way.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtaining that
      momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimer followed closely at
      my heels, and took his place opposite to me without a word. In silence we
      again drove for an interminable distance with the windows raised, until at
      last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You will get down here, Mr. Melas,' said my companion. 'I am sorry to
      leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Any attempt
      upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury to yourself.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring out when
      the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. I looked
      around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of a heathy common mottled
      over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. Far away stretched a line of
      houses, with a light here and there in the upper windows. On the other
      side I saw the red signal-lamps of a railway.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stood
      gazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when I saw some one
      coming towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me I made out that he
      was a railway porter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Can you tell me what place this is?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Wandsworth Common,' said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Can I get a train into town?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,' said he, 'you'll just
      be in time for the last to Victoria.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where I
      was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have told you. But I
      know that there is foul play going on, and I want to help that unhappy man
      if I can. I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes next morning, and
      subsequently to the police."
    </p>
    <p>
      We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to this
      extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at his brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any steps?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Anybody supplying any information to the whereabouts of a Greek
      gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable to speak
      English, will be rewarded. A similar reward paid to any one giving
      information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy. X 2473.' That
      was in all the dailies. No answer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How about the Greek Legation?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have inquired. They know nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sherlock has all the energy of the family," said Mycroft, turning to me.
      "Well, you take the case up by all means, and let me know if you do any
      good."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly," answered my friend, rising from his chair. "I'll let you
      know, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly
      be on my guard, if I were you, for of course they must know through these
      advertisements that you have betrayed them."
    </p>
    <p>
      As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office and sent
      off several wires.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see, Watson," he remarked, "our evening has been by no means wasted.
      Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this way through
      Mycroft. The problem which we have just listened to, although it can admit
      of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing features."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have hopes of solving it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail to
      discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory which will
      explain the facts to which we have listened."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In a vague way, yes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What was your idea, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried off
      by the young Englishman named Harold Latimer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Carried off from where?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Athens, perhaps."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes shook his head. "This young man could not talk a word of
      Greek. The lady could talk English fairly well. Inference&mdash;that she
      had been in England some little time, but he had not been in Greece."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a visit to England, and
      that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is more probable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then the brother&mdash;for that, I fancy, must be the relationship&mdash;comes
      over from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himself into the power
      of the young man and his older associate. They seize him and use violence
      towards him in order to make him sign some papers to make over the girl's
      fortune&mdash;of which he may be trustee&mdash;to them. This he refuses to
      do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter, and
      they pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before. The
      girl is not told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out by the
      merest accident."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent, Watson!" cried Holmes. "I really fancy that you are not far
      from the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and we have only to
      fear some sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us time we
      must have them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how can we find where this house lies?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is or was Sophy
      Kratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be our
      main hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It is clear
      that some time has elapsed since this Harold established these relations
      with the girl&mdash;some weeks, at any rate&mdash;since the brother in
      Greece has had time to hear of it and come across. If they have been
      living in the same place during this time, it is probable that we shall
      have some answer to Mycroft's advertisement."
    </p>
    <p>
      We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking. Holmes
      ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room he gave a
      start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equally astonished.
      His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the arm-chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir," said he blandly, smiling at our
      surprised faces. "You don't expect such energy from me, do you, Sherlock?
      But somehow this case attracts me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How did you get here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I passed you in a hansom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There has been some new development?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had an answer to my advertisement."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And to what effect?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal cream paper by a
      middle-aged man with a weak constitution. 'Sir,' he says, 'in answer to
      your advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you that I know the
      young lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me I
      could give you some particulars as to her painful history. She is living
      at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham. Yours faithfully, J. Davenport.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes. "Do you not think
      that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn these particulars?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than the sister's
      story. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson, and
      go straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done to death,
      and every hour may be vital."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested. "We may need an
      interpreter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes. "Send the boy for a four-wheeler, and
      we shall be off at once." He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I
      noticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. "Yes," said he, in
      answer to my glance; "I should say from what we have heard, that we are
      dealing with a particularly dangerous gang."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the rooms of
      Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened the door; "I only
      know that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did the gentleman give a name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face,
      but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he
      was talking."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. "This grows serious," he
      observed, as we drove to Scotland Yard. "These men have got hold of Melas
      again. He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware from
      their experience the other night. This villain was able to terrorize him
      the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt they want his
      professional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined to
      punish him for what they will regard as his treachery."
    </p>
    <p>
      Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soon or
      sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more
      than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply with the
      legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house. It was a
      quarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and half past before the
      four of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of half a mile
      brought us to The Myrtles&mdash;a large, dark house standing back from the
      road in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up
      the drive together.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The windows are all dark," remarked the inspector. "The house seems
      deserted."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our birds are flown and the nest empty," said Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why do you say so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the last
      hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      The inspector laughed. "I saw the wheel-tracks in the light of the
      gate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way. But the
      outward-bound ones were very much deeper&mdash;so much so that we can say
      for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on the
      carriage."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You get a trifle beyond me there," said the inspector, shrugging his
      shoulder. "It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if we
      cannot make some one hear us."
    </p>
    <p>
      He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but without any
      success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a few minutes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have a window open," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it,
      Mr. Holmes," remarked the inspector, as he noted the clever way in which
      my friend had forced back the catch. "Well, I think that under the
      circumstances we may enter without an invitation."
    </p>
    <p>
      One after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which was
      evidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The inspector had lit
      his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the curtain, the
      lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he had described them. On the table
      lay two glasses, and empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is that?" asked Holmes, suddenly.
    </p>
    <p>
      We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming from
      somewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into the hall.
      The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspector and I at
      his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as his great bulk
      would permit.
    </p>
    <p>
      Three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was from the central of
      these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into a dull
      mumble and rising again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but the key
      had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushed in,
      but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's charcoal," he cried. "Give it time. It will clear."
    </p>
    <p>
      Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from a dull
      blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre. It
      threw a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadows
      beyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against the
      wall. From the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalation
      which set us gasping and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of the stairs
      to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, he threw up the
      window and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can enter in a minute," he gasped, darting out again. "Where is a
      candle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold the
      light at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!"
    </p>
    <p>
      With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into the
      well-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen,
      congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were their
      features that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might have
      failed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who had parted
      from us only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His hands and feet
      were securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye the marks of a
      violent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tall
      man in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips of
      sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had
      ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at
      least our aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however, still lived, and in
      less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy I had the
      satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had
      drawn him back from that dark valley in which all paths meet.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did but confirm
      our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a
      life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed him with the fear of
      instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him for the second
      time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which this giggling
      ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak
      of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek. He had been taken
      swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second interview,
      even more dramatic than the first, in which the two Englishmen had menaced
      their prisoner with instant death if he did not comply with their demands.
      Finally, finding him proof against every threat, they had hurled him back
      into his prison, and after reproaching Melas with his treachery, which
      appeared from the newspaper advertisement, they had stunned him with a
      blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing more until he found us
      bending over him.
    </p>
    <p>
      And this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, the explanation
      of which is still involved in some mystery. We were able to find out, by
      communicating with the gentleman who had answered the advertisement, that
      the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecian family, and that she
      had been on a visit to some friends in England. While there she had met a
      young man named Harold Latimer, who had acquired an ascendancy over her
      and had eventually persuaded her to fly with him. Her friends, shocked at
      the event, had contented themselves with informing her brother at Athens,
      and had then washed their hands of the matter. The brother, on his arrival
      in England, had imprudently placed himself in the power of Latimer and of
      his associate, whose name was Wilson Kemp&mdash;a man of the foulest
      antecedents. These two, finding that through his ignorance of the language
      he was helpless in their hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had
      endeavored by cruelty and starvation to make him sign away his own and his
      sister's property. They had kept him in the house without the girl's
      knowledge, and the plaster over the face had been for the purpose of
      making recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a glimpse of
      him. Her feminine perception, however, had instantly seen through the
      disguise when, on the occasion of the interpreter's visit, she had seen
      him for the first time. The poor girl, however, was herself a prisoner,
      for there was no one about the house except the man who acted as coachman,
      and his wife, both of whom were tools of the conspirators. Finding that
      their secret was out, and that their prisoner was not to be coerced, the
      two villains with the girl had fled away at a few hours' notice from the
      furnished house which they had hired, having first, as they thought, taken
      vengeance both upon the man who had defied and the one who had betrayed
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from Buda-Pesth.
      It told how two Englishmen who had been traveling with a woman had met
      with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, it seems, and the Hungarian
      police were of opinion that they had quarreled and had inflicted mortal
      injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different way
      of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one could find the Grecian
      girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to be
      avenged.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure X. The Naval Treaty
    </h2>
    <p>
      The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was made memorable by
      three cases of interest, in which I had the privilege of being associated
      with Sherlock Holmes and of studying his methods. I find them recorded in
      my notes under the headings of "The Adventure of the Second Stain," "The
      Adventure of the Naval Treaty," and "The Adventure of the Tired Captain."
      The first of these, however, deals with interest of such importance and
      implicates so many of the first families in the kingdom that for many
      years it will be impossible to make it public. No case, however, in which
      Holmes was engaged has ever illustrated the value of his analytical
      methods so clearly or has impressed those who were associated with him so
      deeply. I still retain an almost verbatim report of the interview in which
      he demonstrated the true facts of the case to Monsieur Dubugue of the
      Paris police, and Fritz von Waldbaum, the well-known specialist of
      Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energies upon what proved to be
      side-issues. The new century will have come, however, before the story can
      be safely told. Meanwhile I pass on to the second on my list, which
      promised also at one time to be of national importance, and was marked by
      several incidents which give it a quite unique character.
    </p>
    <p>
      During my school-days I had been intimately associated with a lad named
      Percy Phelps, who was of much the same age as myself, though he was two
      classes ahead of me. He was a very brilliant boy, and carried away every
      prize which the school had to offer, finished his exploits by winning a
      scholarship which sent him on to continue his triumphant career at
      Cambridge. He was, I remember, extremely well connected, and even when we
      were all little boys together we knew that his mother's brother was Lord
      Holdhurst, the great conservative politician. This gaudy relationship did
      him little good at school. On the contrary, it seemed rather a piquant
      thing to us to chevy him about the playground and hit him over the shins
      with a wicket. But it was another thing when he came out into the world. I
      heard vaguely that his abilities and the influences which he commanded had
      won him a good position at the Foreign Office, and then he passed
      completely out of my mind until the following letter recalled his
      existence:
    </p>
    <p>
      Briarbrae, Woking. My dear Watson,&mdash;I have no doubt that you can
      remember "Tadpole" Phelps, who was in the fifth form when you were in the
      third. It is possible even that you may have heard that through my uncle's
      influence I obtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office, and that I
      was in a situation of trust and honor until a horrible misfortune came
      suddenly to blast my career.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is no use writing of the details of that dreadful event. In the
      event of your acceding to my request it is probable that I shall have to
      narrate them to you. I have only just recovered from nine weeks of
      brain-fever, and am still exceedingly weak. Do you think that you could
      bring your friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? I should like to have his
      opinion of the case, though the authorities assure me that nothing more
      can be done. Do try to bring him down, and as soon as possible. Every
      minute seems an hour while I live in this state of horrible suspense.
