I. The Science of Deduction
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Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer.
Which is it to-day?
I asked,--morphine or cocaine?
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he
had opened. It is cocaine,
he said,--a seven-per-cent. solution. Would you
care to try it?
No, indeed,
I answered, brusquely. My constitution has not got over the Afghan
campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon
it.
He smiled at my vehemence. Perhaps you are right,
Watson,
he said. I suppose that
its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however,
so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind
that its secondary action is a matter of small
moment.
But consider
! I said, earnestly. Count the cost! Your brain may, as you say,
be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid
process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at
last leave a permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black
reaction comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth the
candle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk
the loss of those great powers with which you have been
endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to
another, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution
he is to some extent answerable.
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger-tips together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who has a relish for conversation.
My mind,
he said, rebels
at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the
most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and
I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with
artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of
existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have
chosen my own particular profession,--or rather created it,
for I am the only one in the world.
The only unofficial detective?
I said, raising my
eyebrows.
The only unofficial consulting detective,
he
answered. I am the last and highest court of
appeal in detection. When Gregson or Lestrade or Athelney
Jones are out of their depths--which, by the way, is their
normal state--the matter is laid before me. I examine the
data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I
claim no credit in such cases. My name figures in no
newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field
for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But you have
yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the
Jefferson Hope case.
Yes, indeed,
said I, cordially. I was never so struck by anything in my
life. I even embodied it in a small brochure with the
somewhat fantastic title of A Study in Scarlet.
He shook his head sadly. I glanced over it,
said he. Honestly, I cannot congratulate you
upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science, and
should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner.
You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which
produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story
or an elopement into the fifth proposition of
Euclid.
But the romance was there,
I remonstrated. I could not tamper with the facts.
Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just
sense of proportion should be observed in treating them. The
only point in the case which deserved mention was the
curious analytical reasoning from effects to causes by which
I succeeded in unraveling it.
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the egotism which seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should be devoted to his own special doings. More than once during the years that I had lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. I made no remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had a Jezail bullet through it some time before, and, though it did not prevent me from walking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather.
My practice has extended recently to the
Continent,
said Holmes, after a while, filling up his
old brier-root pipe. I was consulted last
week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probably know, has
come rather to the front lately in the French detective
service. He has all the Celtic power of quick intuition, but
he is deficient in the wide range of exact knowledge which
is essential to the higher developments of his art. The case
was concerned with a will, and possessed some features of
interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel cases, the
one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis in 1871,
which have suggested to him the true solution. Here is the
letter which I had this morning acknowledging my
assistance.
He tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled
sheet of foreign notepaper. I glanced my eyes down it, catching a
profusion of notes of admiration, with stray >magnifiques,
coup-de-maitres, and tours-de-force, all testifying to the ardent
admiration of the Frenchman.
He speaks as a pupil to his master,
said I.
Oh, he rates my assistance too highly,
said
Sherlock Holmes, lightly. He has considerable
gifts himself. He possesses two out of the three qualities
necessary for the ideal detective. He has the power of
observation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in
knowledge; and that may come in time. He is now translating
my small works into French.
Your works?
Oh, didn't you know?
he cried, laughing. Yes, I have been guilty of several
monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for
example, is one 'Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of
the Various Tobaccoes.' In it I enumerate a hundred and
forty forms of cigar-, cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with
colored plates illustrating the difference in the ash. It is
a point which is continually turning up in criminal trials,
and which is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue. If
you can say definitely, for example, that some murder has
been done by a man who was smoking an Indian lunkah, it
obviously narrows your field of search. To the trained eye
there is as much difference between the black ash of a
Trichinopoly and the white fluff of bird's-eye as there is
between a cabbage and a potato.
You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae,
I
remarked.
I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph
upon the tracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon the
uses of plaster of Paris as a preserver of impresses. Here,
too, is a curious little work upon the influence of a trade
upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the hands of
slaters, sailors, corkcutters, compositors, weavers, and
diamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical
interest to the scientific detective,--especially in cases
of unclaimed bodies, or in discovering the antecedents of
criminals. But I weary you with my hobby.
Not at all,
I answered, earnestly. It is of the greatest interest to me,
especially since I have had the opportunity of observing
your practical application of it. But you spoke just now of
observation and deduction. Surely the one to some extent
implies the other.
Why, hardly,
he answered, leaning back
luxuriously in his arm-chair, and sending up thick blue wreaths from
his pipe. For example, observation shows me
that you have been to the Wigmore Street Post-Office this
morning, but deduction lets me know that when there you
dispatched a telegram.
Right
! said I. Right on both
points! But I confess that I don't see how you arrived at
it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and I have
mentioned it to no one.
It is simplicity itself,
he remarked, chuckling
at my surprise,--so absurdly simple that an
explanation is superfluous; and yet it may serve to define
the limits of observation and of deduction. Observation
tells me that you have a little reddish mould adhering to
your instep. Just opposite the Seymour Street Office they
have taken up the pavement and thrown up some earth which
lies in such a way that it is difficult to avoid treading in
it in entering. The earth is of this peculiar reddish tint
which is found, as far as I know, nowhere else in the
neighborhood. So much is observation. The rest is
deduction.
How, then, did you deduce the telegram?
Why, of course I knew that you had not written a
letter, since I sat opposite to you all morning. I see also
in your open desk there that you have a sheet of stamps and
a thick bundle of post-cards. What could you go into the
post-office for, then, but to send a wire? Eliminate all
other factors, and the one which remains must be the
truth.
In this case it certainly is so,
I replied, after
a little thought. The thing, however, is, as you
say, of the simplest. Would you think me impertinent if I
were to put your theories to a more severe test?
On the contrary,
he answered, it would prevent me from taking a second
dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any
problem which you might submit to me.
I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man
to have any object in daily use without leaving the impress
of his individuality upon it in such a way that a trained
observer might read it. Now, I have here a watch which has
recently come into my possession. Would you have the
kindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or
habits of the late owner?
I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement in my heart, for the test was, as I thought, an impossible one, and I intended it as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone which he occasionally assumed. He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and examined the works, first with his naked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case to and handed it back.
There are hardly any data,
he remarked. The watch has been recently cleaned,
which robs me of my most suggestive facts.
You are right,
I answered. It
was cleaned before being sent to me.
In my heart I
accused my companion of putting forward a most lame and impotent
excuse to cover his failure. What data could he expect from an
uncleaned watch?
Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been
entirely barren,
he observed, staring up at the ceiling
with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes. Subject to your
correction, I should judge that the watch belonged to your
elder brother, who inherited it from your father.
That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the
back?
Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date
of the watch is nearly fifty years back, and the initials
are as old as the watch: so it was made for the last
generation. Jewelry usually descends to the eldest son, and
he is most likely to have the same name as the father. Your
father has, if I remember right, been dead many years. It
has, therefore, been in the hands of your eldest
brother.
Right, so far,
said I. Anything else?
He was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and
careless. He was left with good prospects, but he threw away
his chances, lived for some time in poverty with occasional
short intervals of prosperity, and finally, taking to drink,
he died. That is all I can gather.
I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room with considerable bitterness in my heart.
This is unworthy of you, Holmes,
I said. I could not have believed that you would
have descended to this. You have made inquires into the
history of my unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce
this knowledge in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to
believe that you have read all this from his old watch! It
is unkind, and, to speak plainly, has a touch of
charlatanism in it.
My dear doctor,
said he, kindly, pray accept my apologies. Viewing the
matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal
and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you,
however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until
you handed me the watch.
Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you
get these facts? They are absolutely correct in every
particular.
Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was
the balance of probability. I did not at all expect to be so
accurate.
But it was not mere guess-work?
No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking
habit,--destructive to the logical faculty. What seems
strange to you is only so because you do not follow my train
of thought or observe the small facts upon which large
inferences may depend. For example, I began by stating that
your brother was careless. When you observe the lower part
of that watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in
two places, but it is cut and marked all over from the habit
of keeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys, in the
same pocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a man
who treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a
careless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched inference
that a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty
well provided for in other respects.
I nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning.
It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England,
when they take a watch, to scratch the number of the ticket
with a pin-point upon the inside of the case. It is more
handy than a label, as there is no risk of the number being
lost or transposed. There are no less than four such numbers
visible to my lens on the inside of this case.
Inference,--that your brother was often at low water.
Secondary inference,--that he had occasional bursts of
prosperity, or he could not have redeemed the pledge.
Finally, I ask you to look at the inner plate, which
contains the key-hole. Look at the thousands of scratches
all round the hole,--marks where the key has slipped. What
sober man's key could have scored those grooves? But you
will never see a drunkard's watch without them. He winds it
at night, and he leaves these traces of his unsteady hand.
Where is the mystery in all this?
It is as clear as daylight,
I answered. I regret the injustice which I did you. I
should have had more faith in your marvellous faculty. May I
ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot at
present?
None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without
brain-work. What else is there to live for? Stand at the
window here. Was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable
world? See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and
drifts across the dun-colored houses. What could be more
hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having
powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert
them? Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no
qualities save those which are commonplace have any function
upon earth.
I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp knock our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.
A young lady for you, sir,
she said,
addressing my companion.
Miss Mary Morstan,
he read. Hum! I have no recollection of the name.
Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go,
doctor. I should prefer that you remain.
II. The Statement of the Case
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Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue,relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation.
I have come to you, Mr. Holmes,
she said,because you once enabled my employer, Mrs.
Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic complication.
She was much impressed by your kindness and skill.
Mrs. Cecil Forrester,
he repeated
thoughtfully.I believe that I was of
some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember
it, was a very simple one.
She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the
same of mine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange,
more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which I
find myself.
Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward in his
chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his
clear-cut, hawklike features. State your
case,
said he, in brisk, business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing one.You
will, I am sure, excuse me,
I said, rising from my
chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me. If your friend,
she said, would be good enough to stop, he might be of
inestimable service to me.
I relapsed into my chair.
Briefly,
she continued,the facts
are these. My father was an officer in an Indian regiment
who sent me home when I was quite a child. My mother was
dead, and I had no relative in England. I was placed,
however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at
Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years
of age. In the year 1878 my father, who was senior captain
of his regiment, obtained twelve months' leave and came
home. He telegraphed to me from London that he had arrived
all safe, and directed me to come down at once, giving the
Langham Hotel as his address. His message, as I remember,
was full of kindness and love. On reaching London I drove to
the Langham, and was informed that Captain Morstan was
staying there, but that he had gone out the night before and
had not yet returned. I waited all day without news of him.
That night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I
communicated with the police, and next morning we advertised
in all the papers. Our inquiries led to no result; and from
that day to this no word has ever been heard of my
unfortunate father. He came home with his heart full of
hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and instead--
She
put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the
sentence.
The date?
asked Holmes, opening his
note-book.
He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,--nearly
ten years ago.
His luggage?
Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to
suggest a clue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number
of curiosities from
the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the
officers in charge of the convict-guard there.
Had he any friends in town?
Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own
regiment, the 34th Bombay Infantry. The major had retired
some little time before, and lived at Upper Norwood. We
communicated with him, of course, but he did not even know
that his brother officer was in England.
A singular case,
remarked Holmes.
I have not yet described to you the most singular part.
About six years ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of May,
1882--an advertisement appeared in the Times asking for the
address of Miss Mary Morstan and stating that it would be to
her advantage to come forward. There was no name or address
appended. I had at that time just entered the family of Mrs.
Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her advice
I published my address in the advertisement column. The same
day there arrived through the post a small card-board box
addressed to me, which I found to contain a very large and
lustrous pearl. No word of writing was enclosed. Since then
every year upon the same date there has always appeared a
similar box, containing a similar pearl, without any clue as
to the sender. They have been pronounced by an expert to be
of a rare variety and of considerable value. You can see for
yourselves that they are very handsome.
She opened a
flat box as she spoke, and showed me six of the finest pearls that I
had ever seen.
Your statement is most interesting,
said
Sherlock Holmes. Has anything else occurred to
you?
Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come
to you. This morning I received this letter, which you will
perhaps read for yourself.
Thank you,
said Holmes. The envelope too, please. Postmark, London, S.W. Date, July
7. Hum! Man's thumb-mark on corner,--probably postman. Best
quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence a packet. Particular
man in his stationery. No address. 'Be at
the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum
Theatre to-night at seven o'clock. If you are
distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged
woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police.
If you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown
friend.' Well, really, this is a very pretty
little mystery. What do you intend to do, Miss
Morstan?
That is exactly what I want to ask you.
Then we shall most certainly go. You and I
and--yes, why, Dr. Watson is the very man. Your
correspondent says two friends. He and I have worked
together before.
But would he come?
she asked, with something
appealing in her voice and expression.
I should be proud and happy,
said I, fervently,
if I can be of any service.
You are both very kind,
she answered. I have led a retired life, and have no
friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six it will
do, I suppose?
You must not be later,
said Holmes. There is one other point, however. Is
this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-box
addresses?
I have them here,
she answered, producing half a
dozen pieces of paper.
You are certainly a model client. You have the
correct intuition. Let us see, now.
He spread out the
papers upon the table, and gave little darting glances from one to
the other. They are disguised hands, except
the letter,
he said, presently, but there can be no question as to the authorship. See how
the irrepressible Greek e will break out, and see the twirl
of the final s. They are undoubtedly by the same person. I
should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss Morstan, but is
there any resemblance between this hand and that of your
father?
Nothing could be more unlike.
I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out
for you, then, at six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I
may look into the matter before then. It is only half-past
three. Au revoir, then.
Au revoir,
said our visitor, and, with a bright,
kindly glance from one to the other of us, she replaced her
pearl-box in her bosom and hurried away. Standing at the window, I
watched her walking briskly down the street, until the gray turban
and white feather were but a speck in the sombre crowd.
What a very attractive woman!
I exclaimed,
turning to my companion.
He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping eyelids. Is she?
he said, languidly. I did not observe.
You really are an automaton,--a
calculating-machine!
I cried. There
is something positively inhuman in you at times.
He smiled gently. It is of the first
importance,
he said, not to allow
your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client
is to me a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. The emotional
qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you
that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for
poisoning three little children for their insurance-money,
and the most repellant man of my acquaintance is a
philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million
upon the London poor.
In this case, however--
I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the
rule. Have you ever had occasion to study character in
handwriting? What do you make of this fellow's
scribble?
It is legible and regular,
I answered. A man of business habits and some force of
character.
Holmes shook his head. Look at his long
letters,
he said. They hardly rise
above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that l an
e. Men of character always differentiate their long letters,
however illegibly they may write. There is vacillation in
his k's and self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now.
I have some few references to make. Let me recommend this
book,--one of the most remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood
Reade's 'Martyrdom of Man.' I shall be back in an
hour.
I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our late visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the time of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now,--a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused, until such dangerous thoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account, that I should dare to think of such things? She was a unit, a factor,--nothing more. If my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination.
III. In Quest of a Solution
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It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager, and in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his case alternated with fits of the blackest depression.
There is no great mystery in this matter,
he
said, taking the cup of tea which I had poured out for him. The facts appear to admit of only one
explanation.
What! you have solved it already?
Well, that would be too much to say. I have
discovered a suggestive fact, that is all. It is, however,
VERY suggestive. The details are still to be added. I have
just found, on consulting the back files of the Times, that
Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late of the 34th Bombay
Infantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882.
I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what
this suggests.
No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then.
Captain Morstan disappears. The only person in London whom
he could have visited is Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies
having heard that he was in London. Four years later Sholto
dies. WITHIN A WEEK OF HIS DEATH Captain Morstan's daughter
receives a valuable present, which is repeated from year to
year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as
a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this
deprivation of her father? And why should the presents begin
immediately after Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's
heir knows something of the mystery and desires to make
compensation? Have you any alternative theory which will
meet the facts?
But what a strange compensation! And how strangely
made! Why, too, should he write a letter now, rather than
six years ago? Again, the letter speaks of giving her
justice. What justice can she have? It is too much to
suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other
injustice in her case that you know of.
There are difficulties; there are certainly
difficulties,
said Sherlock Holmes, pensively. But our expedition of to-night will solve
them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is
inside. Are you all ready? Then we had better go down, for
it is a little past the hour.
I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmes took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It was clear that he thought that our night's work might be a serious one.
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was composed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did not feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.
Major Sholto was a very particular friend of
papa's,
she said. His letters were
full of allusions to the major. He and papa were in command
of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a
great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found
in papa's desk which no one could understand. I don't
suppose that it is of the slightest importance, but I
thought you might care to see it, so I brought it with me.
It is here.
Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon his knee. He then very methodically examined it all over with his double lens.
It is paper of native Indian manufacture,
he
remarked. It has at some time been pinned to a
board. The diagram upon it appears to be a plan of part of a
large building with numerous halls, corridors, and passages.
At one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it
is 3.37 from left, in faded pencil-writing. In the left-hand
corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line
with their arms touching. Beside it is written, in very
rough and coarse characters, The sign of the four,--Jonathan
Small, Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar. No, I
confess that I do not see how this bears upon the matter.
Yet it is evidently a document of importance. It has been
kept carefully in a pocket-book; for the one side is as
clean as the other .
It was in his pocket-book that we found it.
Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it
may prove to be of use to us. I begin to suspect that this
matter may turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than I
at first supposed. I must reconsider my ideas.
He leaned
back in the cab, and I could see by his drawn brow and his vacant
eye that he was thinking intently. Miss Morstan and I chatted in an
undertone about our present expedition and its possible outcome, but
our companion maintained his impenetrable reserve until the end of
our journey.
It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock, but the day had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great city. Mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. Down the Strand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow glare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across the crowded thoroughfare. There was, to my mind, something eerie and ghost-like in the endless procession of faces which flitted across these narrow bars of light,--sad faces and glad, haggard and merry. Like all human kind, they flitted from the gloom into the light, and so back into the gloom once more. I am not subject to impressions, but the dull, heavy evening, with the strange business upon which we were engaged, combined to make me nervous and depressed. I could see from Miss Morstan's manner that she was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes alone could rise superior to petty influences. He held his open note-book upon his knee, and from time to time he jotted down figures and memoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern.