      Assure him that if I have not asked his advice sooner it was not because I
      did not appreciate his talents, but because I have been off my head ever
      since the blow fell. Now I am clear again, though I dare not think of it
      too much for fear of a relapse. I am still so weak that I have to write,
      as you see, by dictating. Do try to bring him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Your old school-fellow,
    </p>
    <p>
      Percy Phelps.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something that touched me as I read this letter, something
      pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. So moved was I that
      even had it been a difficult matter I should have tried it, but of course
      I knew well that Holmes loved his art, so that he was ever as ready to
      bring his aid as his client could be to receive it. My wife agreed with me
      that not a moment should be lost in laying the matter before him, and so
      within an hour of breakfast-time I found myself back once more in the old
      rooms in Baker Street.
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown, and working
      hard over a chemical investigation. A large curved retort was boiling
      furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner, and the distilled drops
      were condensing into a two-litre measure. My friend hardly glanced up as I
      entered, and I, seeing that his investigation must be of importance,
      seated myself in an arm-chair and waited. He dipped into this bottle or
      that, drawing out a few drops of each with his glass pipette, and finally
      brought a test-tube containing a solution over to the table. In his right
      hand he held a slip of litmus-paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You come at a crisis, Watson," said he. "If this paper remains blue, all
      is well. If it turns red, it means a man's life." He dipped it into the
      test-tube and it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson. "Hum! I
      thought as much!" he cried. "I will be at your service in an instant,
      Watson. You will find tobacco in the Persian slipper." He turned to his
      desk and scribbled off several telegrams, which were handed over to the
      page-boy. Then he threw himself down into the chair opposite, and drew up
      his knees until his fingers clasped round his long, thin shins.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A very commonplace little murder," said he. "You've got something better,
      I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson. What is it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentrated
      attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It does not tell us very much, does it?" he remarked, as he handed it
      back to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hardly anything."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And yet the writing is of interest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But the writing is not his own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Precisely. It is a woman's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A man's surely," I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, a woman's, and a woman of rare character. You see, at the
      commencement of an investigation it is something to know that your client
      is in close contact with some one who, for good or evil, has an
      exceptional nature. My interest is already awakened in the case. If you
      are ready we will start at once for Woking, and see this diplomatist who
      is in such evil case, and the lady to whom he dictates his letters."
    </p>
    <p>
      We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo, and in a
      little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir-woods and the
      heather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be a large detached house standing
      in extensive grounds within a few minutes' walk of the station. On sending
      in our cards we were shown into an elegantly appointed drawing-room, where
      we were joined in a few minutes by a rather stout man who received us with
      much hospitality. His age may have been nearer forty than thirty, but his
      cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that he still conveyed the
      impression of a plump and mischievous boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am so glad that you have come," said he, shaking our hands with
      effusion. "Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Ah, poor old
      chap, he clings to any straw! His father and his mother asked me to see
      you, for the mere mention of the subject is very painful to them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have had no details yet," observed Holmes. "I perceive that you are
      not yourself a member of the family."
    </p>
    <p>
      Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he began to
      laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket," said he. "For a moment
      I thought you had done something clever. Joseph Harrison is my name, and
      as Percy is to marry my sister Annie I shall at least be a relation by
      marriage. You will find my sister in his room, for she has nursed him
      hand-and-foot this two months back. Perhaps we'd better go in at once, for
      I know how impatient he is."
    </p>
    <p>
      The chamber in which we were shown was on the same floor as the
      drawing-room. It was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as a
      bedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and corner. A young
      man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near the open window,
      through which came the rich scent of the garden and the balmy summer air.
      A woman was sitting beside him, who rose as we entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Shall I leave, Percy?" she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      He clutched her hand to detain her. "How are you, Watson?" said he,
      cordially. "I should never have known you under that moustache, and I dare
      say you would not be prepared to swear to me. This I presume is your
      celebrated friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. The stout young man
      had left us, but his sister still remained with her hand in that of the
      invalid. She was a striking-looking woman, a little short and thick for
      symmetry, but with a beautiful olive complexion, large, dark, Italian
      eyes, and a wealth of deep black hair. Her rich tints made the white face
      of her companion the more worn and haggard by the contrast.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I won't waste your time," said he, raising himself upon the sofa. "I'll
      plunge into the matter without further preamble. I was a happy and
      successful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of being married, when a sudden
      and dreadful misfortune wrecked all my prospects in life.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, and through
      the influences of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidly to a
      responsible position. When my uncle became foreign minister in this
      administration he gave me several missions of trust, and as I always
      brought them to a successful conclusion, he came at last to have the
      utmost confidence in my ability and tact.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nearly ten weeks ago&mdash;to be more accurate, on the 23d of May&mdash;he
      called me into his private room, and, after complimenting me on the good
      work which I had done, he informed me that he had a new commission of
      trust for me to execute.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'This,' said he, taking a gray roll of paper from his bureau, 'is the
      original of that secret treaty between England and Italy of which, I
      regret to say, some rumors have already got into the public press. It is
      of enormous importance that nothing further should leak out. The French or
      the Russian embassy would pay an immense sum to learn the contents of
      these papers. They should not leave my bureau were it not that it is
      absolutely necessary to have them copied. You have a desk in your office?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes, sir.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Then take the treaty and lock it up there. I shall give directions that
      you may remain behind when the others go, so that you may copy it at your
      leisure without fear of being overlooked. When you have finished, relock
      both the original and the draft in the desk, and hand them over to me
      personally to-morrow morning.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I took the papers and&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excuse me an instant," said Holmes. "Were you alone during this
      conversation?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Absolutely."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In a large room?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thirty feet each way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the centre?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And speaking low?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My uncle's voice is always remarkably low. I hardly spoke at all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you," said Holmes, shutting his eyes; "pray go on."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the other clerks had
      departed. One of them in my room, Charles Gorot, had some arrears of work
      to make up, so I left him there and went out to dine. When I returned he
      was gone. I was anxious to hurry my work, for I knew that Joseph&mdash;the
      Mr. Harrison whom you saw just now&mdash;was in town, and that he would
      travel down to Woking by the eleven-o'clock train, and I wanted if
      possible to catch it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that it was of such
      importance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration in what he had
      said. Without going into details, I may say that it defined the position
      of Great Britain towards the Triple Alliance, and fore-shadowed the policy
      which this country would pursue in the event of the French fleet gaining a
      complete ascendancy over that of Italy in the Mediterranean. The questions
      treated in it were purely naval. At the end were the signatures of the
      high dignitaries who had signed it. I glanced my eyes over it, and then
      settled down to my task of copying.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a long document, written in the French language, and containing
      twenty-six separate articles. I copied as quickly as I could, but at nine
      o'clock I had only done nine articles, and it seemed hopeless for me to
      attempt to catch my train. I was feeling drowsy and stupid, partly from my
      dinner and also from the effects of a long day's work. A cup of coffee
      would clear my brain. A commissionnaire remains all night in a little
      lodge at the foot of the stairs, and is in the habit of making coffee at
      his spirit-lamp for any of the officials who may be working over time. I
      rang the bell, therefore, to summon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, a large,
      coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. She explained that she was the
      commissionnaire's wife, who did the charing, and I gave her the order for
      the coffee.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more drowsy than ever, I rose
      and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs. My coffee had not yet
      come, and I wondered what was the cause of the delay could be. Opening the
      door, I started down the corridor to find out. There was a straight
      passage, dimly lighted, which led from the room in which I had been
      working, and was the only exit from it. It ended in a curving staircase,
      with the commissionnaire's lodge in the passage at the bottom. Half way
      down this staircase is a small landing, with another passage running into
      it at right angles. This second one leads by means of a second small stair
      to a side door, used by servants, and also as a short cut by clerks when
      coming from Charles Street. Here is a rough chart of the place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you. I think that I quite follow you," said Sherlock Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is of the utmost importance that you should notice this point. I went
      down the stairs and into the hall, where I found the commissionnaire fast
      asleep in his box, with the kettle boiling furiously upon the spirit-lamp.
      I took off the kettle and blew out the lamp, for the water was spurting
      over the floor. Then I put out my hand and was about to shake the man, who
      was still sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly, and he
      woke with a start.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Mr. Phelps, sir!' said he, looking at me in bewilderment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I came down to see if my coffee was ready.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir.' He looked at me and
      then up at the still quivering bell with an ever-growing astonishment upon
      his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?' he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The bell!' I cried. 'What bell is it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'It's the bell of the room you were working in.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Some one, then, was in that
      room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ran frantically up the
      stair and along the passage. There was no one in the corridors, Mr.
      Holmes. There was no one in the room. All was exactly as I left it, save
      only that the papers which had been committed to my care had been taken
      from the desk on which they lay. The copy was there, and the original was
      gone."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could see that the
      problem was entirely to his heart. "Pray, what did you do then?" he
      murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I recognized in an instant that the thief must have come up the stairs
      from the side door. Of course I must have met him if he had come the other
      way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in the room all
      the time, or in the corridor which you have just described as dimly
      lighted?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal himself either in
      the room or the corridor. There is no cover at all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you. Pray proceed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The commissionnaire, seeing by my pale face that something was to be
      feared, had followed me upstairs. Now we both rushed along the corridor
      and down the steep steps which led to Charles Street. The door at the
      bottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung it open and rushed out. I can
      distinctly remember that as we did so there came three chimes from a
      neighboring clock. It was quarter to ten."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is of enormous importance," said Holmes, making a note upon his
      shirt-cuff.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was falling. There was no
      one in Charles Street, but a great traffic was going on, as usual, in
      Whitehall, at the extremity. We rushed along the pavement, bare-headed as
      we were, and at the far corner we found a policeman standing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'A robbery has been committed,' I gasped. 'A document of immense value
      has been stolen from the Foreign Office. Has any one passed this way?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir,' said he; 'only
      one person has passed during that time&mdash;a woman, tall and elderly,
      with a Paisley shawl.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Ah, that is only my wife,' cried the commissionnaire; 'has no one else
      passed?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No one.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Then it must be the other way that the thief took,' cried the fellow,
      tugging at my sleeve.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to draw me away
      increased my suspicions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Which way did the woman go?' I cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I don't know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no special reason for
      watching her. She seemed to be in a hurry.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'How long ago was it?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, not very many minutes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Within the last five?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, it could not be more than five.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You're only wasting your time, sir, and every minute now is of
      importance,' cried the commissionnaire; 'take my word for it that my old
      woman has nothing to do with it, and come down to the other end of the
      street. Well, if you won't, I will.' And with that he rushed off in the
      other direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I was after him in an instant and caught him by the sleeve.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where do you live?' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,' he answered. 'But don't let yourself be drawn
      away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps. Come to the other end of the street
      and let us see if we can hear of anything.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With the policeman we
      both hurried down, but only to find the street full of traffic, many
      people coming and going, but all only too eager to get to a place of
      safety upon so wet a night. There was no lounger who could tell us who had
      passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then we returned to the office, and searched the stairs and the passage
      without result. The corridor which led to the room was laid down with a
      kind of creamy linoleum which shows an impression very easily. We examined
      it very carefully, but found no outline of any footmark."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Had it been raining all evening?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Since about seven."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How is it, then, that the woman who came into the room about nine left no
      traces with her muddy boots?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at the time. The
      charwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at the
      commissionnaire's office, and putting on list slippers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is very clear. There were no marks, then, though the night was a wet
      one? The chain of events is certainly one of extraordinary interest. What
      did you do next?
    </p>
    <p>
      "We examined the room also. There is no possibility of a secret door, and
      the windows are quite thirty feet from the ground. Both of them were
      fastened on the inside. The carpet prevents any possibility of a
      trap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinary whitewashed kind. I will
      pledge my life that whoever stole my papers could only have come through
      the door."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How about the fireplace?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They use none. There is a stove. The bell-rope hangs from the wire just
      to the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have come right up to the
      desk to do it. But why should any criminal wish to ring the bell? It is a
      most insoluble mystery."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your next steps? You
      examined the room, I presume, to see if the intruder had left any traces&mdash;any
      cigar-end or dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was nothing of the sort."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No smell?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we never thought of that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great deal to us in such
      an investigation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never smoke myself, so I think I should have observed it if there had
      been any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely no clue of any kind. The
      only tangible fact was that the commissionnaire's wife&mdash;Mrs. Tangey
      was the name&mdash;had hurried out of the place. He could give no
      explanation save that it was about the time when the woman always went
      home. The policeman and I agreed that our best plan would be to seize the
      woman before she could get rid of the papers, presuming that she had them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr. Forbes, the
      detective, came round at once and took up the case with a great deal of
      energy. We hired a hansom, and in half an hour we were at the address
      which had been given to us. A young woman opened the door, who proved to
      be Mrs. Tangey's eldest daughter. Her mother had not come back yet, and we
      were shown into the front room to wait.
    </p>
    <p>
      "About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here we made the
      one serious mistake for which I blame myself. Instead of opening the door
      ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. We heard her say, 'Mother, there
      are two men in the house waiting to see you,' and an instant afterwards we
      heard the patter of feet rushing down the passage. Forbes flung open the
      door, and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, but the woman had got
      there before us. She stared at us with defiant eyes, and then, suddenly
      recognizing me, an expression of absolute astonishment came over her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Why, if it isn't Mr. Phelps, of the office!' she cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Come, come, who did you think we were when you ran away from us?' asked
      my companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I thought you were the brokers,' said she, 'we have had some trouble
      with a tradesman.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That's not quite good enough,' answered Forbes. 'We have reason to
      believe that you have taken a paper of importance from the Foreign Office,
      and that you ran in here to dispose of it. You must come back with us to
      Scotland Yard to be searched.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A four-wheeler was
      brought, and we all three drove back in it. We had first made an
      examination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire, to see
      whether she might have made away with the papers during the instant that
      she was alone. There were no signs, however, of any ashes or scraps. When
      we reached Scotland Yard she was handed over at once to the female
      searcher. I waited in an agony of suspense until she came back with her
      report. There were no signs of the papers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then for the first time the horror of my situation came in its full
      force. Hitherto I had been acting, and action had numbed thought. I had
      been so confident of regaining the treaty at once that I had not dared to
      think of what would be the consequence if I failed to do so. But now there
      was nothing more to be done, and I had leisure to realize my position. It
      was horrible. Watson there would tell you that I was a nervous, sensitive
      boy at school. It is my nature. I thought of my uncle and of his
      colleagues in the Cabinet, of the shame which I had brought upon him, upon
      myself, upon every one connected with me. What though I was the victim of
      an extraordinary accident? No allowance is made for accidents where
      diplomatic interests are at stake. I was ruined, shamefully, hopelessly
      ruined. I don't know what I did. I fancy I must have made a scene. I have
      a dim recollection of a group of officials who crowded round me,
      endeavoring to soothe me. One of them drove down with me to Waterloo, and
      saw me into the Woking train. I believe that he would have come all the
      way had it not been that Dr. Ferrier, who lives near me, was going down by
      that very train. The doctor most kindly took charge of me, and it was well
      he did so, for I had a fit in the station, and before we reached home I
      was practically a raving maniac.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can imagine the state of things here when they were roused from their
      beds by the doctor's ringing and found me in this condition. Poor Annie
      here and my mother were broken-hearted. Dr. Ferrier had just heard enough
      from the detective at the station to be able to give an idea of what had
      happened, and his story did not mend matters. It was evident to all that I
      was in for a long illness, so Joseph was bundled out of this cheery
      bedroom, and it was turned into a sick-room for me. Here I have lain, Mr.
      Holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving with brain-fever. If
      it had not been for Miss Harrison here and for the doctor's care I should
      not be speaking to you now. She has nursed me by day and a hired nurse has
      looked after me by night, for in my mad fits I was capable of anything.
      Slowly my reason has cleared, but it is only during the last three days
      that my memory has quite returned. Sometimes I wish that it never had. The
      first thing that I did was to wire to Mr. Forbes, who had the case in
      hand. He came out, and assures me that, though everything has been done,
      no trace of a clue has been discovered. The commissionnaire and his wife
      have been examined in every way without any light being thrown upon the
      matter. The suspicions of the police then rested upon young Gorot, who, as
      you may remember, stayed over time in the office that night. His remaining
      behind and his French name were really the only two points which could
      suggest suspicion; but, as a matter of fact, I did not begin work until he
      had gone, and his people are of Huguenot extraction, but as English in
      sympathy and tradition as you and I are. Nothing was found to implicate
      him in any way, and there the matter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes,
      as absolutely my last hope. If you fail me, then my honor as well as my
      position are forever forfeited."
    </p>
    <p>
      The invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this long recital,
      while his nurse poured him out a glass of some stimulating medicine.
      Holmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, in an
      attitude which might seem listless to a stranger, but which I knew
      betokened the most intense self-absorption.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You statement has been so explicit," said he at last, "that you have
      really left me very few questions to ask. There is one of the very utmost
      importance, however. Did you tell any one that you had this special task
      to perform?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not Miss Harrison here, for example?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No. I had not been back to Woking between getting the order and executing
      the commission."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And none of your people had by chance been to see you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "None."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did any of them know their way about in the office?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still, of course, if you said nothing to any one about the treaty these
      inquiries are irrelevant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I said nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you know anything of the commissionnaire?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing except that he is an old soldier."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What regiment?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I have heard&mdash;Coldstream Guards."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you. I have no doubt I can get details from Forbes. The authorities
      are excellent at amassing facts, though they do not always use them to
      advantage. What a lovely thing a rose is!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He walked past the couch to the open window, and held up the drooping
      stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and
      green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before
      seen him show any keen interest in natural objects.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion," said
      he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built up as an
      exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of
      Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our
      powers our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence
      in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its color
      are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness
      which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the
      flowers."
    </p>
    <p>
      Percy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during this demonstration with
      surprise and a good deal of disappointment written upon their faces. He
      had fallen into a reverie, with the moss-rose between his fingers. It had
      lasted some minutes before the young lady broke in upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr. Holmes?" she asked,
      with a touch of asperity in her voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, the mystery!" he answered, coming back with a start to the realities
      of life. "Well, it would be absurd to deny that the case is a very
      abstruse and complicated one, but I can promise you that I will look into
      the matter and let you know any points which may strike me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you see any clue?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have furnished me with seven, but, of course, I must test them before
      I can pronounce upon their value."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You suspect some one?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suspect myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of coming to conclusions too rapidly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then go to London and test your conclusions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison," said Holmes, rising. "I
      think, Watson, we cannot do better. Do not allow yourself to indulge in
      false hopes, Mr. Phelps. The affair is a very tangled one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall be in a fever until I see you again," cried the diplomatist.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I'll come out by the same train to-morrow, though it's more than
      likely that my report will be a negative one."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God bless you for promising to come," cried our client. "It gives me
      fresh life to know that something is being done. By the way, I have had a
      letter from Lord Holdhurst."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ha! What did he say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was cold, but not harsh. I dare say my severe illness prevented him
      from being that. He repeated that the matter was of the utmost importance,
      and added that no steps would be taken about my future&mdash;by which he
      means, of course, my dismissal&mdash;until my health was restored and I
      had an opportunity of repairing my misfortune."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, that was reasonable and considerate," said Holmes. "Come, Watson,
      for we have a good day's work before us in town."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and we were soon
      whirling up in a Portsmouth train. Holmes was sunk in profound thought,
      and hardly opened his mouth until we had passed Clapham Junction.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a very cheery thing to come into London by any of these lines which
      run high, and allow you to look down upon the houses like this."
    </p>
    <p>
      I thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but he soon
      explained himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising up above the
      slates, like brick islands in a lead-colored sea."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The board-schools."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with hundreds of
      bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wise, better
      England of the future. I suppose that man Phelps does not drink?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should not think so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor should I, but we are bound to take every possibility into account.
      The poor devil has certainly got himself into very deep water, and it's a
      question whether we shall ever be able to get him ashore. What did you
      think of Miss Harrison?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A girl of strong character."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken. She and her brother are
      the only children of an iron-master somewhere up Northumberland way. He
      got engaged to her when traveling last winter, and she came down to be
      introduced to his people, with her brother as escort. Then came the smash,
      and she stayed on to nurse her lover, while brother Joseph, finding
      himself pretty snug, stayed on too. I've been making a few independent
      inquiries, you see. But to-day must be a day of inquiries."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My practice&mdash;" I began.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mine&mdash;" said
      Holmes, with some asperity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was going to say that my practice could get along very well for a day
      or two, since it is the slackest time in the year."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Excellent," said he, recovering his good-humor. "Then we'll look into
      this matter together. I think that we should begin by seeing Forbes. He
      can probably tell us all the details we want until we know from what side
      the case is to be approached."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You said you had a clue?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we have several, but we can only test their value by further
      inquiry. The most difficult crime to track is the one which is
      purposeless. Now this is not purposeless. Who is it who profits by it?