At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at the side-entrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms and four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes of shirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had hardly reached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted us.
Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?
he asked.
I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are my
friends,
said she.
He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes upon us.
You will excuse me, miss,
he said
with a certain dogged manner, but I was to ask
you to give me your word that neither of your companions is
a police-officer.
I give you my word on that,
" she answered.
He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led across a four-wheeler and opened the door. The man who had addressed us mounted to the box, while we took our places inside. We had hardly done so before the driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged away at a furious pace through the foggy streets.
The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an unknown place, on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was either a complete hoax,--which was an inconceivable hypothesis,--or else we had good reason to think that important issues might hang upon our journey. Miss Morstan's demeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. I endeavored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures in Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at our situation and so curious as to our destination that my stories were slightly involved. To this day she declares that I told her one moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it. At first I had some idea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon, what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledge of London, I lost my bearings, and knew nothing, save that we seemed to be going a very long way. Sherlock Holmes was never at fault, however, and he muttered the names as the cab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuous by-streets.
Rochester Row,
said he. Now Vincent Square. Now we come out on the Vauxhall Bridge
Road. We are making for the Surrey side, apparently. Yes, I
thought so. Now we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses
of the river.
We did indeed get a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thames with the lamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed on, and was soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the other side.
Wordsworth Road,
said my companion. Priory Road. Lark Hall Lane. Stockwell
Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbor Lane. Our quest does not
appear to take us to very fashionable regions.
We had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbidding neighborhood. Long lines of dull brick houses were only relieved by the coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy of public houses at the corner. Then came rows of two-storied villas each with a fronting of miniature garden, and then again interminable lines of new staring brick buildings,--the monster tentacles which the giant city was throwing out into the country. At last the cab drew up at the third house in a new terrace. None of the other houses were inhabited, and that at which we stopped was as dark as its neighbors, save for a single glimmer in the kitchen window. On our knocking, however, the door was instantly thrown open by a Hindoo servant clad in a yellow turban, white loose-fitting clothes, and a yellow sash. here was something strangely incongruous in this Oriental figure framed in the commonplace door-way of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.
The Sahib awaits you,
said he, and even as he
spoke there came a high piping voice from some inner room. Show them in to me, khitmutgar,
it
cried. Show them straight in to me.
IV. The Story of the Bald-Headed Man
[Back to top]
We followed the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill lit and worse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he threw open. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre of the glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining scalp which shot out from among it like a mountain-peak from fir-trees. He writhed his hands together as he stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerk, now smiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose. Nature had given him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove feebly to conceal by constantly passing his hand over the lower part of his face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impression of youth. In point of fact he had just turned his thirtieth year.
Your servant, Miss Morstan,
he kept repeating,
in a thin, high voice. Your servant,
gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A small place,
miss, but furnished to my own liking. An oasis of art in the
howling desert of South London.
We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into which he invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of place as a diamond of the first water in a setting of brass. The richest and glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped the walls, looped back here and there to expose some richly-mounted painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was of amber-and-black, so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased the suggestion of Eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung from an almost invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. As it burned it filled the air with a subtle and aromatic odor.
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,
said the little man, still
jerking and smiling. That is my name. You are
Miss Morstan, of course. And these gentlemen--
This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr.
Watson.
A doctor, eh?
cried he, much excited. Have you your stethoscope? Might I ask
you--would you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as to
my mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I
may rely upon, but I should value your opinion upon the
mitral.
I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find anything
amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he
shivered from head to foot. It appears to be
normal,
I said. You have no cause for
uneasiness.
You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan,
he
remarked, airily. I am a great sufferer, and I
have long had suspicions as to that valve. I am delighted to
hear that they are unwarranted. Had your father, Miss
Morstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he
might have been alive now.
I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at this callous
and off-hand reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan sat
down, and her face grew white to the lips. I knew
in my heart that he was dead,
said she.
I can give you every information
said he, and, what is more, I can do you justice;
and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew may say. I am
so glad to have your friends here, not only as an escort to
you, but also as witnesses to what I am about to do and say.
The three of us can show a bold front to Brother
Bartholomew. But let us have no outsiders,--no police or
officials. We can settle everything satisfactorily among
ourselves, without any interference. Nothing would annoy
Brother Bartholomew more than any publicity.
He sat down
upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with his weak,
watery blue eyes.
For my part,
said Holmes, whatever you may choose to say will go no further.
I nodded to show my agreement.
That is well! That is well!
said he. May I offer you a glass of Chianti, Miss
Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I open a
flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objection to
tobacco-smoke, to the mild balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco. I am a
little nervous, and I find my hookah an invaluable
sedative.
He applied a taper to the great bowl, and the
smoke bubbled merrily through the rose-water. We sat all three in a
semicircle, with our heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands,
while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his high, shining head,
puffed uneasily in the centre.
When I first determined to make this communication
to you,
said he, I might have
given you my address, but I feared that you might disregard
my request and bring unpleasant people with you. I took the
liberty, therefore, of making an appointment in such a way
that my man Williams might be able to see you first. I have
complete confidence in his discretion, and he had orders, if
he were dissatisfied, to proceed no further in the matter.
You will excuse these precautions, but I am a man of
somewhat retiring, and I might even say refined, tastes, and
there is nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman. I have a
natural shrinking from all forms of rough materialism. I
seldom come in contact with the rough crowd. I live, as you
see, with some little atmosphere of elegance around me. I
may call myself a patron of the arts. It is my weakness. The
landscape is a genuine Corot, and, though a connoisseur
might perhaps throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there
cannot be the least question about the Bouguereau. I am
partial to the modern French school.
You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto,
said Miss Morstan,
but I am here at your request to learn
something which you desire to tell me. It is very late, and
I should desire the interview to be as short as
possible.
At the best it must take some time,
he answered;
for we shall certainly have to go to
Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. We shall all go and try
if we can get the better of Brother Bartholomew. He is very
angry with me for taking the course which has seemed right
to me. I had quite high words with him last night. You
cannot imagine what a terrible fellow he is when he is
angry.
If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as
well to start at once,
I ventured to remark.
He laughed until his ears were quite red. That
would hardly do,
he cried. I don't
know what he would say if I brought you in that sudden way.
No, I must prepare you by showing you how we all stand to
each other. In the first place, I must tell you that there
are several points in the story of which I am myself
ignorant. I can only lay the facts before you as far as I
know them myself.
My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John
Sholto, once of the Indian army. He retired some eleven
years ago, and came to live at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper
Norwood. He had prospered in India, and brought back with
him a considerable sum of money, a large collection of
valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With
these advantages he bought himself a house, and lived in
great luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew and I were the
only children.
I very well remember the sensation which was caused
by the disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details
in the papers, and, knowing that he had been a friend of our
father's, we discussed the case freely in his presence. He
used to join in our speculations as to what could have
happened. Never for an instant did we suspect that he had
the whole secret hidden in his own breast,--that of all men
he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.
We did know, however, that some mystery--some
positive danger--overhung our father. He was very fearful of
going out alone, and he always employed two prize-fighters
to act as porters at Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who drove
you to-night, was one of them. He was once light-weight
champion of England. Our father would never tell us what it
was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to men with
wooden legs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver
at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless
tradesman canvassing for orders. We had to pay a large sum
to hush the matter up. My brother and I used to think this a
mere whim of my father's, but events have since led us to
change our opinion.
Early in 1882 my father received a letter from
India which was a great shock to him. He nearly fainted at
the breakfast-table when he opened it, and from that day he
sickened to his death. What was in the letter we could never
discover, but I could see as he held it that it was short
and written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered for years
from an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse,
and towards the end of April we were informed that he was
beyond all hope, and that he wished to make a last
communication to us.
When we entered his room he was propped up with
pillows and breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the
door and to come upon either side of the bed. Then, grasping
our hands, he made a remarkable statement to us, in a voice
which was broken as much by emotion as by pain. I shall try
and give it to you in his own very words.
'I have only one thing,' he
said, 'which weighs upon my mind at this
supreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan's
orphan. The cursed greed which has been my besetting
sin through life has withheld from her the treasure,
half at least of which should have been hers. And
yet I have made no use of it myself,--so blind and
foolish a thing is avarice. The mere feeling of
possession has been so dear to me that I could not
bear to share it with another. See that chaplet
dipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Even
that I could not bear to part with, although I had
got it out with the design of sending it to her.
You, my sons, will give her a fair share of the Agra
treasure. But send her nothing--not even the
chaplet--until I am gone. After all, men have been
as bad as this and have recovered.'
'I will tell you how Morstan
died,'he continued. 'He had
suffered for years from a weak heart, but he
concealed it from every one. I alone knew it. When
in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of
circumstances, came into possession of a
considerable treasure. I brought it over to England,
and on the night of Morstan's arrival he came
straight over here to claim his share. He walked
over from the station, and was admitted by my
faithful Lal Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I
had a difference of opinion as to the division of
the treasure, and we came to heated words. Morstan
had sprung out of his chair in a paroxysm of anger,
when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side, his
face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards,
cutting his head against the corner of the
treasure-chest. When I stooped over him I found, to
my horror, that he was dead.'
'For a long time I sat half
distracted, wondering what I should do. My first
impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but
I could not but recognize that there was every
chance that I would be accused of his murder. His
death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in
his head, would be black against me. Again, an
official inquiry could not be made without bringing
out some facts about the treasure, which I was
particularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me
that no soul upon earth knew where he had gone.
There seemed to be no necessity why any soul ever
should know.'
'I was still pondering over the
matter, when, looking up, I saw my servant, Lal
Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the
door behind him.'
'Do not fear,
Sahib,' he said. 'No one need
know that you have killed him. Let us hide him away,
and who is the wiser?'
'I did not kill him,' said I. Lal
Chowdar shook his head and smiled. 'I heard
it all, Sahib,' said he. 'I
heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow. But my lips
are sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put
him away together.'
'That was enough to decide me. If my own
servant could not believe my innocence, how could I
hope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesmen
in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of the
body that night, and within a few days the London
papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of
Captain Morstan. You will see from what I say that I
can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in
the fact that we concealed not only the body, but
also the treasure, and that I have clung to
Morstan's share as well as to my own. I wish you,
therefore, to make restitution. Put your ears down
to my mouth. The treasure is hidden in--' At
this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his
eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a
voice which I can never forget, 'Keep him
out! For Christ's sake keep him out!' We both
stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was
fixed. A face was looking in at us out of the darkness. We
could see the whitening of the nose where it was pressed
against the glass. It was a bearded, hairy face, with wild
cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence. My
brother and I rushed towards the window, but the man was
gone. When we returned to my father his head had dropped and
his pulse had ceased to beat.
We searched the garden that night, but found no
sign of the intruder, save that just under the window a
single footmark was visible in the flower-bed. But for that
one trace, we might have thought that our imaginations had
conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however, had
another and a more striking proof that there were secret
agencies at work all round us. The window of my father's
room was found open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes
had been rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece
of paper, with the words 'The sign of the four' scrawled
across it. What the phrase meant, or who our secret visitor
may have been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none
of my father's property had been actually stolen, though
everything had been turned out. My brother and I naturally
associated this peculiar incident with the fear which
haunted my father during his life; but it is still a
complete mystery to us.
The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his extraordinary narrative. At the short account of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that she was about to faint. She rallied however, on drinking a glass of water which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I could not but think how on that very day he had complained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here at least was a problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious pride at the effect which his story had produced, and then continued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe.
My brother and I,
said he, were, as you may imagine, much excited as to the treasure
which my father had spoken of. For weeks and for months we
dug and delved in every part of the garden, without
discovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think that
the hiding-place was on his very lips at the moment that he
died. We could judge the splendor of the missing riches by
the chaplet which he had taken out. Over this chaplet my
brother Bartholomew and I had some little discussion. The
pearls were evidently of great value, and he was averse to
part with them, for, between friends, my brother was himself
a little inclined to my father's fault. He thought, too,
that if we parted with the chaplet it might give rise to
gossip and finally bring us into trouble. It was all that I
could do to persuade him to let me find out Miss Morstan's
address and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals, so
that at least she might never feel destitute.
It was a kindly thought,
said our companion,
earnestly. It was extremely good of you.
The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. We
were your trustees,
he said. That
was the view which I took of it, though Brother Bartholomew
could not altogether see it in that light. We had plenty of
money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have
been such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so
scurvy a fashion. 'Le mauvais gout mene au crime.' The
French have a very neat way of putting these things. Our
difference of opinion on this subject went so far that I
thought it best to set up rooms for myself: so I left Pondicherry
Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me.
Yesterday, however, I learn that an event of extreme
importance has occurred. The treasure has been discovered. I
instantly communicated with Miss Morstan, and it only
remains for us to drive out to Norwood and demand our share.
I explained my views last night to Brother Bartholomew: so
we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors.
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his luxurious settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new development which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was the first to spring to his feet.
You have done well, sir, from first to
last,
said he. It is possible that we may
be able to make you some small return by throwing some light
upon that which is still dark to you. But, as Miss Morstan
remarked just now, it is late, and we had best put the
matter through without delay.
Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of his hookah,
and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged topcoat
with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up, in
spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finished his attire
by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered
the ears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and
peaky face. My health is somewhat fragile,
he remarked, as he led the way down the passage. I am compelled to be a
valetudinarian.
Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidently prearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace. Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose high above the rattle of the wheels.
Bartholomew is a clever fellow,
said he. How do you think he found out where the
treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it was
somewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic space of
the house, and made measurements everywhere, so that not one
inch should be unaccounted for. Among other things, he found
that the height of the building was seventy-four feet, but
on adding together the heights of all the separate rooms,
and making every allowance for the space between, which he
ascertained by borings, he could not bring the total to more
than seventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted for.
These could only be at the top of the building. He knocked a
hole, therefore, in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the
highest room, and there, sure enough, he came upon another
little garret above it, which had been sealed up and was
known to no one. In the centre stood the treasure-chest,
resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through the hole,
and there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels at
not less than half a million sterling.
At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change from a needy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it was the place of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed to say that selfishness took me by the soul, and that my heart turned as heavy as lead within me. I stammered out some few halting words of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I was dreamily conscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains of symptoms, and imploring information as to the composition and action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which he bore about in a leather case in his pocket. I trust that he may not remember any of the answers which I gave him that night. Holmes declares that he overheard me caution him against the great danger of taking more than two drops of castor oil, while I recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door.
This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge,
said
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, as he handed her out.
V. The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
[Back to top]
It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final stage of our night's adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great city behind us, and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from the westward, and heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peeping occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to see for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light upon our way.
Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt round with a very high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On this our guide knocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat.
Who is there?
cried a gruff voice from
within.
It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this
time.
There was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys. The door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood in the opening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon his protruded face and twinkling distrustful eyes.
That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others? I
had no orders about them from the master.
No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother
last night that I should bring some friends.
He ain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus,
and I have no orders. You know very well that I must stick
to regulations. I can let you in, but your friends must just
stop where they are.
This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked about him in a
perplexed and helpless manner. This is too bad
of you, McMurdo
! he said. If I
guarantee them, that is enough for you. There is the young
lady, too. She cannot wait on the public road at this
hour.
Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus,
said the porter,
inexorably. Folk may be friends o' yours, and
yet no friends o' the master's. He pays me well to do my
duty, and my duty I'll do. I don't know none o' your
friends.
Oh, yes you do, McMurdo,
cried Sherlock Holmes,
genially. I don't think you can have
forgotten me. Don't you remember the amateur who fought
three rounds with you at Alison's rooms on the night of your
benefit four years back?
Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes
! roared the
prize-fighter. God's truth! how could I have
mistook you? If instead o' standin' there so quiet you had
just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of yours under
the jaw, I'd ha' known you without a question. Ah, you're
one that has wasted your gifts, you have! You might have
aimed high, if you had joined the fancy.
You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still
one of the scientific professions open to me,
said
Holmes, laughing. Our friend won't keep us out
in the cold now, I am sure.
In you come, sir, in you come,--you and your
friends,
he answered. Very sorry,
Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are very strict. Had to be certain
of your friends before I let them in.
Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge clump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where a moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. The vast size of the building, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a chill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and the lantern quivered and rattled in his hand.
I cannot understand it,
he said. There must be some mistake. I distinctly
told Bartholomew that we should be here, and yet there is no
light in his window. I do not know what to make of
it.
Does he always guard the premises in this way?
asked Holmes.
Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the
favorite son, you know, and I sometimes think that my father
may have told him more than he ever told me. That is
Bartholomew's window up there where the moonshine strikes.
It is quite bright, but there is no light from within, I
think.
None,
said Holmes. But I
see the glint of a light in that little window beside the
door.
Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where
old Mrs. Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it. But
perhaps you would not mind waiting here for a minute or two,
for if we all go in together and she has no word of our
coming she may be alarmed. But hush! what is that?
He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of light flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist, and we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears. From the great black house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and most pitiful of sounds,--the shrill, broken whimpering of a frightened woman.
It is Mrs. Bernstone,
" said Sholto. She is the only woman in the house. Wait
here. I shall be back in a moment.
He hurried for the
door, and knocked in his peculiar way. We could see a tall old woman
admit him, and sway with pleasure at the very sight of him.
Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have
come! I am so glad you have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir
! We
heard her reiterated rejoicings until the door was closed and her
voice died away into a muffled monotone.
Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round, and peered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two who had never seen each other before that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. I have marvelled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I should go out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand, like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us.
What a strange place
! she said, looking round.
It looks as though all the moles in England had been
let loose in it. I have seen something of the sort on the
side of a hill near Ballarat, where the prospectors had been
at work.
And from the same cause,
said Holmes. These are the traces of the
treasure-seekers. You must remember that they were six years
looking for it. No wonder that the grounds look like a
gravel-pit.
At that moment the door of the house burst open, and Thaddeus Sholto came running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in his eyes.
There is something amiss with Bartholomew
! he
cried. I am frightened! My nerves cannot stand
it.
He was, indeed, half blubbering with fear, and his
twitching feeble face peeping out from the great Astrakhan collar
had the helpless appealing expression of a terrified child.