      There is the French ambassador, there is the Russian, there is whoever
      might sell it to either of these, and there is Lord Holdhurst."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord Holdhurst!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might find himself in a
      position where he was not sorry to have such a document accidentally
      destroyed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a statesman with the honorable record of Lord Holdhurst?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it. We shall see
      the noble lord to-day and find out if he can tell us anything. Meanwhile I
      have already set inquiries on foot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Already?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I sent wires from Woking station to every evening paper in London.
      This advertisement will appear in each of them."
    </p>
    <p>
      He handed over a sheet torn from a note-book. On it was scribbled in
      pencil: "L10 reward. The number of the cab which dropped a fare at or
      about the door of the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter to ten
      in the evening of May 23d. Apply 221 B, Baker Street."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are confident that the thief came in a cab?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If not, there is no harm done. But if Mr. Phelps is correct in stating
      that there is no hiding-place either in the room or the corridors, then
      the person must have come from outside. If he came from outside on so wet
      a night, and yet left no trace of damp upon the linoleum, which was
      examined within a few minutes of his passing, then it is exceeding
      probable that he came in a cab. Yes, I think that we may safely deduce a
      cab."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It sounds plausible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is one of the clues of which I spoke. It may lead us to something.
      And then, of course, there is the bell&mdash;which is the most distinctive
      feature of the case. Why should the bell ring? Was it the thief who did it
      out of bravado? Or was it some one who was with the thief who did it in
      order to prevent the crime? Or was it an accident? Or was it&mdash;?" He
      sank back into the state of intense and silent thought from which he had
      emerged; but it seemed to me, accustomed as I was to his every mood, that
      some new possibility had dawned suddenly upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and after a hasty
      luncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to Scotland Yard. Holmes had
      already wired to Forbes, and we found him waiting to receive us&mdash;a
      small, foxy man with a sharp but by no means amiable expression. He was
      decidedly frigid in his manner to us, especially when he heard the errand
      upon which we had come.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I've heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes," said he, tartly. "You
      are ready enough to use all the information that the police can lay at
      your disposal, and then you try to finish the case yourself and bring
      discredit on them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the contrary," said Holmes, "out of my last fifty-three cases my name
      has only appeared in four, and the police have had all the credit in
      forty-nine. I don't blame you for not knowing this, for you are young and
      inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in your new duties you will work
      with me and not against me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'd be very glad of a hint or two," said the detective, changing his
      manner. "I've certainly had no credit from the case so far."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What steps have you taken?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tangey, the commissionnaire, has been shadowed. He left the Guards with a
      good character and we can find nothing against him. His wife is a bad lot,
      though. I fancy she knows more about this than appears."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you shadowed her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have set one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, and our woman
      has been with her twice when she was well on, but she could get nothing
      out of her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I understand that they have had brokers in the house?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but they were paid off."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where did the money come from?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was all right. His pension was due. They have not shown any sign of
      being in funds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What explanation did she give of having answered the bell when Mr. Phelps
      rang for the coffee?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She said that her husband was very tired and she wished to relieve him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, certainly that would agree with his being found a little later
      asleep in his chair. There is nothing against them then but the woman's
      character. Did you ask her why she hurried away that night? Her haste
      attracted the attention of the police constable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She was later than usual and wanted to get home."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who started at least
      twenty minutes after her, got home before her?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She explains that by the difference between a 'bus and a hansom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she ran into the back
      kitchen?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because she had the money there with which to pay off the brokers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She has at least an answer for everything. Did you ask her whether in
      leaving she met any one or saw any one loitering about Charles Street?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She saw no one but the constable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty thoroughly. What else
      have you done?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks, but without
      result. We can show nothing against him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Anything else?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, we have nothing else to go upon&mdash;no evidence of any kind."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a cool hand, whoever it
      was, to go and give the alarm like that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, it was a queer thing to do. Many thanks to you for what you have
      told me. If I can put the man into your hands you shall hear from me. Come
      along, Watson."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where are we going to now?" I asked, as we left the office.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the cabinet minister and
      future premier of England."
    </p>
    <p>
      We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still in his chambers
      in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his card we were instantly
      shown up. The statesman received us with that old-fashioned courtesy for
      which he is remarkable, and seated us on the two luxuriant lounges on
      either side of the fireplace. Standing on the rug between us, with his
      slight, tall figure, his sharp features, thoughtful face, and curling hair
      prematurely tinged with gray, he seemed to represent that not too common
      type, a nobleman who is in truth noble.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes," said he, smiling. "And, of
      course, I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object of your visit. There
      has only been one occurrence in these offices which could call for your
      attention. In whose interest are you acting, may I ask?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In that of Mr. Percy Phelps," answered Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, my unfortunate nephew! You can understand that our kinship makes it
      the more impossible for me to screen him in any way. I fear that the
      incident must have a very prejudicial effect upon his career."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But if the document is found?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, that, of course, would be different."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had one or two questions which I wished to ask you, Lord Holdhurst."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall be happy to give you any information in my power."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was it in this room that you gave your instructions as to the copying of
      the document?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you could hardly have been overheard?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is out of the question."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you ever mention to any one that it was your intention to give any
      one the treaty to be copied?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are certain of that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Absolutely."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, since you never said so, and Mr. Phelps never said so, and nobody
      else knew anything of the matter, then the thief's presence in the room
      was purely accidental. He saw his chance and he took it."
    </p>
    <p>
      The statesman smiled. "You take me out of my province there," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes considered for a moment. "There is another very important point
      which I wish to discuss with you," said he. "You feared, as I understand,
      that very grave results might follow from the details of this treaty
      becoming known."
    </p>
    <p>
      A shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman. "Very grave
      results indeed."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And have they occurred?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not yet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or Russian Foreign
      Office, you would expect to hear of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should," said Lord Holdhurst, with a wry face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and nothing has been heard, it
      is not unfair to suppose that for some reason the treaty has not reached
      them."
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief took the treaty in
      order to frame it and hang it up."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps he is waiting for a better price."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If he waits a little longer he will get no price at all. The treaty will
      cease to be secret in a few months."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is most important," said Holmes. "Of course, it is a possible
      supposition that the thief has had a sudden illness&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "An attack of brain-fever, for example?" asked the statesman, flashing a
      swift glance at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did not say so," said Holmes, imperturbably. "And now, Lord Holdhurst,
      we have already taken up too much of your valuable time, and we shall wish
      you good-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Every success to your investigation, be the criminal who it may,"
      answered the nobleman, as he bowed us out the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He's a fine fellow," said Holmes, as we came out into Whitehall. "But he
      has a struggle to keep up his position. He is far from rich and has many
      calls. You noticed, of course, that his boots had been resoled. Now,
      Watson, I won't detain you from your legitimate work any longer. I shall
      do nothing more to-day, unless I have an answer to my cab advertisement.
      But I should be extremely obliged to you if you would come down with me to
      Woking to-morrow, by the same train which we took yesterday."
    </p>
    <p>
      I met him accordingly next morning and we traveled down to Woking
      together. He had had no answer to his advertisement, he said, and no fresh
      light had been thrown upon the case. He had, when he so willed it, the
      utter immobility of countenance of a red Indian, and I could not gather
      from his appearance whether he was satisfied or not with the position of
      the case. His conversation, I remember, was about the Bertillon system of
      measurements, and he expressed his enthusiastic admiration of the French
      savant.
    </p>
    <p>
      We found our client still under the charge of his devoted nurse, but
      looking considerably better than before. He rose from the sofa and greeted
      us without difficulty when we entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Any news?" he asked, eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My report, as I expected, is a negative one," said Holmes. "I have seen
      Forbes, and I have seen your uncle, and I have set one or two trains of
      inquiry upon foot which may lead to something."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have not lost heart, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "By no means."
    </p>
    <p>
      "God bless you for saying that!" cried Miss Harrison. "If we keep our
      courage and our patience the truth must come out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have more to tell you than you have for us," said Phelps, reseating
      himself upon the couch.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hoped you might have something."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one which might have
      proved to be a serious one." His expression grew very grave as he spoke,
      and a look of something akin to fear sprang up in his eyes. "Do you know,"
      said he, "that I begin to believe that I am the unconscious centre of some
      monstrous conspiracy, and that my life is aimed at as well as my honor?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah!" cried Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It sounds incredible, for I have not, as far as I know, an enemy in the
      world. Yet from last night's experience I can come to no other
      conclusion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray let me hear it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must know that last night was the very first night that I have ever
      slept without a nurse in the room. I was so much better that I thought I
      could dispense with one. I had a night-light burning, however. Well, about
      two in the morning I had sunk into a light sleep when I was suddenly
      aroused by a slight noise. It was like the sound which a mouse makes when
      it is gnawing a plank, and I lay listening to it for some time under the
      impression that it must come from that cause. Then it grew louder, and
      suddenly there came from the window a sharp metallic snick. I sat up in
      amazement. There could be no doubt what the sounds were now. The first
      ones had been caused by some one forcing an instrument through the slit
      between the sashes, and the second by the catch being pressed back.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the person were
      waiting to see whether the noise had awakened me. Then I heard a gentle
      creaking as the window was very slowly opened. I could stand it no longer,
      for my nerves are not what they used to be. I sprang out of bed and flung
      open the shutters. A man was crouching at the window. I could see little
      of him, for he was gone like a flash. He was wrapped in some sort of cloak
      which came across the lower part of his face. One thing only I am sure of,
      and that is that he had some weapon in his hand. It looked to me like a
      long knife. I distinctly saw the gleam of it as he turned to run."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is most interesting," said Holmes. "Pray what did you do then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should have followed him through the open window if I had been
      stronger. As it was, I rang the bell and roused the house. It took me some
      little time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and the servants all sleep
      upstairs. I shouted, however, and that brought Joseph down, and he roused
      the others. Joseph and the groom found marks on the bed outside the
      window, but the weather has been so dry lately that they found it hopeless
      to follow the trail across the grass. There's a place, however, on the
      wooden fence which skirts the road which shows signs, they tell me, as if
      some one had got over, and had snapped the top of the rail in doing so. I
      have said nothing to the local police yet, for I thought I had best have
      your opinion first."
    </p>
    <p>
      This tale of our client's appeared to have an extraordinary effect upon
      Sherlock Holmes. He rose from his chair and paced about the room in
      uncontrollable excitement.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Misfortunes never come single," said Phelps, smiling, though it was
      evident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have certainly had your share," said Holmes. "Do you think you could
      walk round the house with me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine. Joseph will come, too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I also," said Miss Harrison.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid not," said Holmes, shaking his head. "I think I must ask you
      to remain sitting exactly where you are."
    </p>
    <p>
      The young lady resumed her seat with an air of displeasure. Her brother,
      however, had joined us and we set off all four together. We passed round
      the lawn to the outside of the young diplomatist's window. There were, as
      he had said, marks upon the bed, but they were hopelessly blurred and
      vague. Holmes stopped over them for an instant, and then rose shrugging
      his shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't think any one could make much of this," said he. "Let us go round
      the house and see why this particular room was chosen by the burglar. I
      should have thought those larger windows of the drawing-room and
      dining-room would have had more attractions for him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are more visible from the road," suggested Mr. Joseph Harrison.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, yes, of course. There is a door here which he might have attempted.
      What is it for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is the side entrance for trades-people. Of course it is locked at
      night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you ever had an alarm like this before?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never," said our client.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you keep plate in the house, or anything to attract burglars?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing of value."
    </p>
    <p>
      Holmes strolled round the house with his hands in his pockets and a
      negligent air which was unusual with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the way," said he to Joseph Harrison, "you found some place, I
      understand, where the fellow scaled the fence. Let us have a look at
      that!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The plump young man led us to a spot where the top of one of the wooden
      rails had been cracked. A small fragment of the wood was hanging down.
      Holmes pulled it off and examined it critically.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think that was done last night? It looks rather old, does it not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, possibly so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are no marks of any one jumping down upon the other side. No, I
      fancy we shall get no help here. Let us go back to the bedroom and talk
      the matter over."
    </p>
    <p>
      Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of his future
      brother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the lawn, and we were at the
      open window of the bedroom long before the others came up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Miss Harrison," said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity of
      manner, "you must stay where you are all day. Let nothing prevent you from
      staying where you are all day. It is of the utmost importance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes," said the girl in astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the outside and keep the
      key. Promise to do this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Percy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He will come to London with us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And am I to remain here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is for his sake. You can serve him. Quick! Promise!"
    </p>
    <p>
      She gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why do you sit moping there, Annie?" cried her brother. "Come out into
      the sunshine!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and this room is
      deliciously cool and soothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?" asked our client.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sight of our
      main inquiry. It would be a very great help to me if you would come up to
      London with us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At once?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, as soon as you conveniently can. Say in an hour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any help."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The greatest possible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was just going to propose it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he will find the
      bird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr. Holmes, and you must tell us
      exactly what you would like done. Perhaps you would prefer that Joseph
      came with us so as to look after me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, no; my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and he'll look after
      you. We'll have our lunch here, if you will permit us, and then we shall
      all three set off for town together."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excused herself from
      leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmes's suggestion. What the
      object of my friend's manoeuvres was I could not conceive, unless it were
      to keep the lady away from Phelps, who, rejoiced by his returning health
      and by the prospect of action, lunched with us in the dining-room. Holmes
      had a still more startling surprise for us, however, for, after
      accompanying us down to the station and seeing us into our carriage, he
      calmly announced that he had no intention of leaving Woking.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There are one or two small points which I should desire to clear up
      before I go," said he. "Your absence, Mr. Phelps, will in some ways rather
      assist me. Watson, when you reach London you would oblige me by driving at
      once to Baker Street with our friend here, and remaining with him until I
      see you again. It is fortunate that you are old school-fellows, as you
      must have much to talk over. Mr. Phelps can have the spare bedroom
      to-night, and I will be with you in time for breakfast, for there is a
      train which will take me into Waterloo at eight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But how about our investigation in London?" asked Phelps, ruefully.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can do that to-morrow. I think that just at present I can be of more
      immediate use here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be back to-morrow night,"
      cried Phelps, as we began to move from the platform.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae," answered Holmes, and waved his
      hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the station.
    </p>
    <p>
      Phelps and I talked it over on our journey, but neither of us could devise
      a satisfactory reason for this new development.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the burglary last night,
      if a burglar it was. For myself, I don't believe it was an ordinary
      thief."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is your own idea, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but I believe
      there is some deep political intrigue going on around me, and that for
      some reason that passes my understanding my life is aimed at by the
      conspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd, but consider the facts! Why
      should a thief try to break in at a bedroom window, where there could be
      no hope of any plunder, and why should he come with a long knife in his
      hand?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are sure it was not a house-breaker's jimmy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of the blade quite distinctly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why on earth should you be pursued with such animosity?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, that is the question."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, if Holmes takes the same view, that would account for his action,
      would it not? Presuming that your theory is correct, if he can lay his
      hands upon the man who threatened you last night he will have gone a long
      way towards finding who took the naval treaty. It is absurd to suppose
      that you have two enemies, one of whom robs you, while the other threatens
      your life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have known him for some time," said I, "but I never knew him do
      anything yet without a very good reason," and with that our conversation
      drifted off on to other topics.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak after his long
      illness, and his misfortune made him querulous and nervous. In vain I
      endeavored to interest him in Afghanistan, in India, in social questions,
      in anything which might take his mind out of the groove. He would always
      come back to his lost treaty, wondering, guessing, speculating, as to what
      Holmes was doing, what steps Lord Holdhurst was taking, what news we
      should have in the morning. As the evening wore on his excitement became
      quite painful.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have implicit faith in Holmes?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have seen him do some remarkable things."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But he never brought light into anything quite so dark as this?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, yes; I have known him solve questions which presented fewer clues
      than yours."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But not where such large interests are at stake?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know that. To my certain knowledge he has acted on behalf of
      three of the reigning houses of Europe in very vital matters."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you know him well, Watson. He is such an inscrutable fellow that I
      never quite know what to make of him. Do you think he is hopeful? Do you
      think he expects to make a success of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has said nothing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is a bad sign."
    </p>
    <p>
      "On the contrary, I have noticed that when he is off the trail he
      generally says so. It is when he is on a scent and is not quite absolutely
      sure yet that it is the right one that he is most taciturn. Now, my dear
      fellow, we can't help matters by making ourselves nervous about them, so
      let me implore you to go to bed and so be fresh for whatever may await us
      to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice, though I
      knew from his excited manner that there was not much hope of sleep for
      him. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I lay tossing half the night
      myself, brooding over this strange problem, and inventing a hundred
      theories, each of which was more impossible than the last. Why had Holmes
      remained at Woking? Why had he asked Miss Harrison to remain in the
      sick-room all day? Why had he been so careful not to inform the people at
      Briarbrae that he intended to remain near them? I cudgelled my brains
      until I fell asleep in the endeavor to find some explanation which would
      cover all these facts.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was seven o'clock when I awoke, and I set off at once for Phelps's
      room, to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night. His first
      question was whether Holmes had arrived yet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He'll be here when he promised," said I, "and not an instant sooner or
      later."
    </p>
    <p>
      And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed up to the
      door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the window we saw that his
      left hand was swathed in a bandage and that his face was very grim and
      pale. He entered the house, but it was some little time before he came
      upstairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He looks like a beaten man," cried Phelps.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was forced to confess that he was right. "After all," said I, "the clue
      of the matter lies probably here in town."
    </p>
    <p>
      Phelps gave a groan.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know how it is," said he, "but I had hoped for so much from his
      return. But surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday. What can
      be the matter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are not wounded, Holmes?" I asked, as my friend entered the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness," he answered,
      nodding his good-mornings to us. "This case of yours, Mr. Phelps, is
      certainly one of the darkest which I have ever investigated."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I feared that you would find it beyond you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It has been a most remarkable experience."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That bandage tells of adventures," said I. "Won't you tell us what has
      happened?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathed thirty
      miles of Surrey air this morning. I suppose that there has been no answer
      from my cabman advertisement? Well, well, we cannot expect to score every
      time."
    </p>
    <p>
      The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs. Hudson
      entered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later she brought in three
      covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmes ravenous, I curious, and
      Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion," said Holmes, uncovering a dish of
      curried chicken. "Her cuisine is a little limited, but she has as good an
      idea of breakfast as a Scotch-woman. What have you here, Watson?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ham and eggs," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps&mdash;curried fowl or eggs,
      or will you help yourself?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you. I can eat nothing," said Phelps.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, come! Try the dish before you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you, I would really rather not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then," said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, "I suppose that you
      have no objection to helping me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream, and sat
      there staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he looked.
      Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of blue-gray paper. He
      caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then danced madly about the
      room, pressing it to his bosom and shrieking out in his delight. Then he
      fell back into an arm-chair so limp and exhausted with his own emotions
      that we had to pour brandy down his throat to keep him from fainting.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There! there!" said Holmes, soothing, patting him upon the shoulder. "It
      was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watson here will tell you
      that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic."
    </p>
    <p>
      Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. "God bless you!" he cried. "You have
      saved my honor."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, my own was at stake, you know," said Holmes. "I assure you it is
      just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you to blunder
      over a commission."
    </p>
    <p>
      Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost pocket of his
      coat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further, and yet I
      am dying to know how you got it and where it was."
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned his attention to the
      ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, and settled himself down into
      his chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do it afterwards," said
      he. "After leaving you at the station I went for a charming walk through
      some admirable Surrey scenery to a pretty little village called Ripley,
      where I had my tea at an inn, and took the precaution of filling my flask
      and of putting a paper of sandwiches in my pocket. There I remained until
      evening, when I set off for Woking again, and found myself in the
      high-road outside Briarbrae just after sunset.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I waited until the road was clear&mdash;it is never a very
      frequented one at any time, I fancy&mdash;and then I clambered over the
      fence into the grounds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely the gate was open!" ejaculated Phelps.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters. I chose the place
      where the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen I got over
      without the least chance of any one in the house being able to see me. I
      crouched down among the bushes on the other side, and crawled from one to
      the other&mdash;witness the disreputable state of my trouser knees&mdash;until
      I had reached the clump of rhododendrons just opposite to your bedroom
      window. There I squatted down and awaited developments.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The blind was not down in your room, and I could see Miss Harrison
      sitting there reading by the table. It was quarter-past ten when she
      closed her book, fastened the shutters, and retired.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I heard her shut the door, and felt quite sure that she had turned the
      key in the lock."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The key!" ejaculated Phelps.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door on the
      outside and take the key with her when she went to bed. She carried out
      every one of my injunctions to the letter, and certainly without her
      cooperation you would not have that paper in you coat-pocket. She departed
      then and the lights went out, and I was left squatting in the
      rhododendron-bush.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. Of course it has
      the sort of excitement about it that the sportsman feels when he lies
      beside the water-course and waits for the big game. It was very long,
      though&mdash;almost as long, Watson, as when you and I waited in that
      deadly room when we looked into the little problem of the Speckled Band.