Come into the house,
said Holmes, in his crisp,
firm way.
Yes, do
!" pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. I really do not feel equal to giving
directions.
We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which stood upon the left-hand side of the passage. The old woman was pacing up and down with a scared look and restless picking fingers, but the sight of Miss Morstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon her.
God bless your sweet calm face
! she
cried, with an hysterical sob. It does
me good to see you. Oh, but I have been sorely tried this
day
!
Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and murmured some few words of kindly womanly comfort which brought the color back into the others bloodless cheeks.
Master has locked himself in and will not
answer me,
she explained. All day I have waited to hear from him, for he often likes
to be alone; but an hour ago I feared that something was
amiss, so I went up and peeped through the key-hole. You
must go up, Mr. Thaddeus,--you must go up and look for
yourself. I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto in joy and in
sorrow for ten long years, but I never saw him with such a
face on him as that.
Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for Thaddeus Sholto's teeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he that I had to pass my hand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for his knees were trembling under him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his lens out of his pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoa-nut matting which served as a stair-carpet. He walked slowly from step to step, holding the lamp, and shooting keen glances to right and left. Miss Morstan had remained behind with the frightened housekeeper.
The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right of it and three doors upon the left. Holmes advanced along it in the same slow and methodical way, while we kept close at his heels, with our long black shadows streaming backwards down the corridor. The third door was that which we were seeking. Holmes knocked without receiving any answer, and then tried to turn the handle and force it open. It was locked on the inside, however, and by a broad and powerful bolt, as we could see when we set our lamp up against it. The key being turned, however, the hole was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it, and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of the breath.
There is something devilish in this, Watson,
said he, more moved than I had ever before seen him. What do you make of it?
I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight was streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and shifty radiance. Looking straight at me, and suspended, as it were, in the air, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a face,--the very face of our companion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shining head, the same circular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance. The features were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, which in that still and moonlit room was more jarring to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. So like was the face to that of our little friend that I looked round at him to make sure that he was indeed with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had mentioned to us that his brother and he were twins.
This is terrible
! I said to Holmes. What is to be done?
The door must come down,
he answered, and,
springing against it, he put all his weight upon the lock. It
creaked and groaned, but did not yield. Together we flung ourselves
upon it once more, and this time it gave way with a sudden snap, and
we found ourselves within Bartholomew Sholto's chamber.
It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. A double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite the door, and the table was littered over with Bunsen burners, test-tubes, and retorts. In the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets. One of these appeared to leak or to have been broken, for a stream of dark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. A set of steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst of a litter of lath and plaster, and above them there was an opening in the ceiling large enough for a man to pass through. At the foot of the steps a long coil of rope was thrown carelessly together.
By the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the house was seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder, and that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff and cold, and had clearly been dead many hours. It seemed to me that not only his features but all his limbs were twisted and turned in the most fantastic fashion. By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar instrument,--a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside it was a torn sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it. Holmes glanced at it, and then handed it to me.
You see,
he said, with a significant raising of
the eyebrows.
In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror, 'The sign of the four'.
In God's name, what does it all mean?
I
asked.
It means murder,
said he, stooping over the
dead man. Ah, I expected it. Look here
! He
pointed to what looked like a long, dark thorn stuck in the skin
just above the ear.
It looks like a thorn,
said I.
It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful,
for it is poisoned.
I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away from the skin so readily that hardly any mark was left behind. One tiny speck of blood showed where the puncture had been.
This is all an insoluble mystery to me,
said I.
It grows darker instead of
clearer.
On the contrary,
he answered, it clears every instant. I only require a
few missing links to have an entirely connected
case.
"
We had almost forgotten our companion's presence since we entered the chamber. He was still standing in the door-way, the very picture of terror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself. Suddenly, however, he broke out into a sharp, querulous cry.
The treasure is gone!
he said. They have robbed him of the treasure!
There is the hole through which we lowered it. I helped him
to do it! I was the last person who saw him! I left him here
last night, and I heard him lock the door as I came
down-stairs.
What time was that?
It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and the
police will be called in, and I shall be suspected of having
had a hand in it. Oh, yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't
think so, gentlemen? Surely you don't think that it was I?
Is it likely that I would have brought you here if it were
I? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad
! He
jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive
frenzy.
You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto,
said
Holmes, kindly, putting his hand upon his shoulder. Take my advice, and drive down to the
station to report this matter to the police. Offer to assist
them in every way. We shall wait here until your
return.
The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard him stumbling down the stairs in the dark.
VI. Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
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Now, Watson,
said Holmes, rubbing his hands, we have half an hour to ourselves. Let us
make good use of it. My case is, as I have told you, almost
complete; but we must not err on the side of
over-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may be
something deeper underlying it.
Simple!
I ejaculated.
Surely,
said he, with something of the air of a
clinical professor expounding to his class. Just sit in the corner there, that your footprints may not
complicate matters. Now to work! In the first place, how did
these folk come, and how did they go? The door has not been
opened since last night. How of the window?
He carried
the lamp across to it, muttering his observations aloud the while,
but addressing them to himself rather than to me. Window is snibbed on the inner side.
Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us open it.
No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has
mounted by the window. It rained a little last night. Here
is the print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a
circular muddy mark, and here again upon the floor, and here
again by the table. See here, Watson! This is really avery
pretty demonstration.
I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. This
is not a footmark,
said I.
It is something much more valuable to us. It is the
impression of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is
the boot-mark, a heavy boot with the broad metal heel, and
beside it is the mark of the timber-toe.
It is the wooden-legged man.
Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very
able and efficient ally. Could you scale that wall,
doctor?
I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly on that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the ground, and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the brick-work.
It is absolutely impossible,
I answered.
Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend
up here who lowered you this good stout rope which I see in
the corner, securing one end of it to this great hook in the
wall. Then, I think, if you were an active man, You might
swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would depart, of course,
in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope,
untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the
inside, and get away in the way that he originally came. As
a minor point it may be noted,
he continued, fingering
the rope, that our wooden-legged friend,
though a fair climber, was not a professional sailor. His
hands were far from horny. My lens discloses more than one
blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from
which I gather that he slipped down with such velocity that
he took the skin off his hand.
This is all very well,
said I, but the thing becomes more unintelligible
than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How came he into
the room?
Yes, the ally!
repeated Holmes, pensively. There are features of interest about this
ally. He lifts the case from the regions of the commonplace.
I fancy that this ally
breaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in this country,--though
parallel cases suggest themselves from India, and,
if my memory serves me, from
Senegambia.
How came he, then?
I reiterated. The door is locked, the window is
inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?
The grate is much too small,
he answered. I had already considered that
possibility.
"
How then?
I persisted.
You will not apply my precept,
he said, shaking
his head. How often have I said to you that
when you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains,
HOWEVER IMPROBABLE, must be the truth? We know that he did
not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We
also know that he could not have been concealed in the room,
as there is no concealment possible. Whence, then, did he
come?
He came through the hole in the roof,
I
cried.
Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will
have the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now
extend our researches to the room above,--the secret room in
which the treasure was found.
He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached down for the lamp and held it while I followed him.
The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step from beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner shell of the true roof of the house. There was no furniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor.
Here you are, you see,
said Sherlock Holmes,
putting his hand against the sloping wall. This is a trap-door which leads out on to the roof. I can
press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping at a
gentle angle. This, then, is the way by which Number One
entered. Let us see if we can find any other traces of his
individuality.
He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for the second time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face. For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold under my clothes. The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked foot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce the size of those of an ordinary man.
Holmes,
I said, in a whisper, a child has done the horrid thing.
He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. I was staggered for the moment,
he said, but the thing is quite natural. My memory
failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it. There
is nothing more to be learned here. Let us go down.
What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?
I asked, eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once more.
My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself,
said he, with a touch of impatience. You know
my methods. Apply them, and it will be instructive to
compare results.
I cannot conceive anything which will cover the
facts,
I answered.
It will be clear enough to you soon,
he said,
in an off-hand way. I think that there is
nothing else of importance here, but I will look.
He
whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about the room
on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin
nose only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes gleaming
and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and furtive
were his movements, like those of a trained blood-hound picking out
a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible criminal he
would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity against the
law, instead of exerting them in its defense. As he hunted about, he
kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow
of delight.
We are certainly in luck,
said he. We ought to have very little trouble now.
Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the creosote.
You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here
at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been
cracked, You see, and the stuff has leaked out.
What then?
I asked.
Why, we have got him, that's all,
said he. I know a dog that would follow that scent
to the world's end. If a pack can track a trailed herring
across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow
so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule
of three. The answer should give us the--But halloo! here
are the accredited representatives of the law.
Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash.
Before they come,
said Holmes, just put your hand here on this poor
fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?
The muscles are as hard as a board,
I
answered.
Quite so. They are in a state of extreme
contraction, far exceeding the usual rigor mortis. Coupled
with this distortion of the face, this Hippocratic smile, or
'risus sardonicus,' as the old writers called it, what
conclusion would it suggest to your mind?
Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid,
I
answered,--some strychnine-like
substance which would produce tetanus.
That was the idea which occurred to me the instant
I saw the drawn muscles of the face. On getting into the
room I at once looked for the means by which the poison had
entered the system. As you saw, I discovered a thorn which
had been driven or shot with no great force into the scalp.
You observe that the part struck was that which would be
turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect
in his chair. Now examine the thorn.
I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though some gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off with a knife.
Is that an English thorn?
he asked.
No, it certainly is not.
With all these data you should be able to draw some
just inference. But here are the regulars: so the auxiliary
forces may beat a retreat.
As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly and plethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely followed by an inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.
Here's a business!
he cried, in a muffled, husky
voice. Here's a pretty business! But who are all
these? Why, the house seems to be as full as a
rabbit-warren!
I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney
Jones,
said Holmes, quietly.
Why, of course I do!
he wheezed. It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the theorist.
Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured us all on
causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel
case. It's true you set us on the right track; but you'll
own now that it was more by good luck than good
guidance.
It was a piece of very simple reasoning.
Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But
what is all this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts
here,--no room for theories. How lucky that I happened to be
out at Norwood over another case! I was at the station when
the message arrived. What d'you think the man died
of?
Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize
over,
said Holmes, dryly.
No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on
the head sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand.
Jewels worth half a million missing. How was the
window?
Fastened; but there are steps on the sill.
"
Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have
nothing to do with the matter. That's common sense. Man
might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are missing.
Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon me at
times.--Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr. Sholto.
Your friend can remain.--What do you think of this, Holmes?
Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last
night. The brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off
with the treasure. How's that?
On which the dead man very considerately got up and
locked the door on the inside.
"
Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense
to the matter. This Thaddeus Sholto WAS with his brother;
there WAS a quarrel; so much we know. The brother is dead
and the jewels are gone. So much also we know. No one saw
the brother from the time Thaddeus left him. His bed had not
been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most disturbed
state of mind. His appearance is--well, not attractive. You
see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins
to close upon him.
You are not quite in possession of the facts
yet,
said Holmes. This splinter of wood,
which I have every reason to believe to be poisoned, was in the
man's scalp where you still see the mark; this card,
inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and
beside it lay this rather curious stone-headed instrument.
How does all that fit into your theory?
Confirms it in every respect,
said the fat
detective, pompously. House is full of Indian curiosities.
Thaddeus brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as well
have made murderous use of it as any other
man. The card is some hocus-pocus,--a blind,
as like as not. The only question is, how did he depart? Ah,
of course, here is a hole in the roof.
With great
activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed
through into the garret, and immediately afterwards we heard his
exulting voice proclaiming that he had found the trap-door.
He can find something,
remarked Holmes,
shrugging his shoulders. He has occasional
glimmerings of reason. Il n'y a pas des sots si incommodes
que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!
You see!
said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the
steps again. Facts are better than mere theories,
after all. My view of the case is confirmed. There is a
trap-door communicating with the roof, and it is partly
open.
It was I who opened it.
Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?
He seemed a
little crestfallen at the discovery. Well,
whoever noticed it, it shows how our gentleman got away.
Inspector!
Yes, sir,
from the passage.
Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.--Mr. Sholto, it is my
duty to inform you that anything which you may say will be
used against you. I arrest you in the queen's name as being
concerned in the death of your brother.
There, now! Didn't I tell you!
cried the poor
little man, throwing out his hands, and looking from one to the
other of us.
Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto,
said Holmes. I think that I can engage to
clear you of the charge.
Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist,--don't promise
too much!
snapped the detective. You
may find it a harder matter than you think.
Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will
make you a free present of the name and description of one
of the two people who were in this room last night. His
name, I have every reason to believe, is Jonathan Small. He
is a poorly-educated man, small, active, with his right leg
off, and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the
inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole,
with an iron band round the heel. He is a middle-aged man,
much sunburned, and has been a convict. These few
indications may be of some assistance to you, coupled with
the fact that there is a good deal of skin missing from the
palm of his hand. The other man--
Ah! the other man--?
asked Athelney Jones, in a
sneering voice, but impressed none the less, as I could easily see,
by the precision of the other's manner.
Is a rather curious person,
said Sherlock
Holmes, turning upon his heel. I hope before
very long to be able to introduce you to the pair of
them.--A word with you, Watson.
He led me out to the head of the stair. This
unexpected occurrence,
he said, has caused us rather to lose sight of the original purpose
of our journey.
I have just been thinking so,
I answered. "It is not right that Miss Morstan should
remain in this stricken house.
No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs.
Cecil Forrester, in Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far.
I will wait for you here if you will drive out again. Or
perhaps you are too tired?
By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know
more of this fantastic business. I have seen something of
the rough side of life, but I give you my word that this
quick succession of strange surprises to-night has shaken my
nerve completely. I should like, however, to see the matter
through with you, now that I have got so far.
Your presence will be of great service to me,
he answered. We shall work the case out
independently, and leave this fellow Jones to exult over any
mare's-nest which he may choose to construct. When you have
dropped Miss Morstan I wish you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin
Lane, down near the water's edge at Lambeth. The third house
on the right-hand side is a bird-stuffer's: Sherman is the
name. You will see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the
window. Knock old Sherman up, and tell him, with my
compliments, that I want Toby at once. You will bring Toby
back in the cab with you.
A dog, I suppose.
Yes,--a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of
scent. I would rather have Toby's help than that of the
whole detective force of London.
I shall bring him, then," said I. "It is one now. I
ought to be back before three, if I can get a fresh
horse.
And I,
said Holmes, shall
see what I can learn from Mrs. Bernstone, and from the
Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell me, sleeps in the
next garret. Then I shall study the great Jones's methods
and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms. 'Wir sind
gewohnt das die Menschen verhoehnen was sie nicht
verstehen.' Goethe is always pithy.
VII. The Episode of the Barrel
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The police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted Miss Morstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she had borne trouble with a calm face as long as there was some one weaker than herself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the side of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first turned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping,--so sorely had she been tried by the adventures of the night. She has told me since that she thought me cold and distant upon that journey. She little guessed the struggle within my breast, or the effort of self-restraint which held me back. My sympathies and my love went out to her, even as my hand had in the garden. I felt that years of the conventionalities of life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave nature as had this one day of strange experiences. Yet there were two thoughts which sealed the words of affection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless, shaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse still, she was rich. If Holmes's researches were successful, she would be an heiress. Was it fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon should take such advantage of an intimacy which chance had brought about? Might she not look upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I could not bear to risk that such a thought should cross her mind. This Agra treasure intervened like an impassable barrier between us.
It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so interested by the strange message which Miss Morstan had received that she had sat up in the hope of her return. She opened the door herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderly her arm stole round the other's waist and how motherly was the voice in which she greeted her. She was clearly no mere paid dependant, but an honored friend. I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged me to step in and tell her our adventures. I explained, however, the importance of my errand, and promised faithfully to call and report any progress which we might make with the case. As we drove away I stole a glance back, and I still seem to see that little group on the step, the two graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened door, the hall light shining through stained glass, the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. It was soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of a tranquil English home in the midst of the wild, dark business which had absorbed us.
And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I rattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. There was the original problem: that at least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain Morstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the letter,--we had had light upon all those events. They had only led us, however, to a deeper and far more tragic mystery. The Indian treasure, the curious plan found among Morstan's baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto's death, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the murder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkable weapons, the words upon the card, corresponding with those upon Captain Morstan's chart,--here was indeed a labyrinth in which a man less singularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of ever finding the clue.
Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby two-storied brick houses in the lower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at No. 3 before I could make my impression. At last, however, there was the glint of a candle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the upper window.
Go on, you drunken vagabone,
said the face.
If you kick up any more row I'll
open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon
you.
If you'll let one out it's just what I have come
for,
said I.
Go on
! yelled the voice. So help me gracious, I have a wiper in
the bag, an' I'll drop it on your 'ead if you don't hook
it.
But I want a dog,
I cried.
I won't be argued with
! shouted Mr. Sherman.
Now stand clear, for when I say
'three,' down goes the wiper.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes--
I began, but the words had
a most magical effect, for the window instantly slammed down, and
within a minute the door was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a
lanky, lean old man, with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and
blue-tinted glasses.
A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome,
said he. Step in, sir. Keep clear of the
badger; for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty, would you take a
nip at the gentleman?
This to a stoat which thrust its
wicked head and red eyes between the bars of its cage. Don't mind that, sir: it's only a
slow-worm. It hain't got no fangs, so I gives it the run o'
the room, for it keeps the beetles down. You must not mind
my bein' just a little short wi' you at first, for I'm guyed
at by the children, and there's many a one just comes down
this lane to knock me up. What was it that Mr. Sherlock
Holmes wanted, sir?
He wanted a dog of yours.
Ah! that would be Toby.
Yes, Toby was the name.
Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here.
He
moved slowly forward with his candle among the queer animal family
which he had gathered round him. In the uncertain, shadowy light I
could see dimly that there were glancing, glimmering eyes peeping
down at us from every cranny and corner. Even the rafters above our
heads were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily shifted their weight
from one leg to the other as our voices disturbed their
slumbers.
Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel and half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a very clumsy waddling gait. It accepted after some hesitation a lump of sugar which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an alliance, it followed me to the cab, and made no difficulties about accompanying me. It had just struck three on the Palace clock when I found myself back once more at Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, been arrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marched off to the station. Two constables guarded the narrow gate, but they allowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the detective's name.
Holmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in his pockets, smoking his pipe.
Ah, you have him there
! said he. Good dog, then! Atheney Jones has gone.
We have had an immense display of energy since you left. He
has arrested not only friend Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper,
the housekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the place
to ourselves, but for a sergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog
here, and come up.
We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. The room was as he had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the central figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the corner.
Lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant,
said my
companion. Now tie this bit of card round my
neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank you. Now I must
kick off my boots and stockings.--Just you carry them down
with you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And
dip my handkerchief into the creasote. That will do. Now
come up into the garret with me for a moment.
We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once more upon the footsteps in the dust.
I wish you particularly to notice these
footmarks,
he said. Do you
observe anything noteworthy about them?
They belong,
I said, to a
child or a small woman.
Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing
else?
They appear to be much as other footmarks.
Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right
foot in the dust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside
it. What is the chief difference?
Your toes are all cramped together. The other print
has each toe distinctly divided.
Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind.
Now, would you kindly step over to that flap-window and
smell the edge of the wood-work? I shall stay here, as I
have this handkerchief in my hand.
I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry smell.
That is where he put his foot in getting out. If
YOU can trace him, I should think that Toby will have no
difficulty. Now run down-stairs, loose the dog, and look out
for Blondin.
By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of chimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanished once more upon the opposite side. When I made my way round there I found him seated at one of the corner eaves.
That you, Watson?
he cried.
Yes.
This is the place. What is that black thing down
there?
A water-barrel.
Top on it?
Yes.
No sign of a ladder?
No.
Confound the fellow! It's a most break-neck place.
I ought to be able to come down where he could climb up. The
water-pipe feels pretty firm. Here goes, anyhow.
There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadily down the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came on to the barrel, and from there to the earth.
It was easy to follow him,
he said, drawing on
his stockings and boots. Tiles were loosened
the whole way along, and in his hurry he had dropped this.
It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express it.
The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch woven out of colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it. In shape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were half a dozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other, like that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.
They are hellishthings,
said he. Look out that you don't prick yourself.
I'm delighted to have them, for the chances are that they
are all he has. There is the less fear of you or me finding
one in our skin before long. I would sooner face a Martini
bullet, myself. Are you game for a six-mile trudge,
Watson?
"
Certainly,
I answered.
Your leg will stand it?
Oh, yes.
Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby,
smell it
! He pushed the creasote handkerchief under the
dog's nose, while the creature stood with its fluffy legs separated,
and with a most comical cock to its head, like a connoisseur
sniffing the bouquet of a famous vintage. Holmes then threw the
handkerchief to a distance, fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's
collar, and led him to the foot of the water-barrel. The creature
instantly broke into a succession of high, tremulous yelps, and,
with his nose on the ground, and his tail in the air, pattered off
upon the trail at a pace which strained his leash and kept us at the
top of our speed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see some distance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with its black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and forlorn, behind us. Our course led right across the grounds, in and out among the trenches and pits with which they were scarred and intersected. The whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized with the black tragedy which hung over it.
On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly, underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by a young beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had been loosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon the lower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder. Holmes clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it over upon the other side.
There's the print of wooden-leg's hand,
he
remarked, as I mounted up beside him. You see
the slight smudge of blood upon the white plaster. What a
lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rain since
yesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of
their eight-and-twenty hours' start.
I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the great traffic which had passed along the London road in the interval. My fears were soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated or swerved, but waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly, the pungent smell of the creasote rose high above all other contending scents.
Do not imagine,
said Holmes, that I depend for my success in this case
upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his
foot in the chemical. I have knowledge now which would
enable me to trace them in many different ways. This,
however, is the readiest and, since fortune has put it into
our hands, I should be culpable if I neglected it. It has,
however, prevented the case from becoming the pretty little
intellectual problem which it at one time promised to be.
There might have been some credit to be gained out of it,
but for this too palpable clue.
There is credit, and to spare,
" said I. I assure you, Holmes, that I marvel at the
means by which you obtain your results in this case, even
more than I did in the Jefferson Hope Murder. The thing
seems to me to be deeper and more inexplicable. How, for
example, could you describe with such confidence the
wooden-legged man?
Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I
don't wish to be theatrical. It is all patent and
above-board. Two officers who are in command of a
convict-guard learn an important secret as to buried
treasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named
Jonathan Small. You remember that we saw the name upon the
chart in Captain Morstan's possession. He had signed it in
behalf of himself and his associates,--the sign of the four,
as he somewhat dramatically called it. Aided by this chart,
the officers--or one of them--gets the treasure and brings
it to England, leaving, we will suppose, some condition
under which he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did
not Jonathan Small get the treasure himself? The answer is
obvious. The chart is dated at a time when Morstan was
brought into close association with convicts. Jonathan Small
did not get the treasure because he and his associates were
themselves convicts and could not get away.
But that is mere speculation,
said I.
It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis
which covers the facts. Let us see how it fits in with the
sequel. Major Sholto remains at peace for some years, happy
in the possession of his treasure. Then he receives a letter
from India which gives him a great fright. What was
that?
A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had
been set free.
Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he
would have known what their term of imprisonment was. It
would not have been a surprise to him. What does he do then?
He guards himself against a wooden-legged man,--a white man,
mark you, for he mistakes a white tradesman for him, and
actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one white man's
name is on the chart. The others are Hindoos or Mohammedans.
There is no other white man. Therefore we may say with
confidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with
Jonathan Small. Does the reasoning strike you as being
faulty?
No: it is clear and concise.
Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of
Jonathan Small. Let us look at it from his point of view. He
comes to England with the double idea of regaining what he
would consider to be his rights and of having his revenge
upon the man who had wronged him. He found out where Sholto
lived, and very possibly he established communications with
some one inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao,
whom we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a
good character. Small could not find out, however, where the
treasure was hid, for no one ever knew, save the major and
one faithful servant who had died. Suddenly Small learns
that the major is on his death-bed. In a frenzy lest the
secret of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of
the guards, makes his way to the dying man's window, and is
only deterred from entering by the presence of his two sons.
Mad with hate, however, against the dead man, he enters the
room that night, searches his private papers in the hope of
discovering some memorandum relating to the treasure, and
finally leaves a momento of his visit in the short
inscription upon the card. He had doubtless planned
beforehand that should he slay the major he would leave some
such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a common
murder, but, from the point of view of the four associates,
something in the nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and
bizarre conceits of this kind are common enough in the
annals of crime, and usually afford valuable indications as
to the criminal. Do you follow all this?
Very clearly.
Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could only
continue to keep a secret watch upon the efforts made to
find the treasure. Possibly he leaves England and only comes
back at intervals. Then comes the discovery of the garret,
and he is instantly informed of it. We again trace the
presence of some confederate in the household. Jonathan,
with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the lofty
room of Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him, however, a rather
curiousassociate, who gets over this
difficulty, but dips his naked foot into creasote, whence
comes Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay officer with
a damaged tendo Achillis.
But it was the
associate, and not Jonathan, who committed the crime.
Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to
judge by the way he stamped about when he got into the room.
He bore no grudge against Bartholomew Sholto, and would have
preferred if he could have been simply bound and gagged. He
did not wish to put his head in a halter. There was no help
for it, however: the savage
instincts of his
companion had broken out, and the poison had done its work: so Jonathan
Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to the
ground, and followed it himself. That was the train of
events as far as I can decipher them. Of course as to his
personal appearance he must be middle-aged, and must be
sunburned after serving his time in such an oven as the
Andamans. His height is readily calculated from the length
of his stride, and we know that he was bearded. His
hairiness was the one point which impressed itself upon
Thaddeus Sholto when he saw him at the window. I don't know
that there is anything else.
The associate?
Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But
you will know all about it soon enough. How sweet the
morning air is! See how that one little cloud floats like a
pink feather from some gigantic flamingo. Now the red rim of
the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines
on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a
stranger errand than you and I. How small we feel with our
petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great
elemental forces of nature! Are you well up in your Jean
Paul?
Fairly so. I worked back to him through
Carlyle.
That was like following the brook to the parent
lake. He makes one curious but profound remark. It is that
the chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his
perception of his own smallness. It argues, you see, a power
of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself a proof
of nobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You
have not a pistol, have you?
I have my stick.
It is just possible that we may need something of
the sort if we get to their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if
the other turns nasty I shall
shoot him dead.
He took out his revolver as he spoke,
and, having loaded two of the chambers, he put it back into the
right-hand pocket of his jacket.
We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby down the half-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now, however, we were beginning to come among continuous streets, where laborers and dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women were taking down shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped corner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-looking men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after their morning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as we passed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor to the left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the ground and an occasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent.
We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now found ourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the side-streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued seemed to have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of escaping observation. They had never kept to the main road if a parallel side-street would serve their turn. At the foot of Kennington Lane they had edged away to the left through Bond Street and Miles Street. Where the latter street turns into Knight's Place, Toby ceased to advance, but began to run backwards and forwards with one ear cocked and the other drooping, the very picture of canine indecision. Then he waddled round in circles, looking up to us from time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in his embarrassment.
What the deuce is the matter with the dog?
growled Holmes. They surely would not take a
cab, or go off in a balloon.
Perhaps they stood here for some time,
I
suggested.
Ah! it's all right. He's off again,
said my
companion, in a tone of relief.
He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made up his mind, and darted away with an energy and determination such as he had not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before, for he had not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his leash and tried to break into a run. I cold see by the gleam in Holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick and Nelson's large timber-yard, just past the White Eagle tavern. Here the dog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gate into the enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the dog raced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a passage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp, sprang upon a large barrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on which it had been brought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes, Toby stood upon the cask, looking from one to the other of us for some sign of appreciation. The staves of the barrel and the wheels of the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was heavy with the smell of creasote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other, and then burst simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
VIII. The Baker Street Irregulars
[Back to top]
What now?
I asked. Toby has
lost his character for infallibility.
He acted according to his lights,
said Holmes,
lifting him down from the barrel and walking him out of the
timber-yard. If you consider how much creasote
is carted about London in one day, it is no great wonder
that our trail should have been crossed. It is much used
now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not
to blame.
We must get on the main scent again, I
suppose.
Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go.
Evidently what puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's
Place was that there were two different trails running in
opposite directions. We took the wrong one. It only remains
to follow the other.
There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finally dashed off in a fresh direction.
We must take care that he does not now bring us to
the place where the creasote-barrel came from,
I
observed.
I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps
on the pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway.
No, we are on the true scent now.
It tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont Place and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to the very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the dark current beyond.
We are out of luck,
said Holmes. They have taken to a boat here.
Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on
the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but,
though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign.
Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a wooden placard slung out through the second window. "Mordecai Smith" was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath, "Boats to hire by the hour or day." A second inscription above the door informed us that a steam launch was kept,--a statement which was confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous expression.
This looks bad,
said he. These fellows are sharper than I expected. They seem to
have covered their tracks. There has, I fear, been
preconcerted management here.
He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a little, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.
You come back and be washed, Jack,
she shouted. Come back, you young imp; for if your father
comes home and finds you like that, he'll let us hear of
it.
Dear little chap!
said Holmes, strategically.
What a rosy-cheeked young rascal! Now,
Jack, is there anything you would like?
The youth pondered for a moment. I'd like a
shillin',
said he.
Nothing you would like better?
I'd like two shillin' better,
the prodigy
answered, after some thought.
Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs.
Smith!
Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets
a'most too much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is
away days at a time.
Away, is he?
said Holmes, in a disappointed
voice. I am sorry for that, for I wanted to
speak to Mr. Smith.
He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and,
truth to tell, I am beginnin' to feel frightened about him.
But if it was about a boat, sir, maybe I could serve as
well.
I wanted to hire his steam launch.
Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he
has gone. That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't
more coals in her than would take her to about Woolwich and
back. If he'd been away in the barge I'd ha' thought
nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him as far as
Gravesend, and then if there was much doin' there he might
ha' stayed over. But what good is a steam launch without
coals?
He might have bought some at a wharf down the
river.
He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time
I've heard him call out at the prices they charge for a few
odd bags. Besides, I don't like that wooden-legged man, wi'
his ugly face and outlandish talk. What did he want always
knockin' about here for?
A wooden-legged man?
said Holmes, with bland
surprise.
Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called
more'n once for my old man. It was him that roused him up
yesternight, and, what's more, my man knew he was comin',
for he had steam up in the launch. I tell you straight, sir,
I don't feel easy in my mind about it.
But, my dear Mrs. Smith,
said Holmes, shrugging
his shoulders, You are frightening yourself
about nothing. How could you possibly tell that it was the
wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don't quite
understand how you can be so sure.
His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o'
thick and foggy. He tapped at the winder,--about three it
would be. 'Show a leg, matey,' says he: 'time to turn out
guard.' My old man woke up Jim,--that's my eldest,--and away
they went, without so much as a word to me. I could hear the
wooden leg clackin' on the stones.
And was this wooden-legged man alone?
Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one
else.
I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam
launch, and I have heard good reports of the--Let me see,
what is her name?
The Aurora, sir.
Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow
line, very broad in the beam?
No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the
river. She's been fresh painted, black with two red
streaks.
Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr.
Smith. I am going down the river; and if I should see
anything of the Aurora I shall let him know that you are
uneasy. A black funnel, you say?
No, sir. Black with a white band.
Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black.
Good-morning, Mrs. Smith.--There is a boatman here with a
wherry, Watson. We shall take it and cross the
river.
The main thing with people of that sort,
said
Holmes, as we sat in the sheets of the wherry, is never to let them think that their information can be of
the slightest importance to you. If you do, they will
instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them
under protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what
you want.
Our course now seems pretty clear,
said I.
What would you do, then?
I would engage a launch and go down the river on the
track of the Aurora.
My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She
may have touched at any wharf on either side of the stream
between here and Greenwich. Below the bridge there is a
perfect labyrinth of landing-places for miles. It would take
you days and days to exhaust them, if you set about it
alone.
Employ the police, then.
No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the
last moment. He is not a bad fellow, and I should not like
to do anything which would injure him professionally. But I
have a fancy for working it out myself, now that we have
gone so far.
Could we advertise, then, asking for information from
wharfingers?
Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase
was hot at their heels, and they would be off out of the
country. As it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as
long as they think they are perfectly safe they will be in
no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to us there, for his
view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily
press, and the runaways will think that every one is off on
the wrong scent.
What are we to do, then?
I asked, as we landed
near Millbank Penitentiary.
Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast,
and get an hour's sleep. It is quite on the cards that we
may be afoot to-night again. Stop at a telegraph-office,
cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be of use to us
yet.
We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes despatched
his wire. "Whom do you think that is to?
"
he asked, as we resumed our journey.
I am sure I don't know.
You remember the Baker Street division of the
detective police force whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope
case?
Well,
said I, laughing.
This is just the case where they might be
invaluable. If they fail, I have other resources; but I
shall try them first. That wire was to my dirty little
lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gang will
be with us before we have finished our breakfast.
It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious of a strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him, and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.
A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid and Holmes pouring out the coffee.
Here it is,
said he, laughing, and pointing to
an open newspaper. The energetic Jones and the
ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up between them. But you
have had enough of the case. Better have your ham and eggs
first.
I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed "Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood."
'About twelve o'clock last night,' said the Standard, 'Mr. Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead in his room under circumstances which point to foul play. As far as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto's person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems which the deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried off. The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member of the detective police force, happened to be at the Norwood Police Station, and was on the ground within half an hour of the first alarm. His trained and experienced faculties were at once directed towards the detection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested, together with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones's well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation have enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not have entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their way across the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into a room which communicated with that in which the body was found. This fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that it was no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of the officers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on such occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but think that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our detectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and more effective touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate.'
Isn't it gorgeous!
said Holmes, grinning over
his coffee-cup. What do you think of
it?
I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of
being arrested for the crime.
So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if
he should happen to have another of his attacks of
energy.
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation and dismay.
By heaven, Holmes,
" I said, half rising, I believe that they are really after
us.
No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the
unofficial force,--the Baker Street irregulars.
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and ragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline among them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in line and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number, taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of lounging superiority which was very funny in such a disreputable little scarecrow.
Got your message, sir,
said he, and brought 'em on sharp. Three bob and a tanner for
tickets.
Here you are,
said Holmes, producing some
silver. In future they can report to you,
Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house invaded in
this way. However, it is just as well that you should all
hear the instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a
steam launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black
with two red streaks, funnel black with a white band. She is
down the river somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai
Smith's landing-stage opposite Millbank to say if the boat
comes back. You must divide it out among yourselves, and do
both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you have news.
Is that all clear?
Yes, guv'nor,
said Wiggins.
The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who
finds the boat. Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!
He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed down the
stairs, and I saw them a moment later streaming down the street.
If the launch is above water they will find her,"
said Holmes, as he rose from the table and lit his pipe.
"They can go everywhere, see everything, overhear every one.
I expect to hear before evening that they have spotted her.
In the mean while, we can do nothing but await results. We
cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the
Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith.
Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you
going to bed, Holmes?
No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution.
I never remember feeling tired by work, though idleness
exhausts me completely. I am going to smoke and to think
over this queer business to which my fair client has
introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours
ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the
other man must, I should think, be absolutely
unique.
That other man again!
I have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you,
anyway. But you must have formed your own opinion. Now, do
consider the data. Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots,
naked feet, stone-headed wooden
mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What do you make
of all this?
"
A savage!
I exclaimed. Perhaps one of those Indians who were the
associates of Jonathan Small.
Hardly that,
said he. When first I saw signs of strange weapons I was inclined to
think so; but the remarkable character of the footmarks
caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants of
the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none could have left
such marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and thin
feet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well
separated from the others, because the thong is commonly
passed between. These little darts, too, could only be shot
in one way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are
we to find our savage?
South American,
I hazarded.
He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the shelf. This is the first volume of a gazetteer
which is now being published. It may be looked upon as the
very latest authority. What have we here? 'Andaman Islands, situated 340
miles to the north of Sumatra, in the Bay of
Bengal.' Hum! hum! What's all this? Moist
climate, coral reefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks,
Rutland Island, cottonwoods--Ah, here we are. 'The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps
claim the distinction of being the smallest race
upon this earth, though some anthropologists
prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indians
of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The
average height is rather below four feet, although
many full-grown adults may be found who are very
much smaller than this. They are a fierce,
morose, and
intractable
people,
though capable of
forming most devoted friendships when their confidence
has once been gained.' Mark that,
Watson. Now, then, listen to this. 'They are
naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads,
small, fierce eyes, and distorted features. Their feet and hands,
however, are remarkably small. So intractable and fierce are they that all the
efforts of the British official have failed to win
them over in any degree. They have always been a
terror to
shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs, or
shooting them
with their poisoned
arrows. These massacres are invariably
concluded by a cannibal feast.' Nice, amiable
people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his own
unaided devices this affair might have taken an even more
ghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small
would give a good deal not to have employed him.
But how came he to have so singular a
companion?
Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however,
we had already determined that Small had come from the
Andamans, it is not so very wonderful that this islander
should be with him. No doubt we shall know all about it in
time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Lie down
there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to
sleep.
He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound, until I found myself in dream-land, with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.
IX. A Break in the Chain
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It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and refreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, save that he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. He looked across at me, as I stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and troubled.
You have slept soundly,
he said. I feared that our talk would wake
you.
I heard nothing,
I answered. Have you had fresh news, then?
Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised
and disappointed. I expected something definite by this
time. Wiggins has just been up to report. He says that no
trace can be found of the launch. It is a provoking check,
for every hour is of importance.
Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and
quite ready for another night's outing.
No, we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go
ourselves, the message might come in our absence, and delay
be caused. You can do what you will, but I must remain on
guard.
Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon
Mrs. Cecil Forrester. She asked me to, yesterday.
On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?
asked Holmes, with the
twinkle of a smile in his eyes.
Well, of course Miss Morstan too. They were anxious
to hear what happened.
I would not tell them too much,
said Holmes. Women are never to be entirely
trusted,--not the best of them.
I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment. I shall be back in an hour or two,
I
remarked.
All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are
crossing the river you may as well return Toby, for I don't
think it is at all likely that we shall have any use for him
now.
I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together with a half-sovereign, at the old naturalist's in Pinchin Lane. At Camberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night's adventures, but very eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was full of curiosity. I told them all that we had done, suppressing, however, the more dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I spoke of Mr. Sholto's death, I said nothing of the exact manner and method of it. With all my omissions, however, there was enough to startle and amaze them.
It is a romance!
cried Mrs. Forrester.
An injured lady, half a million
in treasure, a black
cannibal, and a
wooden-legged
ruffian. They take the place of the
conventional dragon or wicked earl.
And two knight-errants to the rescue,
added Miss
Morstan, with a bright glance at me.
Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the
issue of this search. I don't think that you are nearly
excited enough. Just imagine what it must be to be so rich,
and to have the world at your feet!
It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave a toss of her proud head, as though the matter were one in which she took small interest.
It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious,
she said. Nothing else is of any consequence; but
I think that he has behaved most kindly and honorably
throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this dreadful and
unfounded charge.
It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the time I reached home. My companion's book and pipe lay by his chair, but he had disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but there was none.
I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out,
I said to Mrs. Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.
No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you
know, sir,
sinking her voice into an impressive whisper,
I am afraid for his health?
Why so, Mrs. Hudson?
Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone
he walked and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until
I was weary of the sound of his footstep. Then I heard him
talking to himself and muttering, and every time the bell
rang out he came on the stairhead, with 'What is that, Mrs. Hudson?' And now he has
slammed off to his room, but I can hear him walking away the
same as ever. I hope he's not going to be ill, sir. I
ventured to say something to him about cooling medicine, but
he turned on me, sir, with such a look that I don't know how
ever I got out of the room.
I don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy,
Mrs. Hudson,
I answered. I have seen
him like this before. He has some small matter upon his mind
which makes him restless.
I tried to speak lightly to
our worthy landlady, but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through
the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his
tread, and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this
involuntary inaction.
At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of feverish color upon either cheek.
You are knocking yourself up, old man,
I
remarked. I heard you marching about in the
night.
No, I could not sleep,
he answered. This infernal problem is consuming me. It
is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle, when all
else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch,
everything; and yet I can get no news. I have set other
agencies at work, and used every means at my disposal. The
whole river has been searched on either side, but there is
no news, nor has Mrs. Smith heard of her husband. I shall
come to the conclusion soon that they have scuttled the
craft. But there are objections to that.
Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong
scent.
No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries
made, and there is a launch of that description.
Could it have gone up the river?
I have considered that possibility too, and there
is a search-party who will work up as far as Richmond. If no
news comes to-day, I shall start off myself to-morrow, and
go for the men rather than the boat. But surely, surely, we
shall hear something.
We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins or from the other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to the unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found, however, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the following day. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to report our ill success to the ladies, and on my return I found Holmes dejected and somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my questions, and busied himself all evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved much heating of retorts and distilling of vapors, ending at last in a smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. Up to the small hours of the morning I could hear the clinking of his test-tubes which told me that he was still engaged in his malodorous experiment.
In the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised to find him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a pea-jacket, and a coarse red scarf round his neck.
I am off down the river, Watson,
said he. I have been turning it over in my mind,
and I can see only one way out of it. It is worth trying, at
all events.
Surely I can come with you, then?
said I.
No; you can be much more useful if you will remain
here as my representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite
on the cards that some message may come during the day,
though Wiggins was despondent about it last night. I want
you to open all notes and telegrams, and to act on your own
judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon
you?
Most certainly.
I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to
me, for I can hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I
am in luck, however, I may not be gone so very long. I shall
have news of some sort or other before I get back.
I had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On opening the Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the business. 'With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy,' it remarked, 'we have reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex and mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has shown that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been in any way concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, were both released yesterday evening. It is believed, however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that it is being prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at any moment.'
That is satisfactory so far as it goes,
thought
I. Friend Sholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder
what the fresh clue may be; though it seems to be a
stereotyped form whenever the police have made a
blunder.
I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:
'Lost.--Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son, Jim, left Smith's Wharf at or about three o'clock last Tuesday morning in the steam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to any one who can give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith's Wharf, or at 221b Baker Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the launch Aurora.'
This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker Street address was enough to prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious, because it might be read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of a wife for her missing husband.
It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door, or a sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my companion's reasoning. Might he be suffering from some huge self-deception? Was it not possible that his nimble and speculative mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises? I had never known him to be wrong; and yet the keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his logic,--his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves, but all tending in the same direction, I could not disguise from myself that even if Holmes's explanation were incorrect the true theory must be equally outre and startling.
At three o'clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.
Good-day, sir; good-day,
said he."Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I
understand.
Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But
perhaps you would care to wait. Take that chair and try one
of these cigars.
Thank you; I don't mind if I do,
said he, mopping
his face with a red bandanna handkerchief.
And a whiskey-and-soda?
Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of
year; and I have had a good deal to worry and try me. You
know my theory about this Norwood case?
I remember that you expressed one.
Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my
net drawn tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went
through a hole in the middle of it. He was able to prove an
alibi which could not be shaken. From the time that he left
his brother's room he was never out of sight of some one or
other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and
through trap-doors. It's a very dark case, and my
professional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a
little assistance.
We all need help sometimes,
said I.
Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man,
sir,
said he, in a husky and confidential voice. He's a man who is not to be beat. I have
known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never
saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is
irregular in his methods, and a little quick perhaps in
jumping at theories, but, on the whole, I think he would
have made a most promising officer, and I don't care who
knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by which
I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto
business. Here is the message.
He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. It was dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock. 'Go to Baker Street at once,' it said. 'If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish.'
This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the
scent again,
said I.
Ah, then he has been at fault too,
exclaimed
Jones, with evident satisfaction. Even the best
of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course this may prove to
be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an officer of the law
to allow no chance to slip. But there is some one at the
door. Perhaps this is he.
A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at last he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man, clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had a colored scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and long gray side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.
What is it, my man?
I asked.
He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.
Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?
said he.
No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any
message you have for him.
It was to him himself I was to tell it,
said
he.
But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about
Mordecai Smith's boat?
Yes. I knows well where it is. An' I knows where
the men he is after are. An' I knows where the treasure is.
I knows all about it.
Then tell me, and I shall let him know.
It was to him I was to tell it,
he repeated,
with the petulant obstinacy of a very old man.
Well, you must wait for him.
No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please
no one. If Mr. Holmes ain't here, then Mr. Holmes must find
it all out for himself. I don't care about the look of
either of you, and I won't tell a word.
He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.
Wait a bit, my friend,
said he. You have important information, and you must not walk off.
We shall keep you, whether you like or not, until our friend
returns.
The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney Jones put his broad back up against it, he recognized the uselessness of resistance.
Pretty sort o' treatment this!
he cried,
stamping his stick. I come here to see a
gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my life, seize me
and treat me in this fashion!
You will be none the worse,
I said. We shall recompense you for the loss of
your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not have
long to wait.
He came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with his face resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk. Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in upon us.
I think that you might offer me a cigar too,
he
said.
We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us with an air of quiet amusement.
Holmes!
I exclaimed. You
here! But where is the old man?
Here is the old man,
said he, holding out a
heap of white hair. Here he is,--wig,
whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise was
pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that
test.
Ah, You rogue!
cried Jones, highly delighted. You would have made an actor, and a rare
one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and those weak legs
of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew the
glint of your eye, though. You didn't get away from us so
easily, You see.
I have been working in that get-up all day,
said he, lighting his cigar. You see, a good
many of the criminal classes begin to know me,--especially
since our friend here took to publishing some of my cases:
so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise
like this. You got my wire?
Yes; that was what brought me here.
How has your case prospered?
It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two
of my prisoners, and there is no evidence against the other
two.
Never mind. We shall give you two others in the
place of them. But you must put yourself under my orders.
You are welcome to all the official credit, but you must act
on the line that I point out. Is that agreed?
Entirely, if you will help me to the men.
Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast
police-boat--a steam launch--to be at the Westminster Stairs
at seven o'clock.
That is easily managed. There is always one about
there; but I can step across the road and telephone to make
sure.
Then I shall want two stanch men, in case of
resistance.
"There will be two or three in the boat. What else?"
When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I
think that it would be a pleasure to my friend here to take
the box round to the young lady to whom half of it
rightfully belongs. Let her be the first to open it.--Eh,
Watson?
It would be a great pleasure to me.
Rather an irregular proceeding,
said Jones,
shaking his head. However, the whole thing is
irregular, and I suppose we must wink at it. The treasure
must afterwards be handed over to the authorities until
after the official investigation.
Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point.
I should much like to have a few details about this matter
from the lips of Jonathan Small himself. You know I like to
work the detail of my cases out. There is no objection to my
having an unofficial interview with him, either here in my
rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently
guarded?
Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no
proof yet of the existence of this Jonathan Small. However,
if you can catch him I don't see how I can refuse you an
interview with him.
That is understood, then?
Perfectly. Is there anything else?
Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It
will be ready in half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of
grouse, with something a little choice in white
wines.--Watson, you have never yet recognized my merits as a
housekeeper.
X. The End of the Islander
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Our meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects,--on miracle-plays, on medieval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the war-ships of the future,--handling each as though he had made a special study of it. His bright humor marked the reaction from his black depression of the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his hours of relaxation, and faced his dinner with the air of a bon vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the thought that we were nearing the end of our task, and I caught something of Holmes's gaiety. None of us alluded during dinner to the cause which had brought us together.
When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at his watch, and filled up
three glasses with port. One bumper,
said
he, to the success of our little expedition.
And now it is high time we were off. Have you a pistol,
Watson?
I have my old service-revolver in my desk.
You had best take it, then. It is well to be
prepared. I see that the cab is at the door. I ordered it
for half-past six.
It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf, and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.
Is there anything to mark it as a
police-boat?
Yes,--that green lamp at the side.
Then take it off.
The small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were cast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at the rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors forward.
Where to?
asked Jones.
To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite Jacobson's
Yard.
Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines of loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled with satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us.
We ought to be able to catch anything on the
river,
he said.
Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to
beat us.
We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a
name for being a clipper. I will tell you how the land lies,
Watson. You recollect how annoyed I was at being balked by
so small a thing?
Yes.
Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging
into a chemical analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has
said that a change of work is the best rest. So it is. When
I had succeeded in dissolving the hydrocarbon which I was at
work at, I came back to our problem of the Sholtos, and
thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up the
river and down the river without result. The launch was not
at any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet it
could hardly have been scuttled to hide their
traces,--though that always remained as a possible
hypothesis if all else failed. I knew this man Small had a
certain degree of low cunning, but I did not think him
capable of anything in the nature of delicate finesse. That
is usually a product of higher education. I then reflected
that since he had certainly been in London some time--as we
had evidence that he maintained a continual watch over
Pondicherry Lodge--he could hardly leave at a moment's
notice, but would need some little time, if it were only a
day, to arrange his affairs. That was the balance of
probability, at any rate.
It seems to me to be a little weak,
said I. It is more probable that he had arranged
his affairs before ever he set out upon his
expedition.
No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be
too valuable a retreat in case of need for him to give it up
until he was sure that he could do without it. But a second
consideration struck me. Jonathan Small must have felt that
the peculiar appearance of his companion, however much he
may have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and
possibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He was
quite sharp enough to see that. They had started from their
head-quarters under cover of darkness, and he would wish to
get back before it was broad light. Now, it was past three
o'clock, according to Mrs. Smith, when they got the boat. It
would be quite bright, and people would be about in an hour
or so. Therefore, I argued, they did not go very far. They
paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his launch for
the final escape, and hurried to their lodgings with the
treasure-box. In a couple of nights, when they had time to
see what view the papers took, and whether there was any
suspicion, they would make their way under cover of darkness
to some ship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubt
they had already arranged for passages to America or the
Colonies.
But the launch? They could not have taken that to
their lodgings.
Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great
way off, in spite of its invisibility. I then put myself in
the place of Small, and looked at it as a man of his
capacity would. He would probably consider that to send back
the launch or to keep it at a wharf would make pursuit easy
if the police did happen to get on his track. How, then,
could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when
wanted? I wondered what I should do myself if I were in his
shoes. I could only think of one way of doing it. I might
land the launch over to some boat-builder or repairer, with
directions to make a trifling change in her. She would then
be removed to his shed or yard, and so be effectually
concealed, while at the same time I could have her at a few
hours' notice.
That seems simple enough.
It is just these very simple things which are
extremely liable to be overlooked. However, I determined to
act on the idea. I started at once in this harmless seaman's
rig and inquired at all the yards down the river. I drew
blank at fifteen, but at the sixteenth--Jacobson's--I
learned that the Aurora had been handed over to them two
days ago by a wooden-legged man, with some trivial
directions as to her rudder. 'There ain't
naught amiss with her rudder,' said the foreman.
There she lies, with the red streaks.' At that
moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the missing
owner? He was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, of
course, have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the
name of his launch. 'I want her to-night
at eight o'clock,' said he,--'eight o'clock sharp,
mind, for I have two gentlemen who won't be kept
waiting.' They had evidently paid him well,
for he was very flush of money, chucking shillings about to
the men. I followed him some distance, but he subsided into
an ale-house: so I went back to the yard, and, happening to
pick up one of my boys on the way, I stationed him as a
sentry over the launch. He is to stand at water's edge and
wave his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall be
lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if
we do not take men, treasure, and all.
You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are
the right men or not,
said Jones; but
if the affair were in my hands I should have had a body of
police in Jacobson's Yard, and arrested them when they came
down.
Which would have been never. This man Small is a
pretty shrewd fellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and if
anything made him suspicious lie snug for another
week.
But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so
been led to their hiding-place,
said I.
In that case I should have wasted my day. I think
that it is a hundred to one against Smith knowing where they
live. As long as he has liquor and good pay, why should he
ask questions? They send him messages what to do. No, I
thought over every possible course, and this is the
best.
While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting the long series of bridges which span the Thames. As we passed the City the last rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of St. Paul's. It was twilight before we reached the Tower.
That is Jacobson's Yard,
said Holmes, pointing
to a bristle of masts and rigging on the Surrey side. Cruise gently up and down here under
cover of this string of lighters.
He took a pair of
night-glasses from his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. I see my sentry at his post,
he
remarked, but no sign of a
handkerchief.
Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait
for them,
said Jones, eagerly. We were all eager by this
time, even the policemen and stokers, who had a very vague idea of
what was going forward.
We have no right to take anything for granted,
Holmes answered. It is certainly ten to one
that they go down-stream, but we cannot be certain. From
this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and they can
hardly see us. It will be a clear night and plenty of light.
We must stay where we are. See how the folk swarm over
yonder in the gaslight.
They are coming from work in the yard.
Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has
some little immortal spark concealed about him. You would
not think it, to look at them. There is no a priori
probability about it. A strange enigma is man!
Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal,
I suggested.
Winwood Reade is good upon the subject,
said
Holmes. He remarks that, while the individual
man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a
mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never foretell
what any one man will do, but you can say with precision
what an average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but
percentages remain constant. So says the statistician. But
do I see a handkerchief? Surely there is a white flutter
over yonder.
Yes, it is your boy,
I cried. I can see him plainly.
And there is the Aurora,
exclaimed Holmes, and going like the devil! Full speed
ahead, engineer. Make after that launch with the yellow
light. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she proves
to have the heels of us!
She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed behind two or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up before we saw her. Now she was flying down the stream, near in to the shore, going at a tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook his head.
She is very fast,
he said. I
doubt if we shall catch her.
We MUST catch her!
cried Holmes, between his
teeth. Heap it on, stokers! Make her do all she
can! If we burn the boat we must have them!
We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and the powerful engines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart. Her sharp, steep prow cut through the river-water and sent two rolling waves to right and to left of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang and quivered like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our bows threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right ahead a dark blur upon the water showed where the Aurora lay, and the swirl of white foam behind her spoke of the pace at which she was going. We flashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind this one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the darkness, but still the Aurora thundered on, and still we followed close upon her track.