      There was a church-clock down at Woking which struck the quarters, and I
      thought more than once that it had stopped. At last however about two in
      the morning, I suddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushed back
      and the creaking of a key. A moment later the servants' door was opened,
      and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out into the moonlight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Joseph!" ejaculated Phelps.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was bare-headed, but he had a black coat thrown over his shoulder so
      that he could conceal his face in an instant if there were any alarm. He
      walked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall, and when he reached the
      window he worked a long-bladed knife through the sash and pushed back the
      catch. Then he flung open the window, and putting his knife through the
      crack in the shutters, he thrust the bar up and swung them open.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the room and of
      every one of his movements. He lit the two candles which stood upon the
      mantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back the corner of the carpet
      in the neighborhood of the door. Presently he stopped and picked out a
      square piece of board, such as is usually left to enable plumbers to get
      at the joints of the gas-pipes. This one covered, as a matter of fact, the
      T joint which gives off the pipe which supplies the kitchen underneath.
      Out of this hiding-place he drew that little cylinder of paper, pushed
      down the board, rearranged the carpet, blew out the candles, and walked
      straight into my arms as I stood waiting for him outside the window.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him credit for, has
      Master Joseph. He flew at me with his knife, and I had to grasp him twice,
      and got a cut over the knuckles, before I had the upper hand of him. He
      looked murder out of the only eye he could see with when we had finished,
      but he listened to reason and gave up the papers. Having got them I let my
      man go, but I wired full particulars to Forbes this morning. If he is
      quick enough to catch his bird, well and good. But if, as I shrewdly
      suspect, he finds the nest empty before he gets there, why, all the better
      for the government. I fancy that Lord Holdhurst for one, and Mr. Percy
      Phelps for another, would very much rather that the affair never got as
      far as a police-court.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My God!" gasped our client. "Do you tell me that during these long ten
      weeks of agony the stolen papers were within the very room with me all the
      time?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "So it was."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And Joseph! Joseph a villain and a thief!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hum! I am afraid Joseph's character is a rather deeper and more dangerous
      one than one might judge from his appearance. From what I have heard from
      him this morning, I gather that he has lost heavily in dabbling with
      stocks, and that he is ready to do anything on earth to better his
      fortunes. Being an absolutely selfish man, when a chance presented itself
      he did not allow either his sister's happiness or your reputation to hold
      his hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      Percy Phelps sank back in his chair. "My head whirls," said he. "Your
      words have dazed me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The principal difficulty in your case," remarked Holmes, in his didactic
      fashion, "lay in the fact of there being too much evidence. What was vital
      was overlaid and hidden by what was irrelevant. Of all the facts which
      were presented to us we had to pick just those which we deemed to be
      essential, and then piece them together in their order, so as to
      reconstruct this very remarkable chain of events. I had already begun to
      suspect Joseph, from the fact that you had intended to travel home with
      him that night, and that therefore it was a likely enough thing that he
      should call for you, knowing the Foreign Office well, upon his way. When I
      heard that some one had been so anxious to get into the bedroom, in which
      no one but Joseph could have concealed anything&mdash;you told us in your
      narrative how you had turned Joseph out when you arrived with the doctor&mdash;my
      suspicions all changed to certainties, especially as the attempt was made
      on the first night upon which the nurse was absent, showing that the
      intruder was well acquainted with the ways of the house."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How blind I have been!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The facts of the case, as far as I have worked them out, are these: this
      Joseph Harrison entered the office through the Charles Street door, and
      knowing his way he walked straight into your room the instant after you
      left it. Finding no one there he promptly rang the bell, and at the
      instant that he did so his eyes caught the paper upon the table. A glance
      showed him that chance had put in his way a State document of immense
      value, and in an instant he had thrust it into his pocket and was gone. A
      few minutes elapsed, as you remember, before the sleepy commissionnaire
      drew your attention to the bell, and those were just enough to give the
      thief time to make his escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He made his way to Woking by the first train, and having examined his
      booty and assured himself that it really was of immense value, he had
      concealed it in what he thought was a very safe place, with the intention
      of taking it out again in a day or two, and carrying it to the French
      embassy, or wherever he thought that a long price was to be had. Then came
      your sudden return. He, without a moment's warning, was bundled out of his
      room, and from that time onward there were always at least two of you
      there to prevent him from regaining his treasure. The situation to him
      must have been a maddening one. But at last he thought he saw his chance.
      He tried to steal in, but was baffled by your wakefulness. You remember
      that you did not take your usual draught that night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I remember."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fancy that he had taken steps to make that draught efficacious, and
      that he quite relied upon your being unconscious. Of course, I understood
      that he would repeat the attempt whenever it could be done with safety.
      Your leaving the room gave him the chance he wanted. I kept Miss Harrison
      in it all day so that he might not anticipate us. Then, having given him
      the idea that the coast was clear, I kept guard as I have described. I
      already knew that the papers were probably in the room, but I had no
      desire to rip up all the planking and skirting in search of them. I let
      him take them, therefore, from the hiding-place, and so saved myself an
      infinity of trouble. Is there any other point which I can make clear?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why did he try the window on the first occasion," I asked, "when he might
      have entered by the door?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms. On the other
      hand, he could get out on to the lawn with ease. Anything else?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You do not think," asked Phelps, "that he had any murderous intention?
      The knife was only meant as a tool."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be so," answered Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "I can only say
      for certain that Mr. Joseph Harrison is a gentleman to whose mercy I
      should be extremely unwilling to trust."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Adventure XI. The Final Problem
    </h2>
    <p>
      It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last
      words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend
      Mr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In an incoherent and, as I deeply
      feel, an entirely inadequate fashion, I have endeavored to give some
      account of my strange experiences in his company from the chance which
      first brought us together at the period of the "Study in Scarlet," up to
      the time of his interference in the matter of the "Naval Treaty"&mdash;an
      interference which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a serious
      international complication. It was my intention to have stopped there, and
      to have said nothing of that event which has created a void in my life
      which the lapse of two years has done little to fill. My hand has been
      forced, however, by the recent letters in which Colonel James Moriarty
      defends the memory of his brother, and I have no choice but to lay the
      facts before the public exactly as they occurred. I alone know the
      absolute truth of the matter, and I am satisfied that the time has come
      when no good purpose is to be served by its suppression. As far as I know,
      there have been only three accounts in the public press: that in the
      Journal de Geneve on May 6th, 1891, the Reuter's despatch in the English
      papers on May 7th, and finally the recent letter to which I have alluded.
      Of these the first and second were extremely condensed, while the last is,
      as I shall now show, an absolute perversion of the facts. It lies with me
      to tell for the first time what really took place between Professor
      Moriarty and Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
    </p>
    <p>
      It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in
      private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between
      Holmes and myself became to some extent modified. He still came to me from
      time to time when he desired a companion in his investigation, but these
      occasions grew more and more seldom, until I find that in the year 1890
      there were only three cases of which I retain any record. During the
      winter of that year and the early spring of 1891, I saw in the papers that
      he had been engaged by the French government upon a matter of supreme
      importance, and I received two notes from Holmes, dated from Narbonne and
      from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay in France was likely to be
      a long one. It was with some surprise, therefore, that I saw him walk into
      my consulting-room upon the evening of April 24th. It struck me that he
      was looking even paler and thinner than usual.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely," he remarked, in
      answer to my look rather than to my words; "I have been a little pressed
      of late. Have you any objection to my closing your shutters?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at which I
      had been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall and flinging the
      shutters together, he bolted them securely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are afraid of something?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I am."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of what?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of air-guns."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Holmes, what do you mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to understand that I am by
      no means a nervous man. At the same time, it is stupidity rather than
      courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you. Might I
      trouble you for a match?" He drew in the smoke of his cigarette as if the
      soothing influence was grateful to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must apologize for calling so late," said he, "and I must further beg
      you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave your house presently
      by scrambling over your back garden wall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But what does it all mean?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      He held out his hand, and I saw in the light of the lamp that two of his
      knuckles were burst and bleeding.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is not an airy nothing, you see," said he, smiling. "On the contrary,
      it is solid enough for a man to break his hand over. Is Mrs. Watson in?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She is away upon a visit."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed! You are alone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Quite."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should come away
      with me for a week to the Continent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, anywhere. It's all the same to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something very strange in all this. It was not Holmes's nature
      to take an aimless holiday, and something about his pale, worn face told
      me that his nerves were at their highest tension. He saw the question in
      my eyes, and, putting his finger-tips together and his elbows upon his
      knees, he explained the situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?" said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried. "The man
      pervades London, and no one has heard of him. That's what puts him on a
      pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you, Watson, in all seriousness,
      that if I could beat that man, if I could free society of him, I should
      feel that my own career had reached its summit, and I should be prepared
      to turn to some more placid line in life. Between ourselves, the recent
      cases in which I have been of assistance to the royal family of
      Scandinavia, and to the French republic, have left me in such a position
      that I could continue to live in the quiet fashion which is most congenial
      to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my chemical researches. But I
      could not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair, if I thought
      that such a man as Professor Moriarty were walking the streets of London
      unchallenged."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What has he done, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good birth and
      excellent education, endowed by nature with a phenomenal mathematical
      faculty. At the age of twenty-one he wrote a treatise upon the Binomial
      Theorem, which has had a European vogue. On the strength of it he won the
      Mathematical Chair at one of our smaller universities, and had, to all
      appearances, a most brilliant career before him. But the man had
      hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind. A criminal strain ran
      in his blood, which, instead of being modified, was increased and rendered
      infinitely more dangerous by his extraordinary mental powers. Dark rumors
      gathered round him in the university town, and eventually he was compelled
      to resign his chair and to come down to London, where he set up as an army
      coach. So much is known to the world, but what I am telling you now is
      what I have myself discovered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As you are aware, Watson, there is no one who knows the higher criminal
      world of London so well as I do. For years past I have continually been
      conscious of some power behind the malefactor, some deep organizing power
      which forever stands in the way of the law, and throws its shield over the
      wrong-doer. Again and again in cases of the most varying sorts&mdash;forgery
      cases, robberies, murders&mdash;I have felt the presence of this force,
      and I have deduced its action in many of those undiscovered crimes in
      which I have not been personally consulted. For years I have endeavored to
      break through the veil which shrouded it, and at last the time came when I
      seized my thread and followed it, until it led me, after a thousand
      cunning windings, to ex-Professor Moriarty of mathematical celebrity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half that is
      evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a
      genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first
      order. He sits motionless, like a spider in the center of its web, but
      that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each
      of them. He does little himself. He only plans. But his agents are
      numerous and splendidly organized. Is there a crime to be done, a paper to
      be abstracted, we will say, a house to be rifled, a man to be removed&mdash;the
      word is passed to the Professor, the matter is organized and carried out.