Pile it on, men, pile it on!
cried Holmes,
looking down into the engine-room, while the fierce glow from below
beat upon his eager, aquiline face. Get every
pound of steam you can.
I think we gain a little,
said Jones, with his
eyes on the Aurora.
I am sure of it,
said I. We
shall be up with her in a very few minutes.
At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with three barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only by putting our helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could round them and recover our way the Aurora had gained a good two hundred yards. She was still, however, well in view, and the murky uncertain twilight was setting into a clear starlit night. Our boilers were strained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated and creaked with the fierce energy which was driving us along. We had shot through the Pool, past the West India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up again after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The dull blur in front of us resolved itself now clearly enough into the dainty Aurora. Jones turned our search-light upon her, so that we could plainly see the figures upon her deck. One man sat by the stern, with something black between his knees over which he stooped. Beside him lay a dark mass which looked like a Newfoundland dog. The boy held the tiller, while against the red glare of the furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to the waist, and shovelling coals for dear life. They may have had some doubt at first as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as we followed every winding and turning which they took there could no longer be any question about it. At Greenwich we were about three hundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not have been more than two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many creatures in many countries during my checkered career, but never did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily we drew in upon them, yard by yard. In the silence of the night we could hear the panting and clanking of their machinery. The man in the stern still crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though he were busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure with a glance the distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not more than four boat's lengths behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It was a clear reach of the river, with Barking Level upon one side and the melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in the stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists at us, cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized, powerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride I could see that from the thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump upon the right side. At the sound of his strident, angry cries there was movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened itself into a little black man--the smallest I have ever seen--with a great, misshapen head and a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair. Holmes had already drawn his revolver, and I whipped out mine at the sight of this savage, distorted creature. He was wrapped in some sort of dark ulster or blanket, which left only his face exposed; but that face was enough to give a man a sleepless night.Never have I seen features so deeply marked with all bestiality and cruelty. His small eyes glowed and burned with a sombre light, and his thick lips were writhed back from his teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with a half animal fury.
Fire if he raises his hand,
said Holmes,
quietly. We were within a boat's-length by this time, and almost
within touch of our quarry. I can see the two of them now as they
stood, the white man with his legs far apart, shrieking out curses,
and the
unhallowed dwarf with his hideous face, and his strong yellow teeth
gnashing at
us in the light of our lantern.
It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as
we looked he plucked out from under his covering a short,
round piece of wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it to
his lips. Our pistols rang out together. He whirled round,
threw up his arms, and with a kind of choking cough fell
sideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of his venomous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl
of the waters. At the same moment the
wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder and put it
hard down, so that his boat made straight in for the
southern bank, while we shot past her stern, only clearing
her by a few feet. We were round after her in an instant,
but she was already nearly at the bank. It was a wild and
desolate place, where the moon glimmered upon a wide expanse
of marsh-land, with pools of stagnant water and beds of
decaying vegetation. The launch with a dull thud ran up upon
the mud-bank, with her bow in the air and her stern flush
with the water. The fugitive sprang out, but his stump
instantly sank its whole length into the sodden soil. In
vain he struggled and writhed. Not one step could he
possibly take either forwards or backwards. He yelled in
impotent rage, and kicked frantically into the mud with his
other foot, but his struggles only bored his wooden pin the
deeper into the sticky bank. When we brought our launch
alongside he was so firmly anchored that it was only by
throwing the end of a rope over his shoulders that we were
able to haul him out, and to drag him, like some evil fish,
over our side. The two Smiths, father and son, sat sullenly
in their launch, but came aboard meekly enough when
commanded. The Aurora herself we hauled off and made fast to
our stern. A solid iron
chest of Indian
workmanship stood upon the deck. This, there could
be no question, was the same that had contained the
ill-omened treasure of the Sholtos. There was
no key, but it was of considerable weight, so we transferred
it carefully to our own little cabin. As we steamed slowly
up-stream again, we flashed our search-light in every
direction, but there was
no sign of the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at the
bottom of the Thames lie the bones of that strange visitor to our
shores. See here,
said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. We were hardly quick enough with
our pistols.
There, sure enough, just behind
where we had been standing, stuck one of those murderous
darts which we knew so well. It must have whizzed between us
at the instant that we fired. Holmes smiled at it and
shrugged his shoulders in his easy fashion, but I confess
that it turned me sick to think of the horrible death which
had passed so close to us that night.
XI. The Great Agra Treasure
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Our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which he had done so much and waited so long to gain. He was a sunburned, reckless-eyed fellow, with a net-work of lines and wrinkles all over his mahogany features, which told of a hard, open-air life. There was a singular prominence about his bearded chin which marked a man who was not to be easily turned from his purpose. His age may have been fifty or thereabouts, for his black, curly hair was thickly shot with gray. His face in repose was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy brows and aggressive chin gave him, as I had lately seen, a terrible expression when moved to anger. He sat now with his handcuffed hands upon his lap, and his head sunk upon his breast, while he looked with his keen, twinkling eyes at the box which had been the cause of his ill-doings. It seemed to me that there was more sorrow than anger in his rigid and contained countenance. Once he looked up at me with a gleam of something like humor in his eyes.
Well, Jonathan Small,
said Holmes, lighting a
cigar, I am sorry that it has come to
this.
And so am I, sir,
he answered, frankly. I don't believe that I can swing over the
job. I give you my word on the book that I never raised hand
against Mr. Sholto. It was
that little hell-hound
Tonga who shot one of his cursed
darts into him. I had no part in it,
sir. I was as grieved as if it had been my blood-relation. I
welted the little
devil with the
slack end of the rope for it, but it was done, and I could
not undo it again.
Have a cigar,
said Holmes; and you had best take a pull out of my
flask, for you are very wet. How could you expect so small
and weak a man as this black fellow to overpower Mr. Sholto
and hold him while you were climbing the rope?
You seem to know as much about it as if you were
there, sir. The truth is that I hoped to find the room
clear. I knew the habits of the house pretty well, and it
was the time when Mr. Sholto usually went down to his
supper. I shall make no secret of the business. The best
defence that I can make is just the simple truth. Now, if it
had been the old major I would have swung for him with a
light heart. I would have thought no more of knifing him
than of smoking this cigar. But it's cursed hard that I
should be lagged over this young Sholto, with whom I had no
quarrel whatever.
You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of
Scotland Yard. He is going to bring you up to my rooms, and
I shall ask you for a true account of the matter. You must
make a clean breast of it, for if you do I hope that I may
be of use to you. I think I can prove that the poisonacts so quickly that
the man was dead before ever you reached the room.
That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my life
as when I saw him grinning at me with his head on his
shoulder as I climbed through the window. It fairly shook
me, sir. I'd have half killed Tonga for it if he had not
scrambled off. That was how
came to leave his club, and some of his darts too, as he tells
me, which I dare say helped to put you on our
track; though how you kept on it is more than I can tell. I
don't feel no malice against you for it. But it does seem a
queer thing,
he added, with a bitter smile, that who have a fair claim to nigh upon half
a million of money should spend the first half of my life
building a breakwater in the Andamans, and like to spend the
other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It was an evil day for me when first I clapped eyes
upon the merchant Achmet and had to do with the Agra treasure, which
never brought anything but a curse yet upon the man
who owned it. To him it brought murder, to
Major Sholto it brought fear and guilt, to me it has meant
slavery for life.
At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad face and heavy shoulders
into the tiny cabin. Quite a family party,
he
remarked. I think I shall have a pull at that
flask, Holmes. Well, I think we may all congratulate each
other. Pity we didn't take the other alive; but there was no
choice. I say, Holmes, you must confess that you cut it
rather fine. It was all we could do to overhaul her.
All is well that ends well,
said Holmes. But I certainly did not know that the
Aurora was such a clipper.
Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the
river, and that if he had had another man to help him with
the engines we should never have caught her. He swears he
knew nothing of this Norwood business.
Neither he did,
cried our prisoner,--not a word. I chose his launch because I
heard that she was a flier. We told him nothing, but we paid
him well, and he was to get something handsome if we reached
our vessel, the Esmeralda, at Gravesend, outward bound for
the Brazils.
Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no
wrong comes to him. If we are pretty quick in catching our
men, we are not so quick in condemning them.
It was
amusing to notice how the consequential Jones was already beginning
to give himself airs on the strength of the capture. From the slight
smile which played over Sherlock Holmes's face, I could see that the
speech had not been lost upon him.
We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently,
said
Jones, and shall land you, Dr. Watson, with the
treasure-box. I need hardly tell you that I am taking a very
grave responsibility upon myself in doing this. It is most
irregular; but of course an agreement is an agreement. I
must, however, as a matter of duty, send an inspector with
you, since you have so valuable a charge. You will drive, no
doubt?
Yes, I shall drive.
It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an
inventory first. You will have to break it open. Where is
the key, my man?
At the bottom of the river,
said Small,
shortly.
Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary
trouble. We have had work enough already through you.
However, doctor, I need not warn you to be careful. Bring
the box back with you to the Baker Street rooms. You will
find us there, on our way to the station.
They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with a bluff, genial inspector as my companion. A quarter of an hour's drive brought us to Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servant seemed surprised at so late a visitor. Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out for the evening, she explained, and likely to be very late. Miss Morstan, however, was in the drawing-room: so to the drawing-room I went, box in hand, leaving the obliging inspector in the cab.
She was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort of white diaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck and waist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as she leaned back in the basket chair, playing over her sweet, grave face, and tinting with a dull, metallic sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant hair. One white arm and hand drooped over the side of the chair, and her whole pose and figure spoke of an absorbing melancholy. At the sound of my foot-fall she sprang to her feet, however, and a bright flush of surprise and of pleasure colored her pale cheeks.
I heard a cab drive up,
she said. I thought that Mrs. Forrester had come back very early, but
I never dreamed that it might be you. What news have you
brought me?
I have brought something better than news,
said
I, putting down the box upon the table and speaking jovially and
boisterously, though my heart was heavy within me. I have brought you something which is worth
all the news in the world. I have brought you a
fortune.
She glanced at the iron box. Is that the treasure,
then?
she asked, coolly enough.
Yes, this is the
great Agra treasure.
Half of it is yours and half is Thaddeus Sholto's.
You will have a couple of hundred thousand each.
Think of that! An annuity of ten thousand pounds.
There will be few richer young ladies in
England. Is it not glorious?
I think that I must have been rather overacting my delight, and that she detected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for I saw her eyebrows rise a little, and she glanced at me curiously.
If I have it,
said she, I owe it
to you.
No, no,
I answered, not to
me, but to my friend Sherlock Holmes. With all the will in
the world, I could never have followed up a clue which has
taxed even his analytical genius. As it was, we very nearly
lost it at the last moment.
Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr. Watson,
said she.
I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her last,--Holmes's new method of search, the discovery of the Aurora, the appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition in the evening, and the wild chase down the Thames. She listened with parted lips and shining eyes to my recital of our adventures. When I spoke of the dart which had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that I feared that she was about to faint.
It is nothing,
she said, as I hastened to pour her
out some water. I am all right again.It was a
shock to me to hear that I had placed my friends in such
horrible peril.
That is all over,
I answered. It was nothing. I will tell you no more gloomy details. Let
us turn to something brighter. There is the treasure. What could be brighter than that? I got
leave to bring it with me, thinking that it would interest
you to be the first to see it.
It would be of the greatest interest to me,
she
said. There was no eagerness in her voice, however. It had struck
her, doubtless, that it might seem ungracious upon her part to be
indifferent to a prize which had cost so much to win.
What a pretty
box!
she said, stooping over it.
This is Indian work, I
suppose?
Yes; it is Benares metal-work.
And so heavy!
she exclaimed, trying to raise it. The box alone must be of some value. Where
is the key?
Small threw it into the Thames,
I answered. I must borrow Mrs. Forrester's poker.
There was in the front a thick and broad hasp, wrought in the image
of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the end of the poker and
twisted it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open with a loud
snap. With trembling fingers I flung back the lid. We both stood
gazing in astonishment. The box was empty!
No wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work was two-thirds of an inch thick all round. It was massive, well made, and solid, like a chest constructed to carry things of great price, but not one shred or crumb of metal or jewelry within it. It was absolutely and completely empty.
The treasure is lost,
said Miss Morstan,
calmly.
As I listened to the words and realized what they meant, a great shadow
seemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agra treasure
had weighed me down, until now that it was finally removed. It was
selfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realize nothing save
that the golden barrier was gone from between us. Thank God!
I ejaculated from my very heart.
She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. Why
do you say that?
she asked.
Because you are within my reach again,
I said,
taking her hand. She did not withdraw it. Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a man loved a
woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my lips.
Now that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That
is why I said, 'Thank God.'
Then I say, 'Thank God,' too,
she whispered, as I drew her to my side. Whoever had lost a
treasure, I knew that night that I had gained one.
XII. The Strange Story of Jonathan Small
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A very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was a weary time before I rejoined him. His face clouded over when I showed him the empty box.
There goes the reward!
said he, gloomily. Where there is no money there is no pay.
This night's work would have been worth a tenner each to Sam
Brown and me if the treasure had been there.
Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man,
I said. He will see that you are rewarded, treasure
or no.
The inspector shook his head despondently, however. It's a bad job,
he repeated; and so Mr. Athelney Jones will
think.
His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked blank enough when I got to Baker Street and showed him the empty box. They had only just arrived, Holmes, the prisoner, and he, for they had changed their plans so far as to report themselves at a station upon the way. My companion lounged in his arm-chair with his usual listless expression, while Small sat stolidly opposite to him with his wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As I exhibited the empty box he leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud.
This is your doing, Small,
said Athelney Jones,
angrily.
Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand
upon it,
he cried, exultantly. It is
my treasure; and if I can't have the loot I'll take darned
good care that no one else does. I tell you that no living man has any
right to it, unless it is three men who are in the
Andaman
convict-barracks and
myself. I know now that I cannot have the use
of it, and I know that they cannot. I have acted all through
for them as much as for myself. It's been the sign of four with us
always. Well I know that they would have had me do
just what I have done, and throw the treasure into
the Thames rather than let it go to kith or kin of
Sholto or of Morstan. It was not to make them rich
that we did for Achmet. You'll find the treasure
where the key is, and where little Tonga is.
When I saw that your launch must catch us, I put the loot
away in a safe place. There are no rupees for you this
journey.
You are deceiving us, Small,
said Athelney Jones,
sternly. If you had wished to throw the treasure
into the Thames it would have been easier for you to have
thrown box and all.
Easier for me to throw, and easier for you to
recover,
he answered, with a shrewd, sidelong look. The man that was clever enough to hunt me
down is clever enough to pick an iron box from the bottom of
a river. Now that they are scattered over five miles or so,
it may be a harder job. It went to my heart to do it,
though. I was half mad when you came up with us. However,
there's no good grieving over it. I've had ups in my life,
and I've had downs, but I've learned not to cry over spilled
milk.
This is a very serious matter, Small,
said the
detective. If you had helped justice, instead of
thwarting it in this way, you would have had a better chance
at your trial.
Justice!
snarled the ex-convict.
A pretty justice! Whose loot is this, if
it is not ours? Where is the justice that I should
give it up to those who have never earned it? Look
how I have earned it! Twenty long years in that
fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under the
mangrove-tree, all night chained up in the filthy
convict-huts, bitten by mosquitoes, racked with
ague, bullied by
every cursed
black-faced policeman who loved to take it out of
a white man. That was how I earned the Agra
treasure; and you talk to me of justice because I
cannot bear to feel that I have paid this price only
that another may enjoy it! I would rather swing a
score of times, or
have one of Tonga's darts in my hide, than live in a
convict's cell and feel that another man is at his
ease in a palace with the money that should be
mine.
Small had dropped his mask of stoicism,
and all this came out in a wild whirl of words, while his
eyes blazed, and the handcuffs clanked together with the
impassioned movement of his hands. I could understand, as I
saw the fury and the passion of the man, that it was no
groundless or unnatural terror which had possessed Major
Sholto when he first learned that the injured convict was
upon his track.
You forget that we know nothing of all this,
said Holmes quietly. We have not heard your
story, and we cannot tell how far justice may originally
have been on your side.
Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me,
though I can see that I have you to thank that I have these
bracelets upon my wrists. Still, I bear no grudge for that.
It is all fair and above-board. If you want to hear my story
I have no wish to hold it back. What I say to you is God's
truth, every word of it. Thank you; you can put the glass
beside me here, and I'll put my lips to it if I am
dry.
I am a Worcestershire man myself,--born near Pershore.
I dare say you would find a heap of Smalls living there now
if you were to look. I have often thought of taking a look
round there, but the truth is that I was never much of a
credit to the family, and I doubt if they would be so very
glad to see me. They were all steady, chapel-going folk,
small farmers, well known and respected over the
country-side, while I was always a bit of a rover. At last,
however, when I was about eighteen, I gave them no more
trouble, for I got into a mess over a girl, and could only
get out of it again by taking the queen's shilling and
joining the 3d Buffs, which was just starting for
India.
"I wasn't destined to do much soldiering, however. I
had just got past the goose-step, and learned to handle my
musket, when I was fool enough to go swimming in the Ganges.
Luckily for me, my company sergeant, John Holder, was in the
water at the same time, and he was one of the finest
swimmers in the service. A crocodile took me, just as I was
half-way across, and nipped off my right leg as clean as a
surgeon could have done it, just above the knee. What with
the shock and the loss of blood, I fainted, and should have
drowned if Holder had not caught hold of me and paddled for
the bank. I was five months in hospital over it, and when at
last I was able to limp out of it with this timber toe
strapped to my stump I found myself invalided out of the
army and unfitted for any active occupation.
I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at
this time, for I was a useless cripple though not yet in my
twentieth year. However, my misfortune soon proved to be a
blessing in disguise. A man named Abelwhite, who had come
out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an overseer to look
after his coolies and keep them up to their work. He
happened to be a friend of our colonel's, who had taken an
interest in me since the accident. To make a long story
short, the colonel recommended me strongly for the post and,
as the work was mostly to be done on horseback, my leg was
no great obstacle, for I had enough knee left to keep good
grip on the saddle. What I had to do was to ride over the
plantation, to keep an eye on the men as they worked, and to
report the idlers. The pay was fair, I had comfortable
quarters, and altogether I was content to spend the
remainder of my life in indigo-planting. Mr. Abelwhite was a
kind man, and he would often drop into my little shanty and
smoke a pipe with me, for white folk out there feel their
hearts warm to each other as they never do here at
home.
Well, I was never in luck's way long. Suddenly, without a note
of warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One month India
lay as still and peaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey or
Kent; the next there were
two hundred thousand black devils let loose, and the country
was a perfect hell. Of course you know all
about it, gentlemen,--a deal more than I do, very like,
since reading is not in my line. I only know what I saw with
my own eyes. Our plantation was at a place called Muttra,
near the border of the Northwest Provinces. Night after
night the whole sky was alight with the burning bungalows,
and day after day we had small companies of Europeans
passing through our estate with their wives and children, on
their way to Agra, where were the nearest troops. Mr.
Abelwhite was an obstinate man. He had it in his head that
the affair had been exaggerated, and that it would blow over
as suddenly as it had sprung up. There he sat on his
veranda, drinking whiskey-pegs and smoking cheroots, while
the country was in a blaze about him. Of course we stuck by
him, I and Dawson, who, with his wife, used to do the
book-work and the managing. Well, one fine day the crash
came. I had been away on a distant plantation, and was
riding slowly home in the evening, when my eye fell upon
something all huddled together at the bottom of a steep
nullah. I rode down to see what it was, and the cold struck
through my heart when I found it was Dawson's wife, all cut
into ribbons, and half eaten by jackals and native dogs. A
little further up the road Dawson himself was lying on his
face, quite dead, with an empty revolver in his hand and
four Sepoys lying across each other in front of him. I
reined up my horse, wondering which way I should turn, but
at that moment I saw thick smoke curling up from Abelwhite's
bungalow and the flames beginning to burst through the roof.
I knew then that I could do my employer no good, but would
only throw my own life away if I meddled in the matter.
From where I stood
I could see hundreds of the black fiends, with their red coats still
on their backs, dancing and howling round the
burning house. Some of them pointed at me,
and a couple of bullets sang past my head; so I broke away
across the paddy-fields, and found myself late at night safe
within the walls at Agra.
As it proved, however, there was no great safety
there, either. The whole country was up like a swarm of
bees. Wherever the English could collect in little bands
they held just the ground that their guns commanded.
Everywhere else they were helpless fugitives. It was a fight
of the millions against the hundreds; and the cruellest part
of it was that these men that we fought against, foot,
horse, and gunners, were our own picked troops, whom we had
taught and trained, handling our own weapons, and blowing
our own bugle-calls. At Agra there were the 3d Bengal
Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery of
artillery. A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants had
been formed, and this I joined, wooden leg and all. We went
out to meet the rebels at Shahgunge early in July, and we
beat them back for a time, but our powder gave out, and we
had to fall back upon the city. Nothing but the worst news
came to us from every side,--which is not to be wondered at,
for if you look at the map you will see that we were right
in the heart of it. Lucknow is rather better than a hundred
miles to the east, and Cawnpore about as far to the south.
From every point on the compass there was nothing but
torture and murder and outrage.
The city of Agra is
a great place, swarming with fanatics and fierce
devil-worshippers of
all sorts. Our handful of men were lost among
the narrow, winding streets. Our leader moved across the
river, therefore, and took up his position in the old fort
at Agra. I don't know if any of you gentlemen have ever read
or heard anything of that old fort. It is a very queer
place,--the queerest that ever I was in, and I have been in
some rum corners, too. First of all, it is enormous in size.
I should think that the enclosure must be acres and acres.
There is a modern part, which took all our garrison, women,
children, stores, and everything else, with plenty of room
over. But the modern part is nothing like the size of the
old quarter, where nobody goes, and which is given over to
the scorpions and the centipedes. It is all full of great
deserted halls, and winding passages, and long corridors
twisting in and out, so that it is easy enough for folk to
get lost in it. For this reason it was seldom that any one
went into it, though now and again a party with torches
might go exploring.
The river washes along the front of the old fort, and
so protects it, but on the sides and behind there are many
doors, and these had to be guarded, of course, in the old
quarter as well as in that which was actually held by our
troops. We were short-handed, with hardly men enough to man
the angles of the building and to serve the guns. It was
impossible for us, therefore, to station a strong guard at
every one of the innumerable gates. What we did was to
organize a central guard-house in the middle of the fort,
and to leave each gate under the charge of one white man and
two or three natives. I was selected to take charge during
certain hours of the night of a small isolated door upon the
southwest side of the building. Two Sikh troopers were
placed under my command, and I was instructed if anything went wrong to fire my
musket, when I might rely upon help coming at
once from the central guard. As the guard was a good two
hundred paces away, however, and as the space between was
cut up into a labyrinth of passages and corridors, I had
great doubts as to whether they could arrive in time to be
of any use in case of an actual attack.
Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command
given me, since I was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one
at that. For two nights I
kept the watch with my Punjaubees. They were tall,
fierce-looking chaps, Mahomet Singh and
Abdullah Khan by name, both old fighting-men
who had borne arms against us at Chilian-wallah. They could talk English
pretty well, but I could get little out of them.
They preferred to stand together and jabber all
night in their queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used
to stand outside the gate-way, looking down on the broad,
winding river and on the twinkling lights of the great city.
The beating of
drums, the rattle of tomtoms, and the yells and howls of the rebels, drunk with opium and
with bang, were enough to remind us all night of our
dangerous neighbors across the stream. Every
two hours the officer of the night used to come round to all
the posts, to make sure that all was well.
The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a
small, driving rain. It was dreary work standing in the
gate-way hour after hour in such weather. I tried again and
again to make my Sikhs talk, but without much success. At
two in the morning the rounds passed, and broke for a moment
the weariness of the night. Finding that my companions would
not be led into conversation, I took out my pipe, and laid
down my musket to strike the match. In an instant the two Sikhs were upon
me. One of them snatched my firelock up and levelled it at
my head, while the other held a great knife to my
throat and swore between his teeth that he would
plunge it into me if I moved a step.
My first thought was
that these fellows were in league with the rebels, and that this
was the beginning of an assault. If our door were in the
hands of the Sepoys the place must fall, and the women and
children be treated as they were in Cawnpore. Maybe you
gentlemen think that I am just making out a case for myself,
but I give you my word that when I thought of that, though I
felt the point of the knife at my throat, I opened my mouth
with the intention of giving a scream, if it was my last
one, which might alarm the main guard. The man who held me
seemed to know my thoughts; for, even as I braced myself to
it, he whispered, 'Don't make a
noise. The fort is safe enough. There are no rebel
dogs on this side of the river.' There was the
ring of truth in what he said, and I knew that if I raised
my voice I was a dead man. I could read it in the fellow's
brown eyes. I waited, therefore, in silence, to see what it
was that they wanted from me.
'Listen to me, Sahib,'
said the taller and fiercer of the
pair, the one whom they called Abdullah Khan.
'You must either be with us
now or you must be silenced forever. The thing is
too great a one for us to hesitate. Either you are
heart and soul with us on your oath on the cross of
the Christians, or your body this night shall be
thrown into the ditch and we shall pass over to our
brothers in the rebel army. There is no middle way.
Which is it to be, death or life? We can only give
you three minutes to decide, for the time is
passing, and all must be done before the rounds come
again.'
'How can I decide?'said I. 'You have not told me what you want of me.
But I tell you now that if it is anything against
the safety of the fort I will have no truck with it,
so you can drive home your knife and
welcome.'
'It is nothing against the
fort,' said he. 'We
only ask you to do that which your countrymen come
to this land for. We ask you to be rich. If you will
be one of us this night, we will swear to you upon
the naked knife, and by the threefold oath which no
Sikh was ever known to break, that you shall have
your fair share of the loot. A quarter of the
treasure shall be yours. We can say no
fairer.'
'But what is the treasure,
then?' I asked. 'I am as ready
to be rich as you can be, if you will but show me
how it can be done.'
'You will swear, then,'
said he, 'by the bones of your
father, by the honor of your mother, by the cross of
your faith, to raise no hand and speak no word
against us, either now or afterwards?'
'I will swear it,' I answered,
'provided that the fort is not
endangered.'
'Then my comrade and I will
swear that you shall have a quarter of the treasure
which shall be equally divided among the four of
us.'
'There are but three,' said
I.
'No; Dost Akbar must have his
share. We can tell the tale to you while we await
them. Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet Singh, and
give notice of their coming. The thing stands thus,
Sahib, and I tell it to you because I know that an
oath is binding upon a Feringhee, and that we may
trust you. Had you been a lying Hindoo, though you
had sworn by all the gods in their false temples,
your blood would have been upon the knife, and your
body in the water. But the Sikh knows the
Englishman, and the Englishman knows the Sikh.
Hearken, then, to what I have to say.'
'There is a rajah in the
northern provinces who has much wealth, though his
lands are small. Much has come to him from his
father, and more still he has set by himself, for he
is of a low nature and hoards his gold rather than
spend it. When the troubles broke out he would be
friends both with the lion and the tiger,--with the
Sepoy and with the Company's Raj.Soon, however, it
seemed to him that the white men's day was come, for
through all the land he could hear of nothing but of
their death and their overthrow. Yet, being a
careful man, he made such plans that, come what
might, half at least of his treasure should be left
to him. That which was in gold and silver he kept by
him in the vaults of his palace, but the most
precious stones and the choicest pearls that he had
he put in an iron box, and sent it by a trusty
servant who, under the guise of a merchant, should
take it to the fort at Agra, there to lie until the
land is at peace.Thus, if the rebels won he would
have his money, but if the Company conquered his
jewels would be saved to him. Having thus divided
his hoard, he threw himself into the cause of the
Sepoys, since they were strong upon his borders. By
doing this, mark you, Sahib, his property becomes
the due of those who have been true to their
salt.'
'This pretended merchant, who
travels under the name of Achmet, is now in the city
of Agra, and desires to gain his way into the fort.
He has with him as travelling-companion my
foster-brother Dost Akbar, who knows his secret.
Dost Akbar has promised this night to lead him to a
side-postern of the fort, and has chosen this one
for his purpose. Here he will come presently, and
here he will find Mahomet Singh and myself awaiting
him. The place is lonely, and none shall know of his
coming. The world shall know of the merchant Achmet
no more, but the great treasure of the rajah shall
be divided among us. What say you to it,
Sahib?'
In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and
a sacred thing; but it is very different when there is fire
and blood all round you and you have been used to meeting
death at every turn. Whether Achmet the merchant lived or
died was a thing as light as air to me, but at the talk
about the treasure my heart turned to it, and I thought of
what I might do in the old country with it, and how my folk
would stare when they saw their ne'er-do-well coming back
with his pockets full of gold moidores. I had, therefore,
already made up my mind. Abdullah Khan, however, thinking
that I hesitated, pressed the matter more closely.
'Consider, Sahib,' said
he, 'that if this man is taken by
the commandant he will be hung or shot, and his
jewels taken by the government, so that no man will
be a rupee the better for them. Now, since we do the
taking of him, why should we not do the rest as
well? The jewels will be as well with us as in the
Company's coffers. There will be enough to make
every one of us rich men and great chiefs. No one
can know about the matter, for here we are cut off
from all men. What could be better for the purpose?
Say again, then, Sahib, whether you are with us, or
if we must look upon you as an enemy.'
'I am with you heart and soul,
'said I.
'It is well,' he
answered, handing me back my firelock. 'You see that we trust you, for
your word, like ours, is not to be broken. We have
now only to wait for my brother and the
merchant.'
'Does your brother know, then, of what
you will do?' I asked.
'The plan is his. He has
devised it. We will go to the gate and share the
watch with Mahomet Singh.'
The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just
the beginning of the wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were
drifting across the sky, and it was hard to see more than a
stone-cast. A deep moat lay in front of our door, but the
water was in places nearly dried up, and it could easily be
crossed. It was strange to
me to be standing there with those two wild
Punjaubees waiting
for the man who was coming to his death.
Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern
at the other side of the moat. It vanished among the
mound-heaps, and then appeared again coming slowly in our
direction.
'Here they are!' I
exclaimed.
'You will challenge him,
Sahib, as usual,' whispered Abdullah. 'Give him no cause for fear. Send
us in with him, and we shall do the rest while you
stay here on guard. Have the lantern ready to
uncover, that we may be sure that it is indeed the
man.'
The light had flickered onwards, now stopping and now
advancing, until I could see two dark figures upon the other
side of the moat. I let them scramble down the sloping bank,
splash through the mire, and climb half-way up to the gate,
before I challenged them.
'Who goes there?' said I, in a
subdued voice.
'Friends,' came the answer. I
uncovered my lantern and threw a flood of light upon them.
The first was an
enormous
Sikh, with a black
beard which swept nearly down to his cummerbund.
Outside of a show I have never seen so tall a man.
The other was a little, fat, round fellow, with a great
yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand, done up in a shawl.
He seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his hands
twitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept turning to
left and right with two bright little twinkling eyes, like a
mouse when he ventures out from his hole. It gave me the chills
to think of killing him, but I thought of the treasure,
and my heart set as hard as a flint within me.
When he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup of
joy and came running up towards me.
'Your protection, Sahib,' he
panted,--'your protection for the
unhappy merchant Achmet. I have travelled across
Rajpootana that I might seek the shelter of the fort
at Agra.'
'I have been robbed and beaten and abused because I have been the
friend of the Company. It is a blessed
night this when I am once more in safety,--I and my
poor possessions.'
'What have you in the bundle?' I
asked.
'An iron box,' he answered,
'which contains one or two little
family matters which are of no value to others, but
which I should be sorry to lose. Yet I am not a
beggar; and I shall reward you, young Sahib, and
your governor also, if he will give me the shelter I
ask.'
I could not trust myself to speak longer with the
man. The more I
looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did
it seem that we should slay him in cold blood. It was best
to get it over.
'Take him to the main
guard,'said I. The two Sikhs closed in upon him on
each side, and the giant walked behind, while they marched
in through the dark gate-way. Never was a man so compassed
round with death. I remained at the gate-way with the
lantern.
I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps
sounding through the lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased,
and I heard voices, and a scuffle, with the sound of blows.
A moment later there came, to my horror, a rush of footsteps
coming in my direction, with the loud breathing of a running
man. I turned my lantern down the long, straight passage,
and there was the fat man, running like the wind, with a
smear of blood across his face, and close at his heels,
bounding like a tiger, the great black-bearded Sikh, with a
knife flashing in his hand. I have never seen a man run so
fast as that little merchant. He was gaining on the Sikh,
and I could see that if he once passed me and got to the
open air he would save himself yet. My heart softened to
him, but again the thought of his treasure turned me hard
and bitter. I cast my firelock between
his legs as he raced past, and he rolled twice over
like a shot rabbit. Ere he could stagger to his feet the
Sikh was upon him, and buried his knife twice in his side.
The man never uttered moan nor moved muscle, but lay were he
had fallen. I think myself that he may have broken his neck
with the fall. You see, gentlemen, that I am keeping my
promise. I am telling you every work of the business just
exactly as it happened, whether it is in my favor or
not.
He stopped, and held out his manacled hands for the whiskey-and-water which Holmes had brewed for him. For myself, I confess that I had now conceived the utmost horror of the man, not only for this cold-blooded business in which he had been concerned, but even more for the somewhat flippant and careless way in which he narrated it. Whatever punishment was in store for him, I felt that he might expect no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes and Jones sat with their hands upon their knees, deeply interested in the story, but with the same disgust written upon their faces. He may have observed it, for there was a touch of defiance in his voice and manner as he proceeded.
It was all very bad, no doubt,
said he. I should like to know how many fellows in my
shoes would have refused a share of this loot when they knew
that they would have their throats cut for their pains.
Besides, it was my life or his when once he was in the fort.
If he had got out, the whole business would come to light,
and I should have been court-martialled and shot as likely
as not; for people were not very lenient at a time like
that.
Go on with your story,
said Holmes,
shortly.
Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I. A
fine weight he was, too, for all that he was so short.
Mahomet Singh was left to guard the door. We took him to a
place which the Sikhs had already prepared. It was some
distance off, where a winding passage leads to a great empty
hall, the brick walls of which were all crumbling to pieces.
The earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural
grave, so we left Achmet the merchant there, having first
covered him over with loose bricks. This done, we all went
back to the treasure.
It lay where he had dropped it when he was first
attacked. The box was the same which now lies open upon your
table. A key was hung by a silken cord to that carved handle
upon the top. We opened it, and the light of the lantern
gleamed upon a collection of gems such as I have read of and
thought about when I was a little lad at Pershore. It was
blinding to look upon them. When we had feasted our eyes we
took them all out and made a list of them. There were one
hundred and forty-three diamonds of the first water,
including one which has been called, I believe, 'the Great
Mogul' and is said to be the second largest stone in
existence. Then there were ninety-seven very fine emeralds,
and one hundred and seventy rubies, some of which, however,
were small. There were forty carbuncles, two hundred and ten
sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great quantity of beryls,
onyxes, cats'-eyes, turquoises, and other stones, the very
names of which I did not know at the time, though I have
become more familiar with them since. Besides this, there
were nearly three hundred very fine pearls, twelve of which
were set in a gold coronet. By the way, these last had been
taken out of the chest and were not there when I recovered
it.
After we had counted our treasures we put them back
into the chest and carried them to the gate-way to show them
to Mahomet Singh. Then we solemnly renewed our oath to stand
by each other and be true to our secret. We agreed to
conceal our loot in a safe place until the country should be
at peace again, and then to divide it equally among
ourselves. There was no use dividing it at present, for if
gems of such value were found upon us it would cause
suspicion, and there was no privacy in the fort nor any
place where we could keep them. We carried the box,
therefore, into the same hall where we had buried the body,
and there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved wall,
we made a hollow and put our treasure. We made careful note
of the place, and next day I drew four plans, one for each
of us, and put the sign of the four of us at the bottom, for
we had sworn that we should each always act for all, so that
none might take advantage. That is an oath that I can put my
hand to my heart and swear that I have never broken.