      The agent may be caught. In that case money is found for his bail or his
      defence. But the central power which uses the agent is never caught&mdash;never
      so much as suspected. This was the organization which I deduced, Watson,
      and which I devoted my whole energy to exposing and breaking up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But the Professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunningly devised
      that, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get evidence which would
      convict in a court of law. You know my powers, my dear Watson, and yet at
      the end of three months I was forced to confess that I had at last met an
      antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost
      in my admiration at his skill. But at last he made a trip&mdash;only a
      little, little trip&mdash;but it was more than he could afford when I was
      so close upon him. I had my chance, and, starting from that point, I have
      woven my net round him until now it is all ready to close. In three days&mdash;that
      is to say, on Monday next&mdash;matters will be ripe, and the Professor,
      with all the principal members of his gang, will be in the hands of the
      police. Then will come the greatest criminal trial of the century, the
      clearing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them; but if
      we move at all prematurely, you understand, they may slip out of our hands
      even at the last moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of Professor
      Moriarty, all would have been well. But he was too wily for that. He saw
      every step which I took to draw my toils round him. Again and again he
      strove to break away, but I as often headed him off. I tell you, my
      friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be
      written, it would take its place as the most brilliant bit of
      thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection. Never have I risen to
      such a height, and never have I been so hard pressed by an opponent. He
      cut deep, and yet I just undercut him. This morning the last steps were
      taken, and three days only were wanted to complete the business. I was
      sitting in my room thinking the matter over, when the door opened and
      Professor Moriarty stood before me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must confess to a start when I
      saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughts standing there on my
      threshhold. His appearance was quite familiar to me. He is extremely tall
      and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes are
      deeply sunken in his head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking,
      retaining something of the professor in his features. His shoulders are
      rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is forever
      slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion. He
      peered at me with great curiosity in his puckered eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You have less frontal development than I should have expected,' said he,
      at last. 'It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket
      of one's dressing-gown.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly recognized the extreme
      personal danger in which I lay. The only conceivable escape for him lay in
      silencing my tongue. In an instant I had slipped the revolver from the
      drawer into my pocket, and was covering him through the cloth. At his
      remark I drew the weapon out and laid it cocked upon the table. He still
      smiled and blinked, but there was something about his eyes which made me
      feel very glad that I had it there.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You evidently don't know me,' said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'On the contrary,' I answered, 'I think it is fairly evident that I do.
      Pray take a chair. I can spare you five minutes if you have anything to
      say.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,' said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,' I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You stand fast?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Absolutely.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the pistol from the
      table. But he merely drew out a memorandum-book in which he had scribbled
      some dates.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You crossed my path on the 4th of January,' said he. 'On the 23d you
      incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced by
      you; at the end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans; and now,
      at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through
      your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my
      liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Have you any suggestion to make?' I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,' said he, swaying his face about. 'You
      really must, you know.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'After Monday,' said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tut, tut,' said he. 'I am quite sure that a man of your intelligence
      will see that there can be but one outcome to this affair. It is necessary
      that you should withdraw. You have worked things in such a fashion that we
      have only one resource left. It has been an intellectual treat to me to
      see the way in which you have grappled with this affair, and I say,
      unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to be forced to take any
      extreme measure. You smile, sir, but I assure you that it really would.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Danger is part of my trade,' I remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'That is not danger,' said he. 'It is inevitable destruction. You stand
      in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organization, the
      full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to
      realize. You must stand clear, Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I am afraid,' said I, rising, 'that in the pleasure of this conversation
      I am neglecting business of importance which awaits me elsewhere.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head sadly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Well, well,' said he, at last. 'It seems a pity, but I have done what I
      could. I know every move of your game. You can do nothing before Monday.
      It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes. You hope to place me in
      the dock. I tell you that I will never stand in the dock. You hope to beat
      me. I tell you that you will never beat me. If you are clever enough to
      bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty,' said I. 'Let me pay
      you one in return when I say that if I were assured of the former
      eventuality I would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept the
      latter.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I can promise you the one, but not the other,' he snarled, and so turned
      his rounded back upon me, and went peering and blinking out of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty. I confess that it
      left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. His soft, precise fashion of
      speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which a mere bully could not
      produce. Of course, you will say: 'Why not take police precautions against
      him?' the reason is that I am well convinced that it is from his agents
      the blow will fall. I have the best proofs that it would be so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have already been assaulted?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets the grass grow
      under his feet. I went out about mid-day to transact some business in
      Oxford Street. As I passed the corner which leads from Bentinck Street on
      to the Welbeck Street crossing a two-horse van furiously driven whizzed
      round and was on me like a flash. I sprang for the foot-path and saved
      myself by the fraction of a second. The van dashed round by Marylebone
      Lane and was gone in an instant. I kept to the pavement after that,
      Watson, but as I walked down Vere Street a brick came down from the roof
      of one of the houses, and was shattered to fragments at my feet. I called
      the police and had the place examined. There were slates and bricks piled
      up on the roof preparatory to some repairs, and they would have me believe
      that the wind had toppled over one of these. Of course I knew better, but
      I could prove nothing. I took a cab after that and reached my brother's
      rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now I have come round to you,
      and on my way I was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon. I knocked him
      down, and the police have him in custody; but I can tell you with the most
      absolute confidence that no possible connection will ever be traced
      between the gentleman upon whose front teeth I have barked my knuckles and
      the retiring mathematical coach, who is, I dare say, working out problems
      upon a black-board ten miles away. You will not wonder, Watson, that my
      first act on entering your rooms was to close your shutters, and that I
      have been compelled to ask your permission to leave the house by some less
      conspicuous exit than the front door."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had often admired my friend's courage, but never more than now, as he
      sat quietly checking off a series of incidents which must have combined to
      make up a day of horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will spend the night here?" I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, my friend, you might find me a dangerous guest. I have my plans laid,
      and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now that they can move
      without my help as far as the arrest goes, though my presence is necessary
      for a conviction. It is obvious, therefore, that I cannot do better than
      get away for the few days which remain before the police are at liberty to
      act. It would be a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you could come on
      to the Continent with me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The practice is quiet," said I, "and I have an accommodating neighbor. I
      should be glad to come."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And to start to-morrow morning?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "If necessary."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh yes, it is most necessary. Then these are your instructions, and I
      beg, my dear Watson, that you will obey them to the letter, for you are
      now playing a double-handed game with me against the cleverest rogue and
      the most powerful syndicate of criminals in Europe. Now listen! You will
      dispatch whatever luggage you intend to take by a trusty messenger
      unaddressed to Victoria to-night. In the morning you will send for a
      hansom, desiring your man to take neither the first nor the second which
      may present itself. Into this hansom you will jump, and you will drive to
      the Strand end of the Lowther Arcade, handing the address to the cabman
      upon a slip of paper, with a request that he will not throw it away. Have
      your fare ready, and the instant that your cab stops, dash through the
      Arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a quarter-past nine.
      You will find a small brougham waiting close to the curb, driven by a
      fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped at the collar with red. Into this
      you will step, and you will reach Victoria in time for the Continental
      express."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where shall I meet you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "At the station. The second first-class carriage from the front will be
      reserved for us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The carriage is our rendezvous, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the evening. It was
      evident to me that he thought he might bring trouble to the roof he was
      under, and that that was the motive which impelled him to go. With a few
      hurried words as to our plans for the morrow he rose and came out with me
      into the garden, clambering over the wall which leads into Mortimer
      Street, and immediately whistling for a hansom, in which I heard him drive
      away.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the morning I obeyed Holmes's injunctions to the letter. A hansom was
      procured with such precaution as would prevent its being one which was
      placed ready for us, and I drove immediately after breakfast to the
      Lowther Arcade, through which I hurried at the top of my speed. A brougham
      was waiting with a very massive driver wrapped in a dark cloak, who, the
      instant that I had stepped in, whipped up the horse and rattled off to
      Victoria Station. On my alighting there he turned the carriage, and dashed
      away again without so much as a look in my direction.
    </p>
    <p>
      So far all had gone admirably. My luggage was waiting for me, and I had no
      difficulty in finding the carriage which Holmes had indicated, the less so
      as it was the only one in the train which was marked "Engaged." My only
      source of anxiety now was the non-appearance of Holmes. The station clock
      marked only seven minutes from the time when we were due to start. In vain
      I searched among the groups of travellers and leave-takers for the lithe
      figure of my friend. There was no sign of him. I spent a few minutes in
      assisting a venerable Italian priest, who was endeavoring to make a porter
      understand, in his broken English, that his luggage was to be booked
      through to Paris. Then, having taken another look round, I returned to my
      carriage, where I found that the porter, in spite of the ticket, had given
      me my decrepit Italian friend as a traveling companion. It was useless for
      me to explain to him that his presence was an intrusion, for my Italian
      was even more limited than his English, so I shrugged my shoulders
      resignedly, and continued to look out anxiously for my friend. A chill of
      fear had come over me, as I thought that his absence might mean that some
      blow had fallen during the night. Already the doors had all been shut and
      the whistle blown, when&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Watson," said a voice, "you have not even condescended to say
      good-morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      I turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The aged ecclesiastic had turned
      his face towards me. For an instant the wrinkles were smoothed away, the
      nose drew away from the chin, the lower lip ceased to protrude and the
      mouth to mumble, the dull eyes regained their fire, the drooping figure
      expanded. The next the whole frame collapsed again, and Holmes had gone as
      quickly as he had come.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good heavens!" I cried; "how you startled me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Every precaution is still necessary," he whispered. "I have reason to
      think that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself."
    </p>
    <p>
      The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancing back, I saw
      a tall man pushing his way furiously through the crowd, and waving his
      hand as if he desired to have the train stopped. It was too late, however,
      for we were rapidly gathering momentum, and an instant later had shot
      clear of the station.
    </p>
    <p>
      "With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it rather fine," said
      Holmes, laughing. He rose, and throwing off the black cassock and hat
      which had formed his disguise, he packed them away in a hand-bag.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You haven't' seen about Baker Street, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Baker Street?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm was done."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good heavens, Holmes! this is intolerable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They must have lost my track completely after their bludgeon-man was
      arrested. Otherwise they could not have imagined that I had returned to my
      rooms. They have evidently taken the precaution of watching you, however,
      and that is what has brought Moriarty to Victoria. You could not have made
      any slip in coming?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did exactly what you advised."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you find your brougham?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, it was waiting."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you recognize your coachman?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in such a case
      without taking a mercenary into your confidence. But we must plan what we
      are to do about Moriarty now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection with it, I
      should think we have shaken him off very effectively."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning when I said that
      this man may be taken as being quite on the same intellectual plane as
      myself. You do not imagine that if I were the pursuer I should allow
      myself to be baffled by so slight an obstacle. Why, then, should you think
      so meanly of him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What will he do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What I should do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What would you do, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Engage a special."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But it must be late."