Well, there's no use my telling you gentlemen what
came of the Indian mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and Sir
Colin relieved Lucknow the back of the business was broken.
Fresh troops came pouring in, and Nana Sahib made himself
scarce over the frontier. A flying column under Colonel
Greathed came round to Agra and cleared the Pandies away
from it. Peace seemed to be settling upon the country, and
we four were beginning to hope that the time was at hand
when we might safely go off with our shares of the plunder.
In a moment, however, our hopes were shattered by our being
arrested as the murderers of Achmet
.
It came about in this way. When the rajah put his
jewels into the hands of Achmet he did it because he knew
that he was a trusty man. They are suspicious folk in the East,
however: so what does this rajah do but take a second even
more trusty servant and set him to play the spy upon the
first? This second man was ordered never to let Achmet out
of his sight, and he followed him like his shadow. He went
after him that night and saw him pass through the doorway.
Of course he thought he had taken refuge in the fort, and
applied for admission there himself next day, but could find
no trace of Achmet. This seemed to him so strange that he
spoke about it to a sergeant of guides, who brought it to
the ears of the commandant. A thorough search was quickly
made, and the body was discovered. Thus at the very moment
that we thought that all was safe we were all four seized
and brought to trial on a charge of murder,--three of us
because we had held the gate that night, and the fourth
because he was known to have been in the company of the
murdered man. Not a word about the jewels came out at the
trial, for the rajah had been deposed and driven out of
India: so no one had any particular interest in them. The
murder, however, was clearly made out, and it was certain
that we must all have been concerned in it. The three Sikhs
got penal servitude for life, and I was condemned to death,
though my sentence was afterwards commuted into the same as
the others.
It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves
in then. There we were all four tied by the leg and with
precious little chance of ever getting out again, while we
each held a secret which might have put each of us in a
palace if we could only have made use of it. It was enough
to make a man eat his heart out to have to stand the kick
and the cuff of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice to
eat and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune was ready
for him outside, just waiting to be picked up. It might have
driven me mad; but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so I
just held on and bided my time.
At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed
from Agra to Madras, and from there to Blair Island in the
Andamans. There are very few white convicts at this
settlement, and, as I had behaved well from the first, I
soon found myself a sort of privileged person. I was given a
hut in Hope Town, which is a small place on the slopes of
Mount Harriet, and I was left pretty much to myself. It is a dreary,
fever-stricken place, and all beyond our little
clearings was infested with wild
cannibal natives,
who were ready enough to
blow a poisoned dart at
us if they saw a chance. There was digging,
and ditching, and yam-planting, and a dozen other things to
be done, so we were busy enough all day; though in the
evening we had a little time to ourselves. Among other
things, I learned to dispense drugs for the surgeon, and
picked up a smattering of his knowledge. All the time I was
on the lookout for a chance of escape; but it is hundreds of
miles from any other land, and there is little or no wind in
those seas: so it was a terribly difficult job to get
away.
The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting young
chap, and the other young officers would meet in his rooms
of an evening and play cards. The surgery, where I used to
make up my drugs, was next to his sitting-room, with a small
window between us. Often, if I felt lonesome, I used to turn
out the lamp in the surgery, and then, standing there, I
could hear their talk and watch their play. I am fond of a
hand at cards myself, and it was almost as good as having
one to watch the others. There was Major Sholto, Captain
Morstan, and Lieutenant Bromley Brown, who were in command
of the native troops, and there was the surgeon himself, and
two or three prison-officials, crafty old hands who played a
nice sly safe game. A very snug little party they used to
make.
Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me,
and that was that the soldiers used always to lose and the
civilians to win. Mind, I don't say that there was anything
unfair, but so it was. These prison-chaps had done little
else than play cards ever since they had been at the
Andamans, and they knew each other's game to a point, while
the others just played to pass the time and threw their
cards down anyhow. Night after night the soldiers got up
poorer men, and the poorer they got the more keen they were
to play. Major Sholto was the hardest hit. He used to pay in
notes and gold at first, but soon it came to notes of hand
and for big sums. He sometimes would win for a few deals,
just to give him heart, and then the luck would set in
against him worse than ever. All day he would wander about
as black as thunder, and he took to drinking a deal more
than was good for him.
One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was
sitting in my hut when he and Captain Morstan came stumbling
along on the way to their quarters. They were bosom friends,
those two, and never far apart. The major was raving about
his losses.
'It's all up, Morstan,' he was
saying, as they passed my hut. 'I shall
have to send in my papers. I am a ruined
man.'
''Nonsense, old chap!' said
the other, slapping him upon the shoulder. 'I've had a nasty facer myself,
but--' That was all I could hear, but it was
enough to set me thinking.
A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on
the beach: so I took the chance of speaking to him.
'I wish to have your advice,
major,' said I.
'Well, Small, what is it?' he
asked, taking his cheroot from his lips.
'I wanted to ask you, sir,' said
I, 'who is the proper person to whom hidden
treasure should be handed over. I know where half a
million worth lies, and, as I cannot use it myself,
I thought perhaps the best thing that I could do
would be to hand it over to the proper authorities,
and then perhaps they would get my sentence
shortened for me.'
'Half a million, Small?' he
gasped, looking hard at me to see if I was in
earnest.
'Quite that, sir,--in jewels and
pearls. It lies there ready for any one. And the
queer thing about it is that the real owner is
outlawed and cannot hold property, so that it
belongs to the first comer.'
'To government, Small,' he
stammered,--'to government.'
But he said it in a halting fashion, and I knew in my heart
that I had got him.
'You think, then, sir, that I should
give the information to the Governor-General?'
said I, quietly.
'Well, well, you must not do anything
rash, or that you might repent. Let me hear all
about it, Small. Give me the facts.'
I told him the whole story, with small changes so that
he could not identify the places. When I had finished he
stood stock still and full of thought. I could see by the
twitch of his lip that there was a struggle going on within
him.
'This is a very important matter,
Small,' he said, at last. 'You must not say a word to any one about it, and I
shall see you again soon.'
Two nights later he and his friend Captain Morstan
came to my hut in the dead of the night with a
lantern.
'I want you just to let Captain
Morstan hear that story from your own lips,
Small,' said he.
I repeated it as I had told it before
.
'It rings true, eh?' said he.
'It's good enough to act
upon?'
Captain Morstan nodded.
'Look here, Small,' said the
major. 'We have been talking it over, my
friend here and I, and we have come to the
conclusion that this secret of yours is hardly a
government matter, after all, but is a private
concern of your own, which of course you have the
power of disposing of as you think best. Now, the
question is, what price would you ask for it? We
might be inclined to take it up, and at least look
into it, if we could agree as to terms.'' He
tried to speak in a cool, careless way, but his eyes were
shining with excitement and greed.
'Why, as to that, gentlemen,' I
answered, trying also to be cool, but feeling as excited as
he did, 'there is only one bargain which a
man in my position can make. I shall want you to
help me to my freedom, and to help my three
companions to theirs. We shall then take you into
partnership, and give you a fifth share to divide
between you.'
'Hum!' said he. 'A fifth share! That is not very
tempting.'
'It would come to fifty thousand
apiece,' said I.
'But how can we gain your freedom?
You know very well that you ask an
impossibility.'
'Nothing of the sort,' I
answered. 'I have thought it all out to the
last detail. The only bar to our escape is that we
can get no boat fit for the voyage, and no
provisions to last us for so long a time. There are
plenty of little yachts and yawls at Calcutta or
Madras which would serve our turn well. Do you bring
one over. We shall engage to get aboard her by
night, and if you will drop us on any part of the
Indian coast you will have done your part of the
bargain.'
'If there were only one,' he
said.
'None or all,' I answered.
'We have sworn it. The four of us
must always act together.'
'You see, Morstan,' said he,
'Small is a man of his word. He
does not flinch from his friend. I think we may very
well trust him.'
'It's a dirty business,' the
other answered. 'Yet, as you say, the
money would save our commissions
handsomely.'
'Well, Small,' said the major,
'we must, I suppose, try and meet
you. We must first, of course, test the truth of
your story. Tell me where the box is hid, and I
shall get leave of absence and go back to India in
the monthly relief-boat to inquire into the
affair.'
'Not so fast,' said I, growing
colder as he got hot. 'I must have the
consent of my three comrades. I tell you that it is
four or none with us.'
'Nonsense!' he broke in. 'What have three black fellows to do with
our agreement?'
'Black or blue,' said I, 'they are in with me, and we all go
together.'
Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which
Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were all
present. We talked the matter over again, and at last we
came to an arrangement. We were to provide both the officers
with charts of the part of the Agra fort and mark the place
in the wall where the treasure was hid. Major Sholto was to
go to India to test our story. If he found the box he was to
leave it there, to send out a small yacht provisioned for a
voyage, which was to lie off Rutland Island, and to which we
were to make our way, and finally to return to his duties.
Captain Morstan was then to apply for leave of absence, to
meet us at Agra, and there we were to have a final division
of the treasure, he taking the major's share as well as his
own. All this we sealed by the most solemn oaths that the
mind could think or the lips utter. I sat up all night with
paper and ink, and by the morning I had the two charts all
ready, signed with the sign of four,--that is, of Abdullah,
Akbar, Mahomet, and myself.
Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and I
know that my friend Mr. Jones is impatient to get me safely
stowed in chokey. I'll make it as short as I can. TheillainSholto went off to India,
but he never came back again. Captain Morstan showed
me his name among a list of passengers in one of the
mail-boats very shortly afterwards. His uncle had died,
leaving him a fortune, and he had left the army, yet he
could stoop to treat five men as he had treated us. Morstan
went over to Agra shortly afterwards, and found, as we
expected, that the treasure was indeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all, without carrying out
one of the conditions on which we had sold him the
secret. From that day I lived only for
vengeance. I thought of it by day and I nursed it by night.
It became an overpowering, absorbing passion with me. I
cared nothing for the law,--nothing for the gallows. To
escape, to track down Sholto, to have my hand upon his
throat,--that was my one thought. Even the Agra treasure had
come to be a smaller thing in my mind than the slaying of
Sholto.
Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life,
and never one which I did not carry out. But it was weary
years before my time came. I have told you that I had picked
up something of medicine. One day when Dr. Somerton was down
with a fever a little
Andaman Islander was picked up by a convict-gang in
the woods. He was sick to death, and had gone to a
lonely place to die. I took him in hand, though he
was as venomous as
a young snake, and after a couple of months I
got him all right and able to walk. He took a kind of fancy
to me then, and would hardly go back to his woods, but was
always hanging about my hut. I learned a little of his lingo
from him, and this made him all the fonder of me.
Tonga--for that was his name--was a fine boatman, and
owned a big, roomy canoe of his own. When I found that he
was devoted to me and would do anything to serve me, I saw
my chance of escape. I talked it over with him. He was to
bring his boat round on a certain night to an old wharf
which was never guarded, and there he was to pick me up. I
gave him directions to have several gourds of water and a
lot of yams, cocoa-nuts, and sweet potatoes.
He was stanch and true, was little Tonga. No man ever
had a more faithful mate. At the night named he had his boat
at the wharf. As it chanced, however, there was one of the
convict-guard down there,--a vile Pathan
who had never missed a chance of insulting and
injuring me. I had always vowed vengeance,
and now I had my chance. It was as if fate had placed him in
my way that I might pay my debt before I left the island. He
stood on the bank with his back to me, and his carbine on
his shoulder. I looked
about for a stone to
beat out his brains with, but none could I
see. Then a queer thought came into my head
and showed me where I could lay my hand on a weapon. I sat
down in the darkness and unstrapped my wooden leg. With
three long hops I was on him. He put his carbine to his
shoulder, but I struck him full, and knocked the whole front
of his skull in. You can see the split in the wood now where
I hit him. We both went down together, for I could not keep
my balance, but when I got up I found him still lying quiet
enough. I made for the boat, and in an hour we were well out
at sea. Tonga had brought all his earthly possessions with
him, his arms and his gods. Among other things, he had a long bamboo spear, and some
Andaman cocoa-nut matting, with which I made a sort
of sail. For ten days we were beating about,
trusting to luck, and on the eleventh we were picked up by a
trader which was going from Singapore to Jiddah with a cargo
of Malay pilgrims. They were a rum crowd, and Tonga and I
soon managed to settle down among them. They had one very
good quality: they let you alone and asked no
questions.
Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my
little chum and I went through, you would not thank me, for
I would have you here until the sun was shining. Here and
there we drifted about the world, something always turning
up to keep us from London. All the time, however, I never
lost sight of my purpose. I would dream of Sholto at night.
A hundred times I have killed him in my sleep. At last,
however, some three or four years ago, we found ourselves in
England. I had no great difficulty in finding where Sholto
lived, and I set to work to discover whether he had realized
the treasure, or if he still had it. I made friends with
someone who could help me,--I name no names, for I don't
want to get any one else in a hole,--and I soon found that
he still had the jewels. Then I tried to get at him in many
ways; but he was pretty sly, and had always two
prize-fighters, besides his sons and his khitmutgar, on
guard over him.
One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I
hurried at once to the garden, mad that he should slip out
of my clutches like that, and, looking through the window, I
saw him lying in his bed, with his sons on each side of him.
I'd have come through and taken my chance with the three of
them, only even as I looked at him his jaw dropped, and I
knew that he was gone. I got into his room that same night,
though, and I searched his papers to see if there was any
record of where he had hidden our jewels. There was not a
line, however: so I came away, bitter and savage as a man
could be. Before I left I
bethought me that if I ever met my Sikh friendsagain it would be a
satisfaction to know that I had left some mark of
our hatred: so I scrawled down the sign of
the four of us, as it had been on the chart, and I pinned it
on his bosom. It was too much that he should be taken to the
grave without some token from the men whom he had robbed and
befooled.
We earned a living
at this time by my exhibiting poor Tonga at fairs
and other such places as the black cannibal. He would eat raw
meat and dance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful of
pennies after a day's work. I still heard all the news from
Pondicherry Lodge, and for some years there was no news to
hear, except that they were hunting for the treasure. At
last, however, came what we had waited for so long. The
treasure had been found. It was up at the top of the house,
in Mr. Bartholomew Sholto's chemical laboratory. I came at
once and had a look at the place, but I could not see how
with my wooden leg I was to make my way up to it. I learned,
however, about a trap-door in the roof, and also about Mr.
Sholto's supper-hour. It seemed to me that I could manage
the thing easily through Tonga. I brought him out with me
with a long rope wound round his waist. He could climb like
a cat, and he soon made his way through the roof, but, as
ill luck would have it, Bartholomew Sholto was still in the
room, to his cost. Tonga
thought he had done something very clever in killing him, for
when I came up by the rope I found him strutting
about as proud as a peacock. Very much surprised was
he when I made at him with the rope's end and cursed
him for a little blood-thirsty imp. I took the
treasure-box and let it down, and then slid down myself,
having first left the sign of the four upon the table, to
show that the jewels had come back at last to those who had
most right to them. Tonga then pulled up the rope, closed
the window, and made off the way that he had come.
I don't know that I have anything else to tell you. I
had heard a waterman speak of the speed of Smith's launch
the Aurora, so I thought she would be a handy craft for our
escape. I engaged with old Smith, and was to give him a big
sum if he got us safe to our ship. He knew, no doubt, that
there was some screw loose, but he was not in our secrets.
All this is the truth, and if I tell it to you, gentlemen,
it is not to amuse you,--for you have not done me a very
good turn,--but it is because I believe the best defence I
can make is just to hold back nothing, but let all the world
know how badly I have myself been served by Major Sholto,
and how innocent I am of the death of his son.
"
A very remarkable account,
said Sherlock
Holmes. A fitting wind-up to an extremely
interesting case. There is nothing at all new to me in the
latter part of your narrative, except that you brought your
own rope. That I did not know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had
lost all his darts; yet
he managed to shoot one at us in the
boat.
He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in
his blow-pipe at the time.
Ah, of course,
said Holmes. I had not thought of that.
Is there any other point which you would like to ask
about?
asked the convict, affably.
I think not, thank you,
my companion
answered.
Well, Holmes,
said Athelney Jones, You are a man to be humored, and we all know
that you are a connoisseur of crime, but duty is duty, and I
have gone rather far in doing what you and your friend asked
me. I shall feel more at ease when we have our story-teller
here safe under lock and key. The cab still waits, and there
are two inspectors down-stairs. I am much obliged to you
both for your assistance. Of course you will be wanted at
the trial. Good-night to you.
Good-night, gentlemen both,
said Jonathan
Small.
You first, Small,
remarked the wary Jones as they
left the room. I'll take particular care that you
don't club me with your wooden leg, whatever you may have
done to the gentleman at the Andaman Isles.
Well, and there is the end of our little drama,
I
remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. I fear that it may be the last
investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying
your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept
me as a husband in prospective.
He gave a most dismal groan. I feared as much,
said he. I really cannot congratulate
you.
I was a little hurt. Have you any reason to be
dissatisfied with my choice?
I asked.
Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming
young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in
such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius
that way: witness the way in which she preserved that Agra
plan from all the other papers of her father. But love is an
emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to
that true cold reason which I place above all things. I
should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment.
I trust,
said I, laughing, that my judgment may survive the ordeal. But you look
weary.
Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as
limp as a rag for a week.
Strange,
said I, how terms of
what in another man I should call laziness alternate with
your fits of splendid energy and vigor.
"
Yes,
he answered, there
are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a
pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of
old Goethe,--
'Schade dass die Natur nur
EINEN Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zum wuerdigen Mann
war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.'
By the way, a propos of this Norwood business, you
see that they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the
house, who could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler: so
Jones actually has the undivided honor of having caught one
fish in his great haul.
The division seems rather unfair,
I remarked. You have done all the work in this
business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit,
pray what remains for you?
For me,
said Sherlock Holmes, there still remains the
cocaine-bottle.
And he stretched his long white hand up
for it.