    </p>
    <p>
      "By no means. This train stops at Canterbury; and there is always at least
      a quarter of an hour's delay at the boat. He will catch us there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "One would think that we were the criminals. Let us have him arrested on
      his arrival."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It would be to ruin the work of three months. We should get the big fish,
      but the smaller would dart right and left out of the net. On Monday we
      should have them all. No, an arrest is inadmissible."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall get out at Canterbury."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to Newhaven, and so over
      to Dieppe. Moriarty will again do what I should do. He will get on to
      Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two days at the depot. In the
      meantime we shall treat ourselves to a couple of carpet-bags, encourage
      the manufactures of the countries through which we travel, and make our
      way at our leisure into Switzerland, via Luxembourg and Basle."
    </p>
    <p>
      At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we should have to
      wait an hour before we could get a train to Newhaven.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly disappearing
      luggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when Holmes pulled my sleeve and
      pointed up the line.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Already, you see," said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      Far away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin spray of smoke. A
      minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying along the open
      curve which leads to the station. We had hardly time to take our place
      behind a pile of luggage when it passed with a rattle and a roar, beating
      a blast of hot air into our faces.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There he goes," said Holmes, as we watched the carriage swing and rock
      over the points. "There are limits, you see, to our friend's intelligence.
      It would have been a coup-de-maitre had he deduced what I would deduce and
      acted accordingly."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what would he have done had he overtaken us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There cannot be the least doubt that he would have made a murderous
      attack upon me. It is, however, a game at which two may play. The question
      now is whether we should take a premature lunch here, or run our chance of
      starving before we reach the buffet at Newhaven."
    </p>
    <p>
      We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days there, moving on
      upon the third day as far as Strasburg. On the Monday morning Holmes had
      telegraphed to the London police, and in the evening we found a reply
      waiting for us at our hotel. Holmes tore it open, and then with a bitter
      curse hurled it into the grate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I might have known it!" he groaned. "He has escaped!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Moriarty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They have secured the whole gang with the exception of him. He has given
      them the slip. Of course, when I had left the country there was no one to
      cope with him. But I did think that I had put the game in their hands. I
      think that you had better return to England, Watson."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. This man's occupation
      is gone. He is lost if he returns to London. If I read his character right
      he will devote his whole energies to revenging himself upon me. He said as
      much in our short interview, and I fancy that he meant it. I should
      certainly recommend you to return to your practice."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an old
      campaigner as well as an old friend. We sat in the Strasburg
      salle-à-manger arguing the question for half an hour, but the same night
      we had resumed our journey and were well on our way to Geneva.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a charming week we wandered up the Valley of the Rhone, and then,
      branching off at Leuk, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass, still deep in
      snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen. It was a lovely trip,
      the dainty green of the spring below, the virgin white of the winter
      above; but it was clear to me that never for one instant did Holmes forget
      the shadow which lay across him. In the homely Alpine villages or in the
      lonely mountain passes, I could tell by his quick glancing eyes and his
      sharp scrutiny of every face that passed us, that he was well convinced
      that, walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves clear of the danger
      which was dogging our footsteps.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along the border
      of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had been dislodged from
      the ridge upon our right clattered down and roared into the lake behind
      us. In an instant Holmes had raced up on to the ridge, and, standing upon
      a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction. It was in vain that
      our guide assured him that a fall of stones was a common chance in the
      spring-time at that spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the
      air of a man who sees the fulfillment of that which he had expected.
    </p>
    <p>
      And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On the contrary,
      I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant spirits. Again and
      again he recurred to the fact that if he could be assured that society was
      freed from Professor Moriarty he would cheerfully bring his own career to
      a conclusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not lived
      wholly in vain," he remarked. "If my record were closed to-night I could
      still survey it with equanimity. The air of London is the sweeter for my
      presence. In over a thousand cases I am not aware that I have ever used my
      powers upon the wrong side. Of late I have been tempted to look into the
      problems furnished by nature rather than those more superficial ones for
      which our artificial state of society is responsible. Your memoirs will
      draw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by the capture
      or extinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal in Europe."
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for me to
      tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell, and yet I am
      conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no detail.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was on the 3d of May that we reached the little village of Meiringen,
      where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the
      elder. Our landlord was an intelligent man, and spoke excellent English,
      having served for three years as waiter at the Grosvenor Hotel in London.
      At his advice, on the afternoon of the 4th we set off together, with the
      intention of crossing the hills and spending the night at the hamlet of
      Rosenlaui. We had strict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the
      falls of Reichenbach, which are about half-way up the hill, without making
      a small detour to see them.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the melting snow,
      plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up like the
      smoke from a burning house. The shaft into which the river hurls itself is
      an immense chasm, lined by glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing into
      a creaming, boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots
      the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green water
      roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of spray hissing
      forever upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and clamor. We
      stood near the edge peering down at the gleam of the breaking water far
      below us against the black rocks, and listening to the half-human shout
      which came booming up with the spray out of the abyss.
    </p>
    <p>
      The path has been cut half-way round the fall to afford a complete view,
      but it ends abruptly, and the traveler has to return as he came. We had
      turned to do so, when we saw a Swiss lad come running along it with a
      letter in his hand. It bore the mark of the hotel which we had just left,
      and was addressed to me by the landlord. It appeared that within a very
      few minutes of our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in the
      last stage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz, and was
      journeying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhage
      had overtaken her. It was thought that she could hardly live a few hours,
      but it would be a great consolation to her to see an English doctor, and,
      if I would only return, etc. The good Steiler assured me in a postscript
      that he would himself look upon my compliance as a very great favor, since
      the lady absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he could not but
      feel that he was incurring a great responsibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossible to refuse
      the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange land. Yet I had my
      scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finally agreed, however, that he
      should retain the young Swiss messenger with him as guide and companion
      while I returned to Meiringen. My friend would stay some little time at
      the fall, he said, and would then walk slowly over the hill to Rosenlaui,
      where I was to rejoin him in the evening. As I turned away I saw Holmes,
      with his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the rush
      of the waters. It was the last that I was ever destined to see of him in
      this world.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back. It was
      impossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I could see the
      curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hill and leads to it.
      Along this a man was, I remember, walking very rapidly.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green behind
      him. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked but he passed from
      my mind again as I hurried on upon my errand.
    </p>
    <p>
      It may have been a little over an hour before I reached Meiringen. Old
      Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said I, as I came hurrying up, "I trust that she is no worse?"
    </p>
    <p>
      A look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiver of his
      eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You did not write this?" I said, pulling the letter from my pocket.
      "There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly not!" he cried. "But it has the hotel mark upon it! Ha, it must
      have been written by that tall Englishman who came in after you had gone.
      He said&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      But I waited for none of the landlord's explanations. In a tingle of fear
      I was already running down the village street, and making for the path
      which I had so lately descended. It had taken me an hour to come down. For
      all my efforts two more had passed before I found myself at the fall of
      Reichenbach once more. There was Holmes's Alpine-stock still leaning
      against the rock by which I had left him. But there was no sign of him,
      and it was in vain that I shouted. My only answer was my own voice
      reverberating in a rolling echo from the cliffs around me.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and sick. He
      had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on that three-foot path,
      with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on the other, until his enemy
      had overtaken him. The young Swiss had gone too. He had probably been in
      the pay of Moriarty, and had left the two men together. And then what had
      happened? Who was to tell us what had happened then?
    </p>
    <p>
      I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed with the
      horror of the thing. Then I began to think of Holmes's own methods and to
      try to practise them in reading this tragedy. It was, alas, only too easy
      to do. During our conversation we had not gone to the end of the path, and
      the Alpine-stock marked the place where we had stood. The blackish soil is
      kept forever soft by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird would leave
      its tread upon it. Two lines of footmarks were clearly marked along the
      farther end of the path, both leading away from me. There were none
      returning. A few yards from the end the soil was all ploughed up into a
      patch of mud, and the branches and ferns which fringed the chasm were torn
      and bedraggled. I lay upon my face and peered over with the spray spouting
      up all around me. It had darkened since I left, and now I could only see
      here and there the glistening of moisture upon the black walls, and far
      away down at the end of the shaft the gleam of the broken water. I
      shouted; but only the same half-human cry of the fall was borne back to my
      ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was destined that I should after all have a last word of greeting
      from my friend and comrade. I have said that his Alpine-stock had been
      left leaning against a rock which jutted on to the path. From the top of
      this bowlder the gleam of something bright caught my eye, and, raising my
      hand, I found that it came from the silver cigarette-case which he used to
      carry. As I took it up a small square of paper upon which it had lain
      fluttered down on to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it consisted
      of three pages torn from his note-book and addressed to me. It was
      characteristic of the man that the direction was a precise, and the
      writing as firm and clear, as though it had been written in his study.
    </p>
    <p>
      My dear Watson [it said], I write these few lines through the courtesy of
      Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those
      questions which lie between us. He has been giving me a sketch of the
      methods by which he avoided the English police and kept himself informed
      of our movements. They certainly confirm the very high opinion which I had
      formed of his abilities. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to
      free society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear that
      it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my
      dear Watson, to you. I have already explained to you, however, that my
      career had in any case reached its crisis, and that no possible conclusion
      to it could be more congenial to me than this. Indeed, if I may make a
      full confession to you, I was quite convinced that the letter from
      Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the
      persuasion that some development of this sort would follow. Tell Inspector
      Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are in
      pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed "Moriarty." I made
      every disposition of my property before leaving England, and handed it to
      my brother Mycroft. Pray give my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me
      to be, my dear fellow,
    </p>
    <p>
      Very sincerely yours,
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherlock Holmes
    </p>
    <p>
      A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An examination by
      experts leaves little doubt that a personal contest between the two men
      ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their
      reeling over, locked in each other's arms. Any attempt at recovering the
      bodies was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful
      caldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the
      most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their
      generation. The Swiss youth was never found again, and there can be no
      doubt that he was one of the numerous agents whom Moriarty kept in his
      employ. As to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public how
      completely the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed their
      organization, and how heavily the hand of the dead man weighed upon them.
      Of their terrible chief few details came out during the proceedings, and
      if I have now been compelled to make a clear statement of his career it is
      due to those injudicious champions who have endeavored to clear his memory
      by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest
      man whom I have ever known.
    </p>
    </html